I turn the mill which grinds the grain—
I strengthen, I cleanse, I heal;
All things rejoice with grateful breath
When my cool hand they feel.
I send the brooklet on its way—
I lift the drooping vine,—
I make all vegetation grow—
Can you do that, Sir Wine?
Of our might and power we’ll not dispute—
(The result of our deeds will show;)
For the worth of me and the curse of you
All noble minded know.
No, no! Sir Wine, Your path is death,
While mine is safely trod;
You are cursed by a demon’s hand—
I, blessed by the hand of God.
BRAVERY
A youth once went to a party
Whose sweetheart was there with the rest;
The moments that flew on swift pinions
Were enjoyed with great fervor and zest.
’Til at length came the time for dispersing,
When each went their various ways—
This fond youth escorting his sweetheart—
His heart with emotion ablaze.
On his sleeve her hand trustingly rested
As they wended their way through the wood,—
When lo! a white spectre before them
Appeared.—In their pathway it stood
Like a Goblin, with long arms extended
It swayed, while a wild, weird note
Like the wail of a disparing spirit
Came issuing from the Ghost’s throat.
’Twas too much for our hero—and turning
He ran in the wildest alarm;
And left his companion in terror—
But a word from Sir Ghost made her calm.
The echoing footsteps grew fainter
’Til at last in the distance they fade—
The rival then threw off the mystic
And boldly walked home with the maid!