| The coppenter man said a wicked word, |
| When he hitted his thumb one day, |
| En I know what it was, because I heard, |
| En it's somethin' I dassent say. |
| |
| He growed us a house with rooms inside it, |
| En the rooms is full of floors |
| It's my papa's house, en when he buyed it, |
| It was nothin' but just outdoors. |
| |
| En they planted stones in a hole for seeds, |
| En that's how the house began, |
| But I guess the stones would have just growed weeds, |
| Except for the coppenter man. |
| |
| En the coppenter man took a board and said |
| He'd skin it and make some curls, |
| En I hung 'em onto my ears en head, |
| En they make me look like girls. |
| |
| En he squinted along one side, he did, |
| En he squinted the other side twice, |
| En then he told me, "You squint it, kid," |
| 'Cause the coppenter man's reel nice. |
| |
|
| But the coppenter man said a wicked word, |
| When he hitted 'his thumb that day; |
| He said it out loud, too, 'cause I heard, |
| En it's something I dassent say. |
| |
| En the coppenter man said it wasn't bad, |
| When you hitted your thumb, kerspat! |
| En there'd be no coppenter men to be had, |
| If it wasn't for words like that. |
| |
| Edmund Vance Cooke. |
| No, I never, till life and its shadows shall end, |
| Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend! |
| The day set in darkness, the wind it blew loud, |
| And rung as it passed through each murmuring shroud. |
| My forehead was wet with the foam of the spray, |
| My heart sighed in secret for those far away; |
| When slowly the morning advanced from the east, |
| The toil and the noise of the tempest had ceased; |
| The peal from a land I ne'er saw, seemed to say, |
| "Let the stranger forget every sorrow to-day!" |
| Yet the short-lived emotion was mingled with pain, |
| I thought of those eyes I should ne'er see again; |
| I thought of the kiss, the last kiss which I gave, |
| And a tear of regret fell unseen on the wave; |
| I thought of the schemes fond affection had planned, |
| Of the trees, of the towers, of my own native land. |
| But still the sweet sounds, as they swelled to the air, |
| Seemed tidings of pleasure, though mournful to bear, |
| And I never, till life and its shadows shall end, |
| Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend! |
| |
| W.L. Bowles. |
| With sable-draped banners and slow measured tread, |
| The flower laden ranks pass the gates of the dead; |
| And seeking each mound where a comrade's form rests |
| Leave tear-bedewed garlands to bloom, on his breast. |
| Ended at last is the labor of love; |
| Once more through the gateway the saddened lines move— |
| A wailing of anguish, a sobbing of grief, |
| Falls low on the ear of the battle-scarred chief; |
| Close crouched by the portals, a sunny-haired child |
| Besought him in accents with grief rendered wild: |
| |
| "Oh! sir, he was good, and they say he died brave— |
| Why, why, did you pass by my dear papa's grave? |
| I know he was poor, but as kind and as true |
| As ever marched into the battle with you; |
| His grave is so humble, no stone marks the spot, |
| You may not have seen it. Oh, say you did not! |
| For my poor heart will break if you knew he was there, |
| And thought him too lowly your offerings to share. |
| He didn't die lowly—he poured his heart's blood |
| In rich crimson streams, from the top-crowning sod |
| Of the breastworks which stood in front of the fight— |
| And died shouting, 'Onward! for God and the right!' |
| O'er all his dead comrades your bright garlands wave, |
| But you haven't put one on my papa's grave. |
| If mamma were here—but she lies by his side, |
| Her wearied heart broke when our dear papa died!" |
| |
| "Battalion! file left! countermarch!" cried the chief, |
| "This young orphaned maid hath full cause for her grief." |
| Then up in his arms from the hot, dusty street, |
| He lifted the maiden, while in through the gate |
| The long line repasses, and many an eye |
| Pays fresh tribute of tears to the lone orphan's sigh. |
| "This way, it is—here, sir, right under this tree; |
| They lie close together, with just room for me." |
| "Halt! Cover with roses each lowly green mound; |
| A love pure as this makes these graves hallowed ground." |
| |
| "Oh! thank you, kind sir! I ne'er can repay |
| The kindness you've shown little Daisy to-day; |
| But I'll pray for you here, each day while I live, |
| 'Tis all that a poor soldier's orphan can give. |
| I shall see papa soon and dear mamma, too— |
| I dreamed so last night, and I know 'twill come true; |
| And they will both bless you, I know, when I say |
| How you folded your arms round their dear one to-day; |
| How you cheered her sad heart and soothed it to rest, |
| And hushed its wild throbs on your strong, noble breast; |
| And when the kind angels shall call you to come |
| We'll welcome you there to our beautiful home |
| Where death never comes his black banners to wave, |
| And the beautiful flowers ne'er weep o'er a grave." |
| |
| C.E.L. Holmes. |
| Two little stockings hung side by side, |
| Close to the fireside broad and wide. |
| "Two?" said Saint Nick, as down he came, |
| Loaded with toys and many a game. |
| "Ho, ho!" said he, with a laugh of fun, |
| "I'll have no cheating, my pretty one. |
| |
| "I know who dwells in this house, my dear, |
| There's only one little girl lives here." |
| So he crept up close to the chimney place, |
| And measured a sock with a sober face; |
| Just then a wee little note fell out |
| And fluttered low, like a bird, about. |
|
| |
| "Aha! What's this?" said he, in surprise, |
| As he pushed his specs up close to his eyes, |
| And read the address in a child's rough plan. |
| "Dear Saint Nicholas," so it began, |
| "The other stocking you see on the wall |
| I have hung up for a child named Clara Hall. |
| |
| "She's a poor little girl, but very good, |
| So I thought, perhaps, you kindly would |
| Fill up her stocking, too, to-night, |
| And help to make her Christmas bright. |
| If you've not enough for both stockings there, |
| Please put all in Clara's, I shall not care." |
| |
| Saint Nicholas brushed a tear from his eye, |
| And, "God bless you, darling," he said with a sigh; |
| Then softly he blew through the chimney high |
| A note like a bird's, as it soars on high, |
| When down came two of the funniest mortals |
| That ever were seen this side earth's portals. |
| |
| "Hurry up," said Saint Nick, "and nicely prepare |
| All a little girl wants where money is rare." |
| Then, oh, what a scene there was in that room! |
| Away went the elves, but down from the gloom |
| Of the sooty old chimney came tumbling low |
| A child's whole wardrobe, from head to toe. |
| |
| How Santa Clans laughed, as he gathered them in, |
| And fastened each one to the sock with a pin; |
| Right to the toe he hung a blue dress,— |
| "She'll think it came from the sky, I guess," |
| Said Saint Nicholas, smoothing the folds of blue, |
| And tying the hood to the stocking, too. |
| |
| When all the warm clothes were fastened on, |
| And both little socks were filled and done, |
| Then Santa Claus tucked a toy here and there, |
| And hurried away to the frosty air, |
| Saying, "God pity the poor, and bless the dear child |
| Who pities them, too, on this night so wild." |
| |
| The wind caught the words and bore them on high |
| Till they died away in the midnight sky; |
| While Saint Nicholas flew through the icy air, |
| Bringing "peace and good will" with him everywhere. |
| |
| Sara Keables Hunt. |