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 | Harvest of Thoughts |  |
INTRODUCTION BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.
It is gratifing to find so much of real poetic worth in these first published verses of Aaron Belford Thompson. Like his racial prototype, Paul Lawrance Dunbar, the gifts of Mr. Thompson seem genuinely native, and give high promise of the young poet's literary future.
James Whitcomb Riley.
1
A BRIGHT REFLECTION.
Oft to my recollection,
Drifts in a bright reflection;
And it comes from a direction,
Where all is filled with cheer:
From wood-land dale and fallow,
From brooklets deep and shallow;
And the notes of featherd songsters
Come drifting to mine ear.
Drifts in a bright reflection;
And it comes from a direction,
Where all is filled with cheer:
From wood-land dale and fallow,
From brooklets deep and shallow;
And the notes of featherd songsters
Come drifting to mine ear.
The vernal beechen wild-wood,
The palace of my child-hood;
Neath spreading boughs of oak-wood,
Mong vines and leaves o'er head:
I view them o'er and over,
The meadow-fields of clover;
The hills of golden barley,
And sweet cherries ripe and red.
The palace of my child-hood;
Neath spreading boughs of oak-wood,
Mong vines and leaves o'er head:
I view them o'er and over,
The meadow-fields of clover;
The hills of golden barley,
And sweet cherries ripe and red.
I hear the wood-land ringing,
The wild-bird's noise and singing:
See the watchful squirrel clinging,
To some large old ancient tree:
And a host of barefoot boys,
Laden down with childish joys;
Wading brooklets, with their trousers 'bove the knee.
The wild-bird's noise and singing:
See the watchful squirrel clinging,
To some large old ancient tree:
And a host of barefoot boys,
Laden down with childish joys;
Wading brooklets, with their trousers 'bove the knee.
2
The cattle on the hill,
Of sweet grass have had their fill;
And beneath the shade stand still,
While others lie:
Their burden and their strife,
Is sustenance through life;
Their plague and only torment is the fly.
Of sweet grass have had their fill;
And beneath the shade stand still,
While others lie:
Their burden and their strife,
Is sustenance through life;
Their plague and only torment is the fly.
The little lambs at play,
On the hillside far away;
And for fear they'll go astray,
There mothers kind,
Follow close and blate aloud,
To the little pranking crowd;
And a thought of Christ our shepherd, comes to mind.
On the hillside far away;
And for fear they'll go astray,
There mothers kind,
Follow close and blate aloud,
To the little pranking crowd;
And a thought of Christ our shepherd, comes to mind.
Such joys as we had then,
Will return, I know not when;
But the scenes will never blend,
From manhood's sight:
The while with toil and grief,
We bear life' burden sheaf,
Oft sweet scenes of happy child-hood flash a light.
Will return, I know not when;
But the scenes will never blend,
From manhood's sight:
The while with toil and grief,
We bear life' burden sheaf,
Oft sweet scenes of happy child-hood flash a light.
3
But a brighter scene than this,
Is that sweet land of the Bliss;
And that scene I would not miss,
For wealth or lore;
'Tis the scene o'er Jordan's strand,
It is called Sweet Beaulah Land,
And my soul yearns for its flight,
To that bright shore.
Is that sweet land of the Bliss;
And that scene I would not miss,
For wealth or lore;
'Tis the scene o'er Jordan's strand,
It is called Sweet Beaulah Land,
And my soul yearns for its flight,
To that bright shore.
A MESSAGE
I heard a sweet message from summer,
And it came on the pinions of spring;
O'er wood-land, through fallow of red buds,
Where rehearsed the first songsters of spring.
And it came on the pinions of spring;
O'er wood-land, through fallow of red buds,
Where rehearsed the first songsters of spring.
A soft breeze came drifting before it,
With sweetness that's hard to explain;
And it brought a brightness like sunshine,
Brings to us, after a rain.
With sweetness that's hard to explain;
And it brought a brightness like sunshine,
Brings to us, after a rain.
4
That message reechoed the wood-land,
And sounded through valley and hill;
Decending it seemed from the tree tops;
And joined in a song with the rill.
And sounded through valley and hill;
Decending it seemed from the tree tops;
And joined in a song with the rill.
Seemed like the whole universe caught it,
When the sweet laden breeze drifted by;
The wild bees searched for their honey,
On wings flew the gay butter fly.
When the sweet laden breeze drifted by;
The wild bees searched for their honey,
On wings flew the gay butter fly.
While insects that dwelt in the grasses,
Awoke with a loud merry chant;
And the air was swarming with beetles,
And the ground was covered with ants.
Awoke with a loud merry chant;
And the air was swarming with beetles,
And the ground was covered with ants.
Across the mead from an orchard,
There came a moan from a dove;
The muse drew a song from her casket,
Of pathos with sweet, tender, love.
There came a moan from a dove;
The muse drew a song from her casket,
Of pathos with sweet, tender, love.
So often I've tried to repeat it,
When she sings it so sweet in mine ear;
But my hearing grows faint while she's singing
And I turn with mine eyes filled with tears.
When she sings it so sweet in mine ear;
But my hearing grows faint while she's singing
And I turn with mine eyes filled with tears.
7
LINES TO AUTUMN
Jack-frost has chilled the summer air
And kissed the flowing rill;
The vernal land-scape hue has gone,
From wood-land mead and hill.
And ev'ry rustle of the leaves,
And ev'ry sound we hear;
Seems but to say, from day to day,
That dreary autumn 's here.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
And kissed the flowing rill;
The vernal land-scape hue has gone,
From wood-land mead and hill.
And ev'ry rustle of the leaves,
And ev'ry sound we hear;
Seems but to say, from day to day,
That dreary autumn 's here.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
Some trees are clad in yellow robes,
And some bedecked in brown;
And some have donned a crimson cloak,
To awe the landscape 'round.
Our high hopes of the future,
Have come to naught at last;
Our brightest dream of springtime,
Have turned back to the past.
Oh autumn! whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
And some bedecked in brown;
And some have donned a crimson cloak,
To awe the landscape 'round.
Our high hopes of the future,
Have come to naught at last;
Our brightest dream of springtime,
Have turned back to the past.
Oh autumn! whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
8
Fleet hounds pursue the rabbit,
Through underbrush and dell;
The hills send back an echo,
Caused by their doleful yell;
High up among the giant oaks,
An echo pierce the sky;
From some old hawk in search of prey,
There comes a hideous cry.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
Through underbrush and dell;
The hills send back an echo,
Caused by their doleful yell;
High up among the giant oaks,
An echo pierce the sky;
From some old hawk in search of prey,
There comes a hideous cry.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
Song-birds, now flying southward,
Have sang their parting song;
Each one in flight is trying,
To head the pressing throng;
The crows have filled the wild-wood,
With sentinels around,
They feast on seeds and insects,
From off the fertile ground.
Oh Autumn! whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
Have sang their parting song;
Each one in flight is trying,
To head the pressing throng;
The crows have filled the wild-wood,
With sentinels around,
They feast on seeds and insects,
From off the fertile ground.
Oh Autumn! whither comest thou
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
9
I look upon the harvest, in rich abundance yield;
But still a spell of sadness,
Around my soul doth steal;
To know that once with beauty,
In youthful vigor spread;
Large fields of blooming clover,
And corn-fields—all are dead.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
But still a spell of sadness,
Around my soul doth steal;
To know that once with beauty,
In youthful vigor spread;
Large fields of blooming clover,
And corn-fields—all are dead.
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
But still my soul feels dreary,
Although the sun doth shine,
He brings no balm like springtime
To heal this soul of mine;
And ofttimes how I wonder!
My outer self seems gay;
My inner soul far down within,
Each moment seems to say
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
Although the sun doth shine,
He brings no balm like springtime
To heal this soul of mine;
And ofttimes how I wonder!
My outer self seems gay;
My inner soul far down within,
Each moment seems to say
Oh Autumn! Whither comest thou,
To bind me with a spell?
A melancholy troubled state,
Would God that I could tell.
10
A PLEA TO THE MUSE
Oh Goddess of song, come grant a reflection!
Unbolt the great doors of memory's wall,
And there let me enter, in gardens, through court-yards;
And view the great paintings, that hang in the hall.
Then grant at your leisure, some musical measure;
My harp is untuned and infer' or to thine:
So pledge me one measure, 'twill be of great pleasure,
Perchance it might soothe this vain yearning of mine.
Unbolt the great doors of memory's wall,
And there let me enter, in gardens, through court-yards;
And view the great paintings, that hang in the hall.
Then grant at your leisure, some musical measure;
My harp is untuned and infer' or to thine:
So pledge me one measure, 'twill be of great pleasure,
Perchance it might soothe this vain yearning of mine.
Then away let me ramble, 'cross brooklets through brambles,
'Cross moorland through fallows,
To the far distant hill;
Where the century eagle 'mong the cliffs find her hiding,
And the night winds bring notes,
From the wild whip-poor-will.
She took up her harp, embossed with rare jewels;
The numberless strings all glittered like gold;
Then a bright glittering ra in-bow decended from heaven,
Surounded the damsel, illuming the whole.
'Cross moorland through fallows,
To the far distant hill;
Where the century eagle 'mong the cliffs find her hiding,
And the night winds bring notes,
From the wild whip-poor-will.
She took up her harp, embossed with rare jewels;
The numberless strings all glittered like gold;
Then a bright glittering ra in-bow decended from heaven,
Surounded the damsel, illuming the whole.
11
Her jewel decked fingers were active and nimble
A bracelet of rubies hung loose from her wrist,
Her dark curly locks had gold in their tresses;
Her face was so comely, there was nothing amiss.
She scarce touched the strings,
Ere the great harp responded;
The music was soft yet it echoed afar:
And the sweet chimes came back from wood-land and mountain,
And through the great hall-way, whose door stood ajar.
A bracelet of rubies hung loose from her wrist,
Her dark curly locks had gold in their tresses;
Her face was so comely, there was nothing amiss.
She scarce touched the strings,
Ere the great harp responded;
The music was soft yet it echoed afar:
And the sweet chimes came back from wood-land and mountain,
And through the great hall-way, whose door stood ajar.
I entered the hall-way and gazed at the paintings,
Both modern and ancient, magnificent, grand;
My eyes caught the beauty,
Mine ears drank the music;
That came from her harp, and re-echoed the land.
And last, but not least, to the rear of the hall-way,
There hung a great painting of wonderful cost;
And the muse on her harp played a dirge sweet and solemn,
As I gazed at my crucified Lord on the cross.
Both modern and ancient, magnificent, grand;
My eyes caught the beauty,
Mine ears drank the music;
That came from her harp, and re-echoed the land.
And last, but not least, to the rear of the hall-way,
There hung a great painting of wonderful cost;
And the muse on her harp played a dirge sweet and solemn,
As I gazed at my crucified Lord on the cross.
12
His visage though care worn,
Showed love and compassion;
Great nails pierced His hands,
And like wise, His feet:
Me thought I could hear the wail of the women
Decending the vale of Mt. Calvary's Steep.
Then the muse touched the strings,
And a great song of triumph,
Rang out in the hall-way,
Ere I thought to depart,
While mine eyes caught the sight of a wonderful painting;
That brought great rapture and joy to my heart.
Showed love and compassion;
Great nails pierced His hands,
And like wise, His feet:
Me thought I could hear the wail of the women
Decending the vale of Mt. Calvary's Steep.
Then the muse touched the strings,
And a great song of triumph,
Rang out in the hall-way,
Ere I thought to depart,
While mine eyes caught the sight of a wonderful painting;
That brought great rapture and joy to my heart.
'Twas where He had entered,
The great gates of Heaven,
And countless the angels about Him did throng;
Here the muse ceased her playing,
For she feared to attempt it,
And she blushed when I asked her,
To join in the song.
As I left the great hall-way,
The door closed behind me;
The muse she had vanished,
The music had ceased;
I awoke 'twas a dream—the rain was fast falling,
And the wind shook my lattice,
That came from the east.
The great gates of Heaven,
And countless the angels about Him did throng;
Here the muse ceased her playing,
For she feared to attempt it,
And she blushed when I asked her,
To join in the song.
As I left the great hall-way,
The door closed behind me;
The muse she had vanished,
The music had ceased;
I awoke 'twas a dream—the rain was fast falling,
And the wind shook my lattice,
That came from the east.
27
A BARN-YARD CONFUSION.
Marandy, you an' all de chaps,
Come here! you heard me call:
Dis good fah nothin' lazy nag,
Lay cross-ways in de stall.
Come here! you heard me call:
Dis good fah nothin' lazy nag,
Lay cross-ways in de stall.
A great big pile of skin an' bones,
Done et my oats an' hay;
An' now right here at plowin' time,
He 's gwine to pass away.
Done et my oats an' hay;
An' now right here at plowin' time,
He 's gwine to pass away.
Miss Lucy, what's you geeglin' bout?
You aint too big to whale:
Come hear and grab old Balley's head!
You Mose, come grab his tail!
You aint too big to whale:
Come hear and grab old Balley's head!
You Mose, come grab his tail!
Look out dah mammy, watch dem heels!
We's gwine to turn him 'round;
Now ev'ry body lend a han',
Let's git him off de ground.
We's gwine to turn him 'round;
Now ev'ry body lend a han',
Let's git him off de ground.
28
Git up! Git up! you scoundrel beast!
Push ha'd now, one an' all;
Ah, we kaint hold him! git away,
An' let the roskul fall.
Push ha'd now, one an' all;
Ah, we kaint hold him! git away,
An' let the roskul fall.
I have a mind to git my ax,
An' bust his plagued head:
A good fau nothin' plug like dis,
Is better off when dead.
An' bust his plagued head:
A good fau nothin' plug like dis,
Is better off when dead.
Now Mose, you go an' git a plank,
I'm gwine to make a prop;
So when we git him on his feet,
He kaint in no wise drop.
I'm gwine to make a prop;
So when we git him on his feet,
He kaint in no wise drop.
Git ready now! an' let us try,
To git him on his feet;
Git up! Come up saw! move about!
You aint too sick to eat.
To git him on his feet;
Git up! Come up saw! move about!
You aint too sick to eat.
29
Be careful when he makes dat lunge,
An' ketch him 'fo' he fall!
I'll put dis plank against his side,
And bind him to the stall.
An' ketch him 'fo' he fall!
I'll put dis plank against his side,
And bind him to the stall.
Git up now Baldey! Come up sah!
Gib me dat buggy spoke!
I brung him to his feet dat time;
Look out! dat plank 's done broke.
Gib me dat buggy spoke!
I brung him to his feet dat time;
Look out! dat plank 's done broke.
Lay down an' die you scoundrel beast,
Kaint eat my oats an' hay;
An' think dat you kin take a res',
By playin' off dis way.
Kaint eat my oats an' hay;
An' think dat you kin take a res',
By playin' off dis way.
Nex' time I'll buy a better horse,
One dat is sound an' 'live;
I'm tired of dese two dollah plugs,
Gwine pay 'bout fo' or five.
One dat is sound an' 'live;
I'm tired of dese two dollah plugs,
Gwine pay 'bout fo' or five.
33
TALE OF THE HAUNTED DELL.
If by chance you should walk down the old dreary lane,
And follow its windings around;
You will come to a spot, that will ne'er be forgot;
Traditions relate it, believe it or not!
Where night shades bring sights and queer sounds.
And follow its windings around;
You will come to a spot, that will ne'er be forgot;
Traditions relate it, believe it or not!
Where night shades bring sights and queer sounds.
Far down in a valley 'twix two wooded hills,
No wood-man a tree has here fell;
'Tis said when an ax, on a tree cometh down,
Hobgoblins and gnomes spring up through the ground;
With firey eyes and hideous frown,
Defyantly loud do they yell.
No wood-man a tree has here fell;
'Tis said when an ax, on a tree cometh down,
Hobgoblins and gnomes spring up through the ground;
With firey eyes and hideous frown,
Defyantly loud do they yell.
When ever a hunter set foot in that vale,
With trusty rifle in hand;
He returns with a tale, surpassingly strange,
He talks like a man, that's almost deranged;
His walks and habits all are changed;
And he turns to a curious man.
With trusty rifle in hand;
He returns with a tale, surpassingly strange,
He talks like a man, that's almost deranged;
His walks and habits all are changed;
And he turns to a curious man.
34
And many a fisherman ofttimes return,
From that vale where the brooklets flow;
With a quaint and curious, hideous smile,
Their steps were nimble, their eyes looked wild,
Their knowledge turned back to that of a child;
They had long years ago.
From that vale where the brooklets flow;
With a quaint and curious, hideous smile,
Their steps were nimble, their eyes looked wild,
Their knowledge turned back to that of a child;
They had long years ago.
'Tis said and old poet once heard of that spot,
And went, both by day and by night;
Down the old dreary lane,
With a staff for a cane,
His wits were keen and his mind was sane,
In search for a subject to write.
And went, both by day and by night;
Down the old dreary lane,
With a staff for a cane,
His wits were keen and his mind was sane,
In search for a subject to write.
But when he returned he brought a strange tale,
He told it in a strange rhyme;
The folks could not tell,
Though the rhythm sound well;
About the strange sights he saw down the dell,
What he meant, one half of the time.
He told it in a strange rhyme;
The folks could not tell,
Though the rhythm sound well;
About the strange sights he saw down the dell,
What he meant, one half of the time.
This troubled the poet, he went back again,
And roved through the dell as before;
But that night came a storm of thunder and rain,
The people did worry, they looked in vain
But the poet was seen no more.
And roved through the dell as before;
But that night came a storm of thunder and rain,
The people did worry, they looked in vain
But the poet was seen no more.
35
They say that night about the lone cot,
Where the poet had dwelt so long;
Strange faces and sights the people did see,
They sang a strange sweet melody,
The poet's selfsame song.
Where the poet had dwelt so long;
Strange faces and sights the people did see,
They sang a strange sweet melody,
The poet's selfsame song.
One night a stranger entered the town,
A curious looking old man;
His robes were of a crimson hue,
His dusty feet without a shoe;
His garment skirts were wet with dew,
His face was dark and tanned.
A curious looking old man;
His robes were of a crimson hue,
His dusty feet without a shoe;
His garment skirts were wet with dew,
His face was dark and tanned.
Around him thronged a curious croud,
And asked from whence he came;
The pilgrim raised his palsied hand,
It spread a light on ev'ry man,
His voice like thunder shook the land,
And quivered all the flame.
And asked from whence he came;
The pilgrim raised his palsied hand,
It spread a light on ev'ry man,
His voice like thunder shook the land,
And quivered all the flame.
THE PILGRIM'S REPLY.
I came from yonder haunted dell,
The aged pilgrim said;
Into a lonely cave I dwell
Among dry bones of men,
Once stricken by a dreadful spell,
While coming down the glen.
The aged pilgrim said;
Into a lonely cave I dwell
Among dry bones of men,
Once stricken by a dreadful spell,
While coming down the glen.
36
But there is one who lately fell
A victim in yon glen;
You've missed his foot-steps and his song,
Your hearts are sad, you've mourned him long;
He was your guide and friend.
A victim in yon glen;
You've missed his foot-steps and his song,
Your hearts are sad, you've mourned him long;
He was your guide and friend.
His spirit hovers o'er his bones,
And will not let me rest.
When e'er I wander from the cave,
I hear him calling from the grave;
Then pushing 'side his long gray beard,
A scroll took from his breast.
And will not let me rest.
When e'er I wander from the cave,
I hear him calling from the grave;
Then pushing 'side his long gray beard,
A scroll took from his breast.
And so I'll sing his last farewell,
His spirit quest me long;
And when the pilgrim oped the scroll,
'Twas written on twelve sheets of gold,
But no one caught the song.
His spirit quest me long;
And when the pilgrim oped the scroll,
'Twas written on twelve sheets of gold,
But no one caught the song.
A swell of music from afar,
Chorded with ev'ry line;
Grand was the song the pilgrim sung,
'Twas for the old, 'twas for the young,
And beings of all kind.
Chorded with ev'ry line;
Grand was the song the pilgrim sung,
'Twas for the old, 'twas for the young,
And beings of all kind.
37
The birds of the wilderness circled in air,
And lit by the old pilgrim's side;
The wolf and the panther, came out from their lair,
They listened in silence: long, long, did they stare;
For no more in fear did they hide.
And lit by the old pilgrim's side;
The wolf and the panther, came out from their lair,
They listened in silence: long, long, did they stare;
For no more in fear did they hide.
The ermine and fox came out from the rocks,
For well they the song understood;
And the old haunted dell, was charmed by the spell;
Hobgoblins and gnomes awoke with a yell,
And wild witches cried in the woods.
For well they the song understood;
And the old haunted dell, was charmed by the spell;
Hobgoblins and gnomes awoke with a yell,
And wild witches cried in the woods.
The old mountain oaks, did nod on the breeze,
And kept a time with the song;
And dead men 'rose from the roots of the trees,
Who centuries past by the spell were seized,
And elbowed their way through the throng.
And kept a time with the song;
And dead men 'rose from the roots of the trees,
Who centuries past by the spell were seized,
And elbowed their way through the throng.
And when he sang of the haunted dell,
There were parts they could understand
Said—“There a wood-land witch did dwell;
On ev'ry one she cast a spell,
That wandered through the haunted dell,
Or wronged her forest land.”
There were parts they could understand
Said—“There a wood-land witch did dwell;
On ev'ry one she cast a spell,
That wandered through the haunted dell,
Or wronged her forest land.”
38
At length the old pilgrim finished his song,
Then handing the golden scrole,
To a strange looking man, who came from the dark;
He moaned like a dove and sang like a lark;
Together they fled from the throng.
Then handing the golden scrole,
To a strange looking man, who came from the dark;
He moaned like a dove and sang like a lark;
Together they fled from the throng.
So ends up my tale of the old haunted dell,
Where witches and hobgoblins stay;
It is still told around, that the vale can be found;
If you follow the lane, with its windings around,
Its some where far, far, away.
Where witches and hobgoblins stay;
It is still told around, that the vale can be found;
If you follow the lane, with its windings around,
Its some where far, far, away.
52
BOYHOOD DAYS.
Those good old days of boyhood!
They've gone to come no more;
When we sat around, as the sun went down,
'Bout Hen' Clay's grocery store;
And talking o'er the latest news about the country folks,
Or tried to tell the biggest yarn, or crack the biggest joke.
They've gone to come no more;
When we sat around, as the sun went down,
'Bout Hen' Clay's grocery store;
And talking o'er the latest news about the country folks,
Or tried to tell the biggest yarn, or crack the biggest joke.
Those good old days of boyhood!
How sweet to me they seem;
I oft look back on my boyhood's track,
In a melancholy dream
And view the distant landscape of wooded hills around.
And catch again the merry strain,
Of the wild wood's cheerful sound.
How sweet to me they seem;
I oft look back on my boyhood's track,
In a melancholy dream
And view the distant landscape of wooded hills around.
And catch again the merry strain,
Of the wild wood's cheerful sound.
Those good old days of boyhood!
I recollect so well,
Still in mine ear, can plainly hear,
The chimes of the old school bell;
I see the child like faces,
Worn by my school mates then,
The girls have grown up to women:
And the boys have grown to men.
I recollect so well,
Still in mine ear, can plainly hear,
The chimes of the old school bell;
I see the child like faces,
Worn by my school mates then,
The girls have grown up to women:
And the boys have grown to men.
53
Those good old days of boyhood!
Are sweet to look upon;
When laughing, boys with childish joys,
We swam in Schenck's Old Pond:
And oft mong Cosbey's Pasture Hills,
In streamlets searched the frog,
Or chased the squirrel up a tree, a rabbit in a log.
Are sweet to look upon;
When laughing, boys with childish joys,
We swam in Schenck's Old Pond:
And oft mong Cosbey's Pasture Hills,
In streamlets searched the frog,
Or chased the squirrel up a tree, a rabbit in a log.
Those good old days of boyhood!
I long for them again;
To scamper and play in the mows of hay,
And list to the falling rain:
And read about “Jack and his Bean Stalk,”
Or “Alice in Great Wonder Land:”
And wish to be a wee fairy, or a great big giant man.
I long for them again;
To scamper and play in the mows of hay,
And list to the falling rain:
And read about “Jack and his Bean Stalk,”
Or “Alice in Great Wonder Land:”
And wish to be a wee fairy, or a great big giant man.
Those good old days of boyhood!
Alas! they've drifted by;
Our old play ground is changed around,
I breathe a parting sigh:
For here the country people, have caught the city air,
And changed these spots to village lots;
Excepting here and there.
Alas! they've drifted by;
Our old play ground is changed around,
I breathe a parting sigh:
For here the country people, have caught the city air,
And changed these spots to village lots;
Excepting here and there.
54
Those good old days of boyhood!
I will no more repeat;
My heart was glad but its growing sad,
As those bygone scenes I meet:
Since my barque has drifted mong strangers,
Few, few are the lads that I know,
I find not the joys, I had mong the boys,
In the days long, long ago.
I will no more repeat;
My heart was glad but its growing sad,
As those bygone scenes I meet:
Since my barque has drifted mong strangers,
Few, few are the lads that I know,
I find not the joys, I had mong the boys,
In the days long, long ago.
67
REASON WHY I'S HAPPY.
Say good people don't you know,
I's gwine 'o marry? coase its so!
I's gwine 'o marry Miss Malindy Ann:
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's a lucky man.
I's gwine 'o marry? coase its so!
I's gwine 'o marry Miss Malindy Ann:
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's a lucky man.
Week ago las' Thursday night,
When the stars were shinin' bright;
She and I walked han' in han',
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's a lucky man.
When the stars were shinin' bright;
She and I walked han' in han',
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's a lucky man.
Had my arm aroun' her waist,
An' she looked up in my face:
Talkin' 'bout our future plan:
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's a happy man.
An' she looked up in my face:
Talkin' 'bout our future plan:
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's a happy man.
That gal's sho'ly sweet on me;
Jes' as sweet as sweet can be;
She is my Malindy Ann:
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's a lucky man.
Jes' as sweet as sweet can be;
She is my Malindy Ann:
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's a lucky man.
68
Other boys been callin' round,
Tryin' to make her turn me down;
But she tells them: “Git away!”
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's got the day.
Tryin' to make her turn me down;
But she tells them: “Git away!”
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's got the day.
So good people kaint you see,
Reason why I's full of glee?
I's gwine 'o marry Malindy Ann:
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's a lucky man.
Reason why I's full of glee?
I's gwine 'o marry Malindy Ann:
Ha! ha! ha-a-a-a! I's a lucky man.
89
AFTER THE HONEYMOON.
Look a heah Marandy! what you say?
Why don't I go to work? an it rainin' this a way?
Exposein' mys'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
Why don't I go to work? an it rainin' this a way?
Exposein' mys'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
What 'o I care ef the grub is out;
You kin jes go hungry, an' put up without!
Runnin' to the groc'ry sto'e every day,
Burnin' up my vit'ls an' a throwin' it away.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
You kin jes go hungry, an' put up without!
Runnin' to the groc'ry sto'e every day,
Burnin' up my vit'ls an' a throwin' it away.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
I did give you money to buy a pair o' shoes,
I did give you money to pay yo' lodge dues,
An' I give you money to pay the house rent,
You didn't buy a thing! an the money's all spent.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col',
I wouldn't go to work, to save yo' soul!
I did give you money to pay yo' lodge dues,
An' I give you money to pay the house rent,
You didn't buy a thing! an the money's all spent.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col',
I wouldn't go to work, to save yo' soul!
90
Want 'o buy another dress?—you got one new
It have n't been more than a week or two,
Oh!—you want one made in a different style;
I'm not gwine 'o buy it, “oh no chile!
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col',
I wouldn't go to work, to save yo' soul!
It have n't been more than a week or two,
Oh!—you want one made in a different style;
I'm not gwine 'o buy it, “oh no chile!
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col',
I wouldn't go to work, to save yo' soul!
Did n't say when I 'as co'ten, you know it aint so!
That I'd work for you in the rain an' snow;
Ef you don't quit a gwine back diggin' up things
I woont strike a tap, till the june-bugs sing!
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
That I'd work for you in the rain an' snow;
Ef you don't quit a gwine back diggin' up things
I woont strike a tap, till the june-bugs sing!
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
You never put a patch on my workin' clo'es,
You don't give a cent how yo' husband goes;
Jes so he's bringin' the dollars in,
Fau you to carry 'round in yo' purse an' spen'.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
You don't give a cent how yo' husband goes;
Jes so he's bringin' the dollars in,
Fau you to carry 'round in yo' purse an' spen'.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
91
Look heah Marandy! don't call me a liar,
I'll slap yo' jaws till they burn like fire;
I'm gitin tired 'o takin' sass off 'o you,
I'll cut me a hick'ry an' I'll whale yo' too.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col',
I wouldn't go to work, to save yo' soul!
I'll slap yo' jaws till they burn like fire;
I'm gitin tired 'o takin' sass off 'o you,
I'll cut me a hick'ry an' I'll whale yo' too.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col',
I wouldn't go to work, to save yo' soul!
Expose myse'f, take sick, lay down an' die,
Yo'd ring yo' han's an' hollow an' cry;
'Twould look a heap better ef you wouldn't shed a tear:
Kaise you'd have another dawkey less time than a year.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
Yo'd ring yo' han's an' hollow an' cry;
'Twould look a heap better ef you wouldn't shed a tear:
Kaise you'd have another dawkey less time than a year.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
I don't want 'o run a great doctor bill,
An' have Willis haulin' me out to Crown Hill;
Ef yo' own dear wife aint bothered 'bout yo',
Look out for yo'se'f! Lo'd knows I do.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
An' have Willis haulin' me out to Crown Hill;
Ef yo' own dear wife aint bothered 'bout yo',
Look out for yo'se'f! Lo'd knows I do.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
92
I'm gitin' tired o' workin' like a mule ev'ry day,
A given you money fau to throw away;
Hear's another thing want 'o tell you Miss,
I'll handle my own money after this!
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col',
I wouldn't go to work, to save yo' soul!
A given you money fau to throw away;
Hear's another thing want 'o tell you Miss,
I'll handle my own money after this!
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col',
I wouldn't go to work, to save yo' soul!
I don't care Marandy what you say:
I aint gwine 'o work in the rain today;
Pack up an' leave me when ever you choose,
An' git another dawkey to buy your shoes.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
I aint gwine 'o work in the rain today;
Pack up an' leave me when ever you choose,
An' git another dawkey to buy your shoes.
Exposein' myse'f in the slush an' col'
I wouldn't go to work to save yo' soul.
95
OUT AMONG UM
Say boys! you ought 'o been with me,
Las' night a week ago;
It wont do you no good to guess,
Because you does n't know.
I 'as out among the “Upper Tens,”
The “Upper Crust,” the “Creams;”
Them Tisdales, an' the Overstreets,
The Hunters an' the Jeems.
Las' night a week ago;
It wont do you no good to guess,
Because you does n't know.
I 'as out among the “Upper Tens,”
The “Upper Crust,” the “Creams;”
Them Tisdales, an' the Overstreets,
The Hunters an' the Jeems.
I had that bran new raglan on,
My patent leather shoes;
That fine broadcloth Prince Albert coat,
I bought down 'mong the Jews.
An' fumigated, like a rose,
You know I'as smellin' sweet:
The white fo'kes turned an' looked around,
As I swagged down the street.
My patent leather shoes;
That fine broadcloth Prince Albert coat,
I bought down 'mong the Jews.
An' fumigated, like a rose,
You know I'as smellin' sweet:
The white fo'kes turned an' looked around,
As I swagged down the street.
Of corse I wore my new silk hat,
That snow-white vest and tie;
An' don't you know, with all that on,
I hardly could get by.
That snow-white vest and tie;
An' don't you know, with all that on,
I hardly could get by.
96
Why don't you know where Bryants live?
I thought you lived in town;
Its way down old Wes' Seventh Street,
A square this side o' Brown.
Well, any-how they gave a ball,
An' it was something swell,
'Twas on their daughter 'Lizabeth,
So lis'en while I tell.
I thought you lived in town;
Its way down old Wes' Seventh Street,
A square this side o' Brown.
Well, any-how they gave a ball,
An' it was something swell,
'Twas on their daughter 'Lizabeth,
So lis'en while I tell.
Great Scotts! There was a hundred gals,
Of almost ev'ry shade;
An' each one dressed her level best,
It Made me sorter 'fraid.
But soon I shook away my fears,
An' let “old nerve” walk in,
Just then Miss 'Liza brought to me,
A host of lady friends.
Of almost ev'ry shade;
An' each one dressed her level best,
It Made me sorter 'fraid.
But soon I shook away my fears,
An' let “old nerve” walk in,
Just then Miss 'Liza brought to me,
A host of lady friends.
Miss Tisdale and Miss Carter,
Miss Buckner and Miss Jones;
Miss Artimiscie Martingale,
And Miss Priscilla Holmes.
Miss Buckner and Miss Jones;
Miss Artimiscie Martingale,
And Miss Priscilla Holmes.
97
Miss Simpson, Effie Lewis,
Miss Thomas, Susan Gray;
Them high-fa-lutin, Crosley gals,
An' Miss Leuvata Clay.
I met Miss Mandy Lewis,
Miss Cora Jackson too;
I met them Dalton sisters,
Rebecca, May an' Sue.
Miss Thomas, Susan Gray;
Them high-fa-lutin, Crosley gals,
An' Miss Leuvata Clay.
I met Miss Mandy Lewis,
Miss Cora Jackson too;
I met them Dalton sisters,
Rebecca, May an' Sue.
Met Elder Coleman's daughter,
That quiet kind o' gal;
I met the Hunter sisters,
Miss Gracie an' Miss Sal.
I met Miss Emma Overstreet,
Miss Lucas, Jane Divine;
Miss 'Liza turned an' said to me,
“These girls are friends of mine.”
That quiet kind o' gal;
I met the Hunter sisters,
Miss Gracie an' Miss Sal.
I met Miss Emma Overstreet,
Miss Lucas, Jane Divine;
Miss 'Liza turned an' said to me,
“These girls are friends of mine.”
I chatted freely with them all,
For they were looking well;
That's why I used them great big words,
Which I could never spell.
For they were looking well;
That's why I used them great big words,
Which I could never spell.
98
An' such another feast they had,
I never saw before;
A table filled with every thing,
And stretched from door to door.
Light-bread an' soda biscuits,
Caned fruits of ev'ry kind;
Mince pies an' chicken-dumplins
An' Elder-berry-wine.
I never saw before;
A table filled with every thing,
And stretched from door to door.
Light-bread an' soda biscuits,
Caned fruits of ev'ry kind;
Mince pies an' chicken-dumplins
An' Elder-berry-wine.
Big yallah sweet potatoes,
Well soaked in 'possum grease;
I wish you could o' witnessed,
The good things at that feast;
Sweet cordial nuts an' candies,
Good butter-milk an' cream,
You ought 'o seen us colored fo'kes,
Around that table teem.
Well soaked in 'possum grease;
I wish you could o' witnessed,
The good things at that feast;
Sweet cordial nuts an' candies,
Good butter-milk an' cream,
You ought 'o seen us colored fo'kes,
Around that table teem.
Elder Dawson asked the blessin'
An' then we all pitched in;
An' what we did to Bryant's grub.
It was a mighty sin.
An' then we all pitched in;
An' what we did to Bryant's grub.
It was a mighty sin.
99
With jokes an' merry laughter,
The house was in a hum;
'Cause ev'ry one invited,
Was more than pleased to come;
Till Jackson Jones through courtesy,
Down from his seat did stoop;
To pick up Mandy's napkin,
An' spilled that bowl of soup.
The house was in a hum;
'Cause ev'ry one invited,
Was more than pleased to come;
Till Jackson Jones through courtesy,
Down from his seat did stoop;
To pick up Mandy's napkin,
An' spilled that bowl of soup.
It landed right on Jackson's head,
An' how that soup did spatter!
Miss Mandy sprang to save her dress,
The girls cried: “What's the matter?”
That oyster soup was flyin.'
On broadcloth an' on silk,
Poor Jackson's plight remind me,
Of a fly in butter-milk.
An' how that soup did spatter!
Miss Mandy sprang to save her dress,
The girls cried: “What's the matter?”
That oyster soup was flyin.'
On broadcloth an' on silk,
Poor Jackson's plight remind me,
Of a fly in butter-milk.
There were oysters down his collar,
An' soup all in his hair;
His party suit was ruined,
I could see it then an' there.
An' soup all in his hair;
His party suit was ruined,
I could see it then an' there.
100
Mrs Bryant an' the waiters,
Tried to make the blunder straight;
I could n't eat another thing,
That laid upon my plate;
I was so choked with laughter,
I could n't look around;
An' lookin' solemn in my plate,
My face put on a frown.
Tried to make the blunder straight;
I could n't eat another thing,
That laid upon my plate;
I was so choked with laughter,
I could n't look around;
An' lookin' solemn in my plate,
My face put on a frown.
Poor Jackson's head was scalded,
An' his eyes was lookin' red;
For you see, that big bowl bu'sted,
When it landed on his head.
Atlas' the big feast ended,
An' the dishes cleared away;
Jim Lewis tuned his fiddle,
An' how that coon did play!
An' his eyes was lookin' red;
For you see, that big bowl bu'sted,
When it landed on his head.
Atlas' the big feast ended,
An' the dishes cleared away;
Jim Lewis tuned his fiddle,
An' how that coon did play!
We danced till almos' mornin'
I took Miss Tisdale home;
She's goin' to give a party,
An' told me I must come.
I took Miss Tisdale home;
She's goin' to give a party,
An' told me I must come.
101
WEEP NOT.
Weep not for childhood's happy years,
Grieve not 'cause time rolls on;
Renew the smile and dry the tears,
And let bygones be gone.
Life's but a day, Though come what may,
Joy is the birth of sorrow,
And oft sad hearts from grief departs,
When dawns the final morrow.
Grieve not 'cause time rolls on;
Renew the smile and dry the tears,
And let bygones be gone.
Life's but a day, Though come what may,
Joy is the birth of sorrow,
And oft sad hearts from grief departs,
When dawns the final morrow.
Weep not for childhood's happy years,
Let future come what may!
If life be long, earth's passing throng,
Will find us bent and gray.
Life's but a day: Though come what may,
Joy is the birth of sorrow,
And oft sad hearts from grief departs,
When dawns the final morrow.
Let future come what may!
If life be long, earth's passing throng,
Will find us bent and gray.
Life's but a day: Though come what may,
Joy is the birth of sorrow,
And oft sad hearts from grief departs,
When dawns the final morrow.
Weep not for childhood's happy years,
What is to be, let come;
For soon or late at Heaven's Great Gate,
Our journey will be done.
Life's but a day: Though come what may,
Joy is the birth of sorrow,
And oft sad hearts from grief departs,
When dawns the final morrow.
What is to be, let come;
For soon or late at Heaven's Great Gate,
Our journey will be done.
Life's but a day: Though come what may,
Joy is the birth of sorrow,
And oft sad hearts from grief departs,
When dawns the final morrow.
102
QUIT YO' GOBBLIN'!
Better quit yo' gobblin', turk'y!
People's got it in for you,
Don't you know its nigh Thanksgivin'?
Better hide I tell yo'—sh-o-o!
Needn't go away a struttin',
I aint bothered: No not me!
I got somethin' for Thanksgivin,'
Ketched him in a 'Simmon tree.
People's got it in for you,
Don't you know its nigh Thanksgivin'?
Better hide I tell yo'—sh-o-o!
Needn't go away a struttin',
I aint bothered: No not me!
I got somethin' for Thanksgivin,'
Ketched him in a 'Simmon tree.
Tuther night I'as tired an' sleepy,
'Roun the cook stove tried to nap;
Took my pipe an' tried to smoke it,
Soon it drapped into my lap.
Then I heard Lucindy callin',
“Sam! Oh, Sam she said to me;
Don't you hear ol' Trail a bawkin'?
He got somethin' up a tree!”
'Roun the cook stove tried to nap;
Took my pipe an' tried to smoke it,
Soon it drapped into my lap.
Then I heard Lucindy callin',
“Sam! Oh, Sam she said to me;
Don't you hear ol' Trail a bawkin'?
He got somethin' up a tree!”
I jumped up, ran to the thicket,
By a tree ol' Trailer sat;
Up among the ripe persimmons,
Was a 'possum big an' fat.
Turk'y meat can't cope with 'possum,
Wan' to know the reason why?
'Possum meat is sweet an juicy,
Turk'y meat is tough an' dry.
By a tree ol' Trailer sat;
Up among the ripe persimmons,
Was a 'possum big an' fat.
Turk'y meat can't cope with 'possum,
Wan' to know the reason why?
'Possum meat is sweet an juicy,
Turk'y meat is tough an' dry.
So you see ol' mister turk'y,
I aint bothered an' that's true;
Better hide among the bushes,
Better git I tell yo'—sh-o-o!
I aint bothered an' that's true;
Better hide among the bushes,
Better git I tell yo'—sh-o-o!
103
WHEN JOHNSON'S BAN' COMES 'LONG.
Come out hear boys an' lis'en!
Look a comin' up the street;
Jes' lis'en at them cymbals!
Now aint that music sweet?
Look at those crimson uniforms,
Aint that a lively song?
There's somethin' doin' on the street,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
Look a comin' up the street;
Jes' lis'en at them cymbals!
Now aint that music sweet?
Look at those crimson uniforms,
Aint that a lively song?
There's somethin' doin' on the street,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
That yellow chap is Mosbey Scott,
He plays that Great Big Bass;
That's no mistake; he's somethin' hot,
But my! he makes a face.
Hear Taylor's E-flat Clarinet,
A squealin' on that song?
The young fokes shout an' the ol' turn out,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
He plays that Great Big Bass;
That's no mistake; he's somethin' hot,
But my! he makes a face.
Hear Taylor's E-flat Clarinet,
A squealin' on that song?
The young fokes shout an' the ol' turn out,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
That foremost chap is Douglas Gray,
Say, aint he black an' slick?
He's in the fines' trim today,
Jes' watch him wheel that stick!
He winds it round like lightnin',
An' keeps time with the song;
All kin's o' busness bound to stop,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
Say, aint he black an' slick?
He's in the fines' trim today,
Jes' watch him wheel that stick!
He winds it round like lightnin',
An' keeps time with the song;
All kin's o' busness bound to stop,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
There is Professor Johnson!
That dawk complexted man;
Can play most any music,
He has the only ban'.
His boys are fine musicans,
They put life in a song,
All kind o' people throngs the street,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
That dawk complexted man;
Can play most any music,
He has the only ban'.
104
They put life in a song,
All kind o' people throngs the street,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
That little brown-skin fellow,
His name is Bert Divine;
He's walkin' nex' to Johnson,
He plays that cornet fine:
An' Harry Lee, from Tennessee,
Is doin' nothin' wrong;
Those German bans “are on the bum;”
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
His name is Bert Divine;
He's walkin' nex' to Johnson,
He plays that cornet fine:
An' Harry Lee, from Tennessee,
Is doin' nothin' wrong;
Those German bans “are on the bum;”
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
That boy is ol' man Lewis' son,
Who plays the piccolo,
An' that is preacher Jackson's boy,
Who blows the first alto;
That big-eyed-coon, with the slide trombone,
His name is Jerry Strong,
You hear the lates' pop'lar songs,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
Who plays the piccolo,
An' that is preacher Jackson's boy,
Who blows the first alto;
That big-eyed-coon, with the slide trombone,
His name is Jerry Strong,
You hear the lates' pop'lar songs,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
Our girls are sweet on Johnson,
They say he look so gran;'
An' they are right: Bud Johnson is,
A handsome colored man.
The ban' is gettin' ready to play another song,
'Tis fun to watch the colored fo'ks,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
They say he look so gran;'
An' they are right: Bud Johnson is,
A handsome colored man.
The ban' is gettin' ready to play another song,
'Tis fun to watch the colored fo'ks,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
105
Look at aunt Susan Thomas,
With years so far adavnce,
Her hair is white as cotton;
I be'lieve she's tryin' to dance.
Old sister Pane forgot her cane,
So has old uncle John,
You see all kind o' funny sights,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
With years so far adavnce,
Her hair is white as cotton;
I be'lieve she's tryin' to dance.
Old sister Pane forgot her cane,
So has old uncle John,
You see all kind o' funny sights,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
Whose mule is that? he's runin' off!
It looks like Charley Van's;
He tied him to the water-trough,
An' followed Johnson's ban',
That old mule he got frisky,
When the ban' came thunderin' by,
He upset old Charlie's wagon,
An' made the ashes fly.
It looks like Charley Van's;
He tied him to the water-trough,
An' followed Johnson's ban',
That old mule he got frisky,
When the ban' came thunderin' by,
He upset old Charlie's wagon,
An' made the ashes fly.
That makes no change with Johnson,
He lets the music fly;
You hear cake-walks an' ragtimes,
When e're his ban' goes by;
There is no ban' a goin',
Can beat them on such songs;
We leave behind our troubled mind,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
He lets the music fly;
You hear cake-walks an' ragtimes,
When e're his ban' goes by;
There is no ban' a goin',
Can beat them on such songs;
We leave behind our troubled mind,
When Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
106
You know that tune they 're playin' now?
Its “Way down Dixie Lan';”
That baritone an' tenor horn,
Is surely raisin' san'.”
The ban' has got away too far,
To catch distinct the song;
It wakes the easy side o' life,
When Johnson's ban' comes long.
Its “Way down Dixie Lan';”
That baritone an' tenor horn,
Is surely raisin' san'.”
The ban' has got away too far,
To catch distinct the song;
It wakes the easy side o' life,
When Johnson's ban' comes long.
It tickles me to realize
My people's music skill;
All people bound to 'knowledge,
Though some it might nigh kill;
An' when they boast of some great ban',
A playin' jolly songs,
I tell them hold their tongue an' wait,
Till Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
My people's music skill;
All people bound to 'knowledge,
Though some it might nigh kill;
An' when they boast of some great ban',
A playin' jolly songs,
I tell them hold their tongue an' wait,
Till Johnson's ban' comes 'long.
107
MEUM ET TUUM.
Ye living mortal, Death's your fate,Upon Lifes' Road his Angel waits;
He waits, your future doom to tell,
Perhaps a Heaven, perhaps a hell;
And should you pass him by this day,
You almost know what he will say.
| Harvest of Thoughts | |