Here lies poor Nick, an honest creature,
Of faithful, gentle, courteous nature;
A parlor pet unspoiled by favor,
A pattern of good dog behavior,
Without a wish, without a dream,
Beyond his home and friends at Cheam.
Contentedly through life he trotted,
Along the path that faith allotted,
Till time, his aged body wearing,
Bereaved him of his sight and hearing,
Then laid him down without a pain
To sleep, and never wake again.
Sydney Smith.
THE DIFFERENCE
My dog! The difference between thee and me
Knows only our Creator—only he
Can number the degrees in being's scale
Between th' Instinctive lamp, ne'er known to fail,
And that less steady light, of brighter ray,
The soul which animates thy master's clay;
And he alone can tell by what fond tie
My look thy life, my death thy sign to die.
No, when that feeling quits thy glazing eye
'Twill live in some blest world beyond the sky.
Anonymous.