Then stretch away, my gallant steed!
Thy mission is a noble one:
You bear the father to the son,
And sweet relief to bitter need;
You bear the stranger to his friends;
You bear the pilgrim to the shrine,
And back again the prayer he sends
That God will prosper me and mine,—
The star that on thy forehead gleams
Has blossomed in our brightest dreams.
Then speed thee on thy glorious race!
The mother waits thy ringing pace;
The father leans an anxious ear
The thunder of thy hoofs to hear;
The lover listens, far away,
To catch thy keen exultant neigh;
And, where thy breathings roll and rise,
The husband strains his eager eyes,
And laugh of wife and baby-glee
Ring out to greet and welcome thee.
Then stretch away! and when at last
The master's hand shall gently check
Thy mighty speed, and hold thee fast,
The world will pat thee on the neck.
HIS MOTHER'S WAY
Tomps 'ud allus haf to say
Somepin' 'bout "his mother's way."—
He lived hard-like—never jined
Any church of any kind.—
"It was Mother's way," says he,
"To be good enough fer me
And her too,—and certinly
Lord has heerd her pray!"
Propped up on his dyin' bed,—
"Shore as Heaven's overhead,
I'm a-goin' there," he said—-
"It was Mother's way."
JAP MILLER.
Jap Miller down at Martinsville's the blamedest feller yit!
When he starts in a-talkin' other folks is apt to quit!—
'Pears like that mouth o' his'n wuz n't made fer nuthin' else
But jes' to argify 'em down and gether in their pelts:
He'll talk you down on tariff; er he'll talk you down on tax,
And prove the pore man pays 'em all—and them's about the fac's!—
Religen, law, er politics, prize-fightin', er base-ball—
Jes' tetch Jap up a little and he'll post you 'bout 'em all.
And the comicalist feller ever tilted back a cheer
And tuck a chaw tobacker kind o' like he did n't keer.—
There's where the feller's strength lays,—he's so
common-like and plain,—
They haint no dude about old Jap, you bet you—nary grain!
They 'lected him to Council and it never turned his head,
And did n't make no differunce what anybody said,—
He didn't dress no finer, ner rag out in fancy clothes;
But his voice in Council-meetin's is a turrer to his foes.
He's fer the pore man ever' time! And in the last campaign
He stumped old Morgan County, through the sunshine and the rain,
And helt the banner up'ards from a-trailin' in the dust,
And cut loose on monopolies and cuss'd and cuss'd and cuss'd!
He'd tell some funny story ever' now and then, you know,
Tel, blame it! it wuz better 'n a jack-o'-lantern show!
And I'd go furder, yit, to-day, to hear old Jap norate
Than any high-toned orator 'at ever stumped the State!
W'y, that-air blame Jap Miller, with his keen sircastic fun,
Has got more friends than ary candidate 'at ever run!
Do n't matter what his views is, when he states the same to you,
They allus coincide with your'n, the same as two and two:
You can't take issue with him—er, at least, they haint no sense
In startin' in to down him, so you better not commence.—
The best way's jes' to listen, like your humble servant does,
And jes' concede Jap Miller is the best man ever wuz!
A SOUTHERN SINGER.
Written In Madison Caweln's "Lyrics and Idyls."