"'Scurious-like," said the tree-toad,
"I've twittered far rain all day;
And I got up soon,
And I hollered till noon—
But the sun, hit blazed away,
Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,
Weary at heart, and sick at soul!
"Dozed away far an hour,
And I tackled the thing agin;
And I sung, and sung,
Till I knowed my lung
Was jest about give in;
And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now.
There're nothin' in singin', anyhow!
"Once in awhile some
Would come a drivin' past;
And he'd hear my cry,
And stop and sigh—
Till I jest laid back, at last,
And I hollered rain till I thought my th'oat
Would bust right open at ever' note!
"But I fetched her! O I fetched her!—
'Cause a little while ago,
As I kindo' set,
With one eye shet,
And a-singin' soft and low,
A voice drapped down on my fevered brain,
Sayin',—' Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!'"
A WORN-OUT PENCIL.
Welladay!
Here I lay
You at rest—all worn away,
O my pencil, to the tip
Of our old companionship!
Memory
Sighs to see
What you are, and used to be,
Looking backward to the time
When you wrote your earliest rhyme!—
When I sat
Filing at
Your first point, and dreaming that
Your initial song should be
Worthy of posterity.
With regret
I forget
If the song be living yet,
Yet remember, vaguely now,
It was honest, anyhow.
You have brought
Me a thought—
Truer yet was never taught,—
That the silent song is best,
And the unsung worthiest.
So if I,
When I die,
May as uncomplainingly
Drop aside as now you do,
Write of me, as I of you:—
Here lies one
Who begun
Life a-singing, heard of none;
And he died, satisfied,
With his dead songs by his side.
THE STEPMOTHER.
First she come to our house,
Tommy run and hid;
And Emily and Bob and me
We cried jus' like we did
When Mother died,—and we all said
'At we all wisht 'at we was dead!
And Nurse she couldn't stop us,
And Pa he tried and tried,—
We sobbed and shook and wouldn't look,
But only cried and cried;
And nen someone—we couldn't jus'
Tell who—was cryin' same as us!
Our Stepmother! Yes, it was her,
Her arms around us all—
'Cause Tom slid down the bannister
And peeked in from the hall.—
And we all love her, too, because
She's purt nigh good as Mother was!