He shtuffs mine pipe mit Limburg scheese, Dot vas der roughest chouse, I'd dake dot from no oder poy He dakes mine milk-ban for a drum To make de schticks to peat it mit; I dinks mine heat vas schplit abart, He ashks me questions sooch as dese: Und "Vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp?" How gan I all dose dings eggsblain I somedimes dink I schall go vildt Und vish vunce more I good haf rest But ven he vas ashleep in ped, So quiet as a mouse, I prays der Lord, "Dake anydinks, But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." Charles Follen Adams, in "Leedle Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems. By permission of the author. RESIGNATION There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, The air is full of farewells to the dying, The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Let us be patient! These severe afflictions But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; Amid these earthly damps, What seem to us but sad funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead-the child of our affection But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's políution, Day after day we think what she is doing Year after year, her tender steps pursuing. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken. May reach her where she lives. Not as a child shall we again behold her In our embraces we again enfold her, But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, And beautiful with all the soul's expansion And though at times impetuous with emotion And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay: By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way. Henry W. Longfellow. NEVER SAY FAIL! Keep pushing-'tis wiser And waiting the tide. With an eye ever open, A tongue that's not dumb, And a heart that will never To sorrow succumbYou'll battle and conquer, Though thousands assail: How strong and how mighty Who never say fail! The spirit of angels Ahead, then, keep pushing, In the might of their wisdom In life's early morning, In manhood's firm pride, We'll onward and conquer, FORTY YEARS AGO I've wandered to the village, Tom, But none were there to greet me, Tom, Who played with us upon the green The grass was just as green, Tom, Were sporting, just as we did then, But the master sleeps upon the hill Some forty years ago. |