SPRING.
———
I rise up in de mornin’
Early in de spring,
And hear de bees a hummin’
An’ hear de robbins sing;
Th’re com’ o’er me a feelin’
So queer I know not why.
I jus’ sit down an’ listen,
It seem I ’most could cry;
The win’ has lost its biting,
Aroun’ de vine de bees,
The air is full o’ fragrance,
From blossom of the trees.
I stroll out in de garden,
An’ take a look about,
I see de ground’ a crackin’,
The seed has ’gun to sprout.
Beneath de vine a blossom,
All dried and curled it lies,
A striped little melon,
Is hangin’ ’fore my eyes.
Its den I ’gin a hummin’
And join de birds and sing,
My heart is full o’ rapture,
And grandeur of the spring.
A WARRIOR’S JUDGMENT.
———
A warrior stood before his Master,
Bruised and bleeding from the fight,
Not for power, neither honor,
But in battling for the right.
Torn and tattered was his body,
Gashed and wounded was his face,
Stood he waiting for the Master
To assign his resting place.
The Master gazed on him in pity,
Saw the form which He had made,
Once like His, now so distorted;
Gazed into his face and said: