IDING up the mountain
In an open car,
Engine puffing bravely—
O, how high we are!
Higher we are climbing,
To the clouds we sail;
All the world’s beneath us
On the Rigi Rail.
Past the slopes of verdure,
Gay with gold and white,
Past the crags and fissures,
Up the giddy height.
Torrents down below us
Dashing through the vale,
Snowclad peaks above us,
On the Rigi Rail.
Up, still up to cloudland,
While the world below
Shrinks to dots and pigmies
Higher as we go.
All around grows barren;
Timid girls grow pale
As the snow surrounds us
On the Rigi Rail.
Up at last—the summit
Puffing Billy gains,
And the sight that greets us
Pays for all our pains.
Alp on alp far stretching,
Lake and plain and vale
Spread in glory round us
On the Rigi Rail.
Nerves with joy are thrilling
In that wondrous air,
Ne’er did eyes enchanted
See a sight so fair.
Ne’er till memory falters
And my senses fail
Shall I forget that journey
Upon the Rigi Rail.
A Plea for Mercy.
O, do not flog the brutal rough
Who jumps upon his wife,
Or in a little drunken huff
Prods children with a knife.
O, do not flog the brute who takes
The old man by the throat
And chokes him while a search he makes
Of trousers, vest, and coat.
O, do not flog the coward cur
Who pulps a woman’s face;
It cannot do much good to her,
And think of his disgrace.
O, think of all the smart and pain
If his poor hide be thin;
The cat, you know, must leave a stain
On mind as well as skin.
O, do not flog the prowling wretch
Who bashes us for pelf,
But some nice kind old parson fetch,
Or talk to him yourself.
Present him with a kindly tract,
Or pray with him awhile;
Explain that skulls should not be crackt
In such a shocking style.