For such friendship one is grateful. No matter that it comes unsought, and comes not for the seeking. You do not discuss the reasonableness of your gratitude. You only know that your whole being bows with humility and utter thankfulness to him who thus crowns you monarch of all realms.
And the kingdom is everlasting. A weak love dies weakly with the occasion that gave it birth; but such friendship is born of the gods, and immortal. Clouds and darkness may sweep around it, but within the cloud the glory lives undimmed. Death has no power over it. Time can not diminish, nor even dishonor annul it. Its direction may have been earthly, but itself is divine. You go back into your solitudes: all is silent as aforetime, but you can not forget that a Voice once resounded there. A Presence filled the valleys and gilded the mountain-tops,—breathed upon the plains, and they sprang up in lilies and roses,—flashed upon the waters, and they flowed to spheral melody,—swept through the forests, and they, too, trembled into song. And though now the warmth has faded out, though the ruddy tints and amber clearness have paled to ashen hues, though the murmuring melodies are dead, and forest, vale, and hill look hard and angular in the sharp air, you know that it is not death. The fire is unquenched beneath. You go your way not disconsolate. There needs but the Victorious Voice. At the touch of the prince's lips, life shall rise again and be perfected forevermore.
PONCHUS PILUT
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
Ponchus Pilut used to be
1st a Slave, an' now he's free.
Slaves wuz on'y ist before
The War wuz—an' ain't no more.
He works on our place fer us,—
An' comes here—sometimes he does.
He shocks corn an' shucks it.—An'
He makes hominy "by han'!"—
Wunst he bringed us some, one trip,
Tied up in a piller-slip:
Pa says, when Ma cooked it, "MY!
This-here's gooder'n you buy!"
Ponchus pats fer me an' sings;
An' he says most funny things!
Ponchus calls a dish a "deesh"—
Yes, an' he calls fishes "feesh"!
When Ma want him eat wiv us
He says, "'Skuse me—'deed you mus'!—
Ponchus know good manners, Miss.—
He aint eat wher' White-folks is!"