The Dean's face wore a puzzled look,
And then a look of joy;
Then said, "'tis you the teacher are,
I am the scholar, boy."
That night the widow's eyes were wet,
But they were tears of joy,—
'When she beheld the load of things
Brought by her little boy.
And Jimmy danced upon the flags,
And cried, "there's few have seen,
And ever thought that in these rags,
Stands brother to a Dean."
I Would not Live Alway.
"I would not live alway,"
Why should I wish to stay,
Now, when grown old and grey,
Enduring slow decay?
When power to do has fled,
'Twere better to be dead—
The tree that's ceased to bear,
Has no right to be there.
Who cares to keep a bird
Whose note is never heard?
Yet many things abound,
Encumbering the ground;
Useless, unsightly wrecks,
That only serve to vex
The sight of those who boast
All that those wrecks have lost.
If God gave me this life,—
Now, when worn out with strife,
May I not give it back
And move from out the track?
This world is not for drones!
The right to live each owns;
But he to earn that right
Must work with all his might.
When power to do has fled,
'Twere better to be dead.
The dog has had its day;—
"I would not live alway."
Too Late.
How should I know,
That day when first we met,
I Would be a day
I never can forget?
And yet 'tis so.
That clasp of hands that made my heartstrings thrill,
Would not die out, but keeps vibrating still?
How should I know?