Part 2 (2/2)

THE IRON HORSE.

No song is mine of Arab steed-- My courser is of n.o.bler blood, And cleaner limb and fleeter speed, And greater strength and hardihood Than ever cantered wild and free Across the plains of Araby.

Go search the level desert-land From Sana on to Samarcand-- Wherever Persian prince has been Or Dervish, Sheik or Bedouin, And I defy you there to point Me out a steed the half so fine-- From tip of ear to pastern-joint-- As this old iron horse of mine.

You do not know what beauty is-- You do not know what gentleness His answer is to my caress!-- Why, look upon this gait of his,-- A touch upon his iron rein-- He moves with such a stately grace The sunlight on his burnished mane Is barely shaken in its place; And at touch he changes pace, And, gliding backward, stops again.

And talk of mettle--Ah! my friend, Such pa.s.sion smoulders in his breast That when awakened it will send A thrill of rapture wilder than Ere palpitated heart of man When flaming at its mightiest.

And there's a fierceness in his ire-- A maddened majesty that leaps Along his veins in blood of fire, Until the path his vision sweeps Spins out behind him like a thread Unraveled from the reel of time, As, wheeling on his course sublime, The earth revolves beneath his tread.

Then stretch away, my gallant steed!

Thy mission is a n.o.ble one: You bear the father to the son, And sweet relief to bitter need; You bear the stranger to his friends; You bear the pilgrim to the shrine, And back again the prayer he sends That G.o.d will prosper me and mine,-- The star that on thy forehead gleams Has blossomed in our brightest dreams.

Then speed thee on thy glorious race!

The mother waits thy ringing pace; The father leans an anxious ear The thunder of thy hoofs to hear; The lover listens, far away, To catch thy keen exultant neigh; And, where thy breathings roll and rise, The husband strains his eager eyes, And laugh of wife and baby-glee Ring out to greet and welcome thee.

Then stretch away! and when at last The master's hand shall gently check Thy mighty speed, and hold thee fast, The world will pat thee on the neck.

HIS MOTHER'S WAY

Tomps 'ud allus haf to say Somepin' 'bout ”his mother's way.”-- _He_ lived hard-like--never jined Any church of any kind.-- ”It was Mother's way,” says he, ”To be good enough fer _me_ And her too,--and certinly Lord has heerd _her_ pray!”

Propped up on his dyin' bed,-- ”Sh.o.r.e as Heaven's overhead, I'm a-goin' there,” he said--- ”It was Mother's way.”

j.a.p MILLER.

j.a.p Miller down at Martinsville's the blamedest feller yit!

When _he_ starts in a-talkin' other folks is apt to quit!-- 'Pears like that mouth o' his'n wuz n't made fer nuthin' else But jes' to argify 'em down and gether in their pelts: He'll talk you down on tariff; er he'll talk you down on tax, And prove the pore man pays 'em all--and them's about the fac's!-- Religen, law, er politics, prize-fightin', er base-ball-- Jes' tetch j.a.p up a little and he'll post you 'bout 'em all.

And the comicalist feller ever tilted back a cheer And tuck a chaw tobacker kind o' like he did n't keer.-- There's where the feller's strength lays,--he's so common-like and plain,-- They haint no dude about old j.a.p, you bet you--nary grain!

They 'lected him to Council and it never turned his head, And did n't make no differunce what anybody said,-- He didn't dress no finer, ner rag out in fancy clothes; But his voice in Council-meetin's is a turrer to his foes.

He's fer the pore man ever' time! And in the last campaign He stumped old Morgan County, through the suns.h.i.+ne and the rain, And helt the banner up'ards from a-trailin' in the dust, And cut loose on monopolies and cuss'd and cuss'd and cuss'd!

He'd tell some funny story ever' now and then, you know, Tel, blame it! it wuz better 'n a jack-o'-lantern show!

And I'd go furder, yit, to-day, to hear old j.a.p norate Than any high-toned orator 'at ever stumped the State!

W'y, that-air blame j.a.p Miller, with his keen sircastic fun, Has got more friends than ary candidate 'at ever run!

Do n't matter what _his_ views is, when he states the same to you, They allus coincide with your'n, the same as two and two: You _can't_ take issue with him--er, at least, they haint no sense In startin' in to down him, so you better not commence.-- The best way's jes' to listen, like your humble servant does, And jes' concede j.a.p Miller is the best man ever wuz!

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