The Undiscovered Country
EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.
The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel,
Where lie those happier hills and meadows low,-
Ah, if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil
Aught of that country could we surely know,
Who would not go?
The hovering angels' high imagined chorus,
Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear,
One radiant vista of the realm before us,-
With one rapt moment given to see and hear,
Ah, who would fear?
To find the peerless friend who left us lonely;
Or there, by some celestial stream as pure,
To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only—
This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure,
Who would endure?
A Song of Sorrow
BY CHARLES BATTELL LOOMIS.
(A Lullabylet for a Magazinelet).
Wan from the wild and woful West-
Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
Mother will sing to-you know the rest—
Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
Softly the sand steals slowly by,
Cursed by the curlew's chittering cry;
By-a-by, oh by-a-by!
Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
Rosy and sweet come the hush of night-
Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
(Twig to the lilt, I have got it all right)
Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
Dark are the dark and darkling days
Winding the webbed and winsome ways,
Homeward she creeps in dim amaze—
Sleep, little babe, sleep on!
(But it waked up, drat it!)
Cupid Swallowed
BY LEIGH HUNT.
T'other day as I was twining
Roses for a crown to dine in,
What, of all things, midst the heap,
Should I light on, fast asleep,
But the little desperate elf—
The tiny traitor-Love himself!
By the wings I pinched him up
Like a bee, and in a cup
Of my wine I plunged and sank him;
And what d'ye think I did? I drank him!
Faith, I thought him dead. Not he!
There he lives with ten fold glee;
And now this moment, with his wings,
I feel him tickling my heart-strings.
Some weep because they part,
And languish broken-hearted;
And others-O, my heart!-
Because they never parted.
What Will We Do?
BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE.
What will we do when the good days come-
When the prima donna's lips are dumb,
And the man who reads us his "little things"
Has lost his voice like the girl who sings;
When stilled is the breath of the cornet-man,
And the shrilling chords of the quartette clan;
When our neighbors' children have lost their drums—
Oh, what will we do when the good time comes?
Oh, what will we do in that good, blithe time,
When the tramp will work-oh, thing sublime!
And the scornful dame who stands on your feet
Will "Thank you, sir," for the proffered seat;
And the man you hire to work by the day,
Will allow you to do his work your way;
And the cook who trieth your appetite
Will steal no more than she thinks is right;
When the boy you hire will call you " Sir,"
Instead of "Say" and "Guverner;"
When the funny man is humorsome-
How can we stand the millennium?
Identity
BY T. B. ALDRICH.
Somewhere-in desolate wind-swept space—
In Twilight land-in No-man's land-
Two hungry shapes met face to face,
And bade each other stand.
"And who are you?" cried one, agape,
Shuddering in the gloaming light.
"I know not," said the second Shape;
"I only died last night!"
"Keep Sweet and Keep Movin'"
BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE.
Homely phrase of our southland bright-
Keep steady step to the flam of the drum;
Touch to the left-eyes to the right-
Sing with the soul tho' the lips be dumb.
Hard to be good when the wind's in the east;
Hard to be gay when the heart is down;
When "they that trouble you are increased,"
When you look for a smile and see a frown.
But
"Keep sweet and keep movin'."
Sorrow will shade the blue sky gray-
Gray is the color our brothers wore;
Sunshine will scatter the clouds away;
Azure will gleam in the skies once more.
Colors of Patience and Hope are they—
Always at even in one they blend;
Tinting the heavens by night and day,
Over our hearts to the journey's end.
Just
"Keep sweet and keep movin'."
Hard to be sweet when the throng is dense,
When elbows jostle and shoulders crowd;
Easy to give and to take offence
When the touch is rough and the voice is loud;
"Keep to the right" in the city's throng;
"Divide the road" on the broad highway;
There's one way right when everything's wrong; "Easy and fair goes far in a day."
"Keep sweet and keep movin'."
The quick taunt answers the hasty word—
The lifetime chance for a "help" is missed;
The muddiest pool is a fountain stirred,
A kind hand clenched makes an ugly fist.
When the nerves are tense and the mind is vexed,
The spark lies close to the magazine;
Whisper a hope to the soul perplexed-
Banish the fear with a smile serene
"Keep sweet and keep movin'."
[To appreciate "Alone," the reader should remember that Mr. Burdette is popular as a humorist. The sickness of his wife called him to her bedside for many long weeks-she finally died, and "Alone" expresses his loss.] I miss you, my darling, my darling, The embers burn low on the hearth; And still is the stir of the household, And hushed is the voice of its mirth; The rain splashes fast on the terrace, The wind past the lattices moan; The midnight chimes out from the minster, And I am alone.
I want you, my darling, my darling,
I am tired with care and with fret;
I would nestle in silence beside you,
And all but your presence forget.
In the hush of the happiness given,
To those who through trusting have grown
To the fullness of love in contentment,
But I am alone.
I call you, my darling, my darling,
My voice echoes back on my heart;
I stretch my arms to you in longing,
And lo! they fall empty, apart.
I whisper the sweet words you have taught me,
The words that we only have known,
Till the blank of the dumb air is bitter,
For I am alone.
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