Part 22 (1/2)

Not only because of the kindness of G.o.d to this nation in the past should such a reverential insertion be made, but because of the fact that we are going to want Divine interposition still further in our national history.

This gold and silver question will never be settled until G.o.d settles it.

This question of tariff and free trade will never be settled until G.o.d settles it. This question between the East and the West, which is getting hotter and hotter, and looks toward a Republic of the Pacific, will not be settled until G.o.d settles it. We needed G.o.d in the one hundred and twenty years of our past national life, and we will need Him still more in the next one hundred and twenty years. Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates of our glorious Const.i.tution, and let the King of Glory come in! Make one line of that immortal doc.u.ment radiant with Omnipotence! Spell at least one word with Thrones! At the beginning, or at the close, or in the centre, recognize Him from whom as a nation we have received all the blessing of the past and upon whom we are dependent for the future. Print that one word ”G.o.d,” or ”Lord,” or ”Eternal Father,” or ”Ruler of Nations,”

somewhere between the first word and the last. The Great Expounder of the Const.i.tution sleeps at Marshfield, Ma.s.sachusetts, the Atlantic Ocean still humming near his pillow of dust its prolonged lullaby; but is there not some one now living, who, in the white marble palace of the nation on yonder hill, not ten minutes away, will become the Irradiator of the Const.i.tution by causing to be added the most tremendous word of our English vocabulary, the name of that Being before whom all nations must bow or go into defeat and annihilation,--”G.o.d?”

THE ENCHANTED s.h.i.+RT.

BY JOHN HAY.

The king was sick. His cheek was red, And his eye was clear and bright; He ate and drank with a kingly zest, And peacefully snored at night.

But he said he was sick--and a king should know; And doctors came by the score; They did not cure him. He cut off their heads, And sent to the schools for more.

At last two famous doctors came, And one was poor as a rat; He had pa.s.sed his life in studious toil And never found time to grow fat.

The other had never looked in a book; His patients gave him no trouble; If they recovered, they paid him well, If they died, their heirs paid double.

Together they looked at the royal tongue, As the king on his couch reclined; In succession they thumped his august chest, But no trace of disease could find.

The old sage said, ”You're as sound as a nut.”

”Hang him up!” roared the king, in a gale, In a ten-knot gale of royal range; The other grew a shadow pale;

But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose, And thus his prescription ran: ”The king will be well if he sleeps one night In the s.h.i.+rt of a happy man.”

Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode, And fast their horses ran, And many they saw, and to many they spake, But they found no happy man.

They found poor men who would fain be rich, And rich who thought they were poor; And men who twisted their waists in stays, And women that short hose wore.

They saw two men by the roadside sit, And both bemoaned their lot; For one had buried his wife he said, And the other one had not.

At last they came to a village gate; A beggar lay whistling there; He whistled and sang and laughed, and rolled On the gra.s.s in the soft June air.

The weary couriers paused and looked At the scamp so blithe and gay, And one of them said, ”Heaven save you, friend, Yon seem to be happy to-day.”

”Oh yes, fair sirs,” the rascal laughed, And his voice rang free and glad; ”An idle man has so much to do That he never has time to be sad.”

”This is our man,” the courier said, ”Our luck has led us aright.

I will give you a hundred ducats, friend, For the loan of your s.h.i.+rt to-night.”

The merry blackguard lay back on the gra.s.s And laughed till his face was black; ”I would do it, G.o.d wot,” and he roared with fun, ”But I haven't a s.h.i.+rt to my back.”

Each day to the king the reports came in Of his unsuccessful spies, And the sad panorama of human woes Pa.s.sed daily under his eyes.

And he grew ashamed of his useless life, And his maladies hatched in gloom; He opened the windows, and let in the air Of the free heaven into his room;