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- POEMS - 30/52 -


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There's a useful moral Woven with my rhyme, Which may be considered At--some other time: Crockery is not porcelain-- It is merely delf-- And the kind most common Is the man himself.

In Memory of Charles H. Sandford.

He died, as he had lived, beloved, Without an enemy on earth; In word and deed he breathed and moved The soul of honor and of worth: His hand was open as the day, His bearing high, his nature brave; And, when from life he passed away, Our hearts went with him to the grave.

What desolation filled our home When death from us our treasure bore!-- Oh! for the better world to come Where we shall meet to part no more! The hope of THAT sustains us now, In THAT we trust on bended knee, While thus around his faded brow We twine the wreath of memory.

Seventy-Six.

Before the Battle.

The clarion call of liberty Rings on the startled gales! The rising hills reverberate The rising of the vales! Through all the land the thrilling shout Swift as an arrow goes! Columbia's champions arm and out To battle with her foes!

After the Battle

The bugle-song of victory Is vocal in the air! The strains, by warrior-voices breathed, Are echoed by the fair! The eagle, with the wreath, blood-bought, Soars proudly to the sun, Proclaiming the "good fight is fought, And the great victory won!"

A Parody.

On old Long Island's sea-girt shore We caught a cod the other day; He never had been there before, And wished that he had stayed away. We laid him on the beach to dry, Then served him frizzled on a dish, A warning to the smaller fry, As well as all the larger fish. O--o--o--o--o! On old Long Island's sea-girt shore We caught a cod the other day; He never had been there before, And wished that he had stayed away.

Oh, 'twas a scaly thing to haul This tom-cod from his native spray, And thus to frighten, one and all, The finny tribe from Rockaway! They shun the fisher's hook and line, And never venture near his net, So, when at Rockaway you dine, Now not a thing but clams you get! O--o--o--o--o! On old Long Island's sea-girt shore We caught a cod the other day; He never had been there before, And wished that he had stayed away!

Should critics at my ballad carp, To them this simple truth I'll say, The grammar's quite as good as Sharp Wrote on the beach of Rockaway: The tune's the same that Russell cribbed With the addition of his O, Which makes it, or the singer fibbed, Original and all the go-- O--o--o--o--o! On old Long Island's sea-girt shore We caught a cod the other day; He never had been there before, And wished that he had stayed away!

The Stag-Hunt.

The morning is breaking-- The stag is away! The hounds and the hunters The signal obey! The horn bids the echoes Awake as we go, And nature is jocund With hark!--tally-ho! Hark away! Tally-ho!

Hark forward!--Tantivy!-- The woodland resounds With shouts of the sportsmen To cheer on the hounds! The horse and his rider, The deer and his foe, Dash by to the music Of hark!--tally-ho! (He's at bay!) Tally-ho!

Deliver Us From Evil.

Deliver us from evil, Heavenly Father! It still besets us wheresoe'er we go! Bid the bright rays of revelation gather To light the darkness in our way of wo! Remove the sin that stains our souls--for ever! Out doubts dispel--our confidence restore! Write thy forgiveness on our hearts, and never Let us in vain petition for it more.

Release us from the sorrows that attend us! Our nerves are torn--at every vein we bleed! Almighty Parent! with thy strength befriend us! Else we are helpless in our time of need! Sustain us, Lord, with thy pure Holy Spirit-- New vigor give to Nature's faltering frame; And, at life's close, permit us to inherit The hope that's promised in the Saviour's name.

Union.

This word beyond all others, Makes us love our country most, Makes us feel that we are brothers, And a heart-united host!-- With hosanna let our banner From the house-tops be unfurled, While the nation holds her station With the mightiest of the world! Take your harps from silent willows, Shout the chorus of the free;


POEMS - 30/52

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