Volume I Part 61 (2/2)
Murdered by poison!--no one knows for what!-- Was ever dog born capable of that?”
”Child,”--I began to say, but checked my thought,-- ”A better dog can easily be bought.”
For no--what animal could him replace?
Those loving eyes! That fond, confiding face!
Those dear, dumb touches! Therefore I was dumb.
From word of mine could any comfort come?
A bitter sorrow 'tis to lose a brute Friend, dog or horse, for grief must then be mute,-- So many smile to see the rivers shed Of tears for one poor, speechless creature dead.
When parents die there's many a word to say-- Kind words, consoling_--one can always pray; When children die 'tis natural to tell Their mother, ”Certainly, with them 'tis well!”
But for a dog, 'twas all the life he had, Since death is end of dogs, or good or bad.
This was his world; he was contented here; Imagined nothing better, naught more dear, Than his young mistress; sought no brighter sphere; Having no sin, asked not to be forgiven; Ne'er guessed at G.o.d nor ever dreamed of heaven.
Now he has pa.s.sed away, so much of love Goes from our life, without one hope above!
When a dog dies there's nothing to be said But--kiss me, darling!--dear old Smiler's dead.
Thomas William Parsons [1819-1892]
THE CHILD'S HERITAGE
On, there are those, a sordid clan, With pride in gaud and faith in gold, Who prize the sacred soul of man For what his hands have sold.
And these shall deem thee humbly bred: They shall not hear, they shall not see The kings among the lordly dead Who walk and talk with thee!
A tattered cloak may be thy dole, And thine the roof that Jesus had: The broidered garment of the soul Shall keep thee purple-clad!
The blood of men hath dyed its brede, And it was wrought by holy seers With sombre dream and golden deed, And pearled with women's tears.
With Eld thy chain of days is one: The seas are still Homeric seas; Thy skies shall glow with Pindar's sun, The stars of Socrates!
Unaged the ancient tide shall surge, The old Spring burn along the bough: For thee, new and old converge In one eternal Now!
I give thy feet the hopeful sod, Thy mouth, the priceless boon of breath; The glory of the search for G.o.d Be thine in life and death!
Unto thy flesh, the soothing dust; Thy soul, the gift of being free: The torch my fathers gave in trust, Thy father gives to thee!
John G. Neihardt [1881-
A GIRL OF POMPEII
A public haunt they found her in: She lay asleep, a lovely child; The only thing left undefiled Where all things else bore taint of sin.
Her supple outlines fixed in clay The universal law suspend, And turn Time's chariot back, and blend A thousand years with yesterday.
A sinless touch, austere yet warm, Around her girlish figure pressed, Caught the sweet imprint of her breast, And held her, surely clasped, from harm.
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