THE DREAM OF THE REVELLER.
Perish "policy" and cunning,
Perish all that fears the light; Whether losing, whether winning, Trust in God and do the right.
Trust no party, church, or faction Trust no "leader" in the fight; But in every word and action Trust in God and do the right.
Trust no forms of guilty passion- Fiends can look like angels bright; Trust no custom, school, or fashion- Trust in God and do the right.
Some will hate thee, some will love thee, Some will flatter, some will slight; Cease from man and look above thee Trust in God and do the right.
Firmest rule, and safest guiding, Inward peace and inward light; Star upon our path abiding— Trust in God and do the right.
THE DREAM OF THE REVELLER.
(By permission of the Author.)
AROUND the board the guests were met, The lights above them beaming,
And in their cups, replenish'd oft,
The ruddy wine was streaming;
Their cheeks were flush'd, their eyes were bright, Their hearts with pleasure bounded,
The song was sung, the toast was given, And loud the revel sounded.
THE DREAM OF THE REVELLER.
I drained a goblet with the rest, And cried, 66 Away with sorrow! Let us be happy for to-day-
What care we for to-morrow!" But as I spoke my sight grew dim, And slumber deep came o'er me, And 'mid the whirl of mingling tongues, This vision passed before me.
Methought I saw a demon rise : He held a mighty bicker,
Whose burnished sides ran brimming o'er With floods of burning liquor. Around him pressed a clamorous crowd, To taste this liquor greedy, But chiefly came the poor and sad, The suffering and the needy.
All those oppressed by care or debt, The dissolute, the lazy,
Blear-eyed old men and reckless youths, And palsied women, crazy;
"Give, give!" they cried, "give, give us drink, To drown all thought of sorrow;
If we are happy for to-day,
What care we for to-morrow!"
The first drop warmed their shivering skins, And drove away their sadness;
The second lit their sunken eyes,
And fill'd their souls with gladness;
The third drop made them shout and roar,
And play each furious antic;
The fourth drop boiled their very blood,
And the fifth drop drove them frantic.
"Drink!" said the demon, "drink your fill! Drink of these waters mellow !
They'll make your eyeballs sear and dull, They'll make your white skins yellow; They'll fill your homes with care and grief, And clothe your backs with tatters; They'll fill your hearts with evil thoughts: But never mind-what matters ?
THE DREAM OF THE REVELLER.
"Though virtue sink, and reason fail, And social ties dissever,
I'll be your friend in hour of need, And find you homes for ever; For I have built three mansions high, Three strong and goodly houses, To lodge at last each jolly soul, Who all his life carouses.
"The first it is a spacious house, To all but sots appalling, Where, by the parish bounty fed, Vile, in the sunshine crawling, The worn-out drunkard ends his days, And eats the dole of others, A plague and burthen to himself, An eyesore to his brothers.
"The second is a lazar-house, Rank, fetid, and unholy; Where, smitten by diseases foul, And hopeless melancholy, The victims of potations deep
Pine on their couch of sadness, Some calling death to end their pain, And some imploring madness.
"The third and last is black and high, The abode of guilt and anguish, And full of dungeons deep and fast, Where death-doomed felons languish. So drain the cup, and drain again! One of my goodly houses
Shall lodge at last each jolly soul Who to the dregs carouses!"
But well he knew-that demon old- How vain was all his preaching : The ragged crew that round him flocked Were heedless of his teaching ; Even as they heard his fearful words, They cried, with shouts of laughter,
"Out on the fool who mars to-day With thoughts of an hereafter !
PORTIA'S SPEECH ON MERCY.
"We care not for thy houses three,
We live but for the present, And merry will we make it yet, And quaff our bumpers pleasant."
Loud laughed the fiend to hear them speak, And, lifting high his bicker,
"Body and soul are mine," he said;
"I'll have them both for liquor."
PORTIA'S SPEECH ON MERCY.
THE quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed- It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The thronéd monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway- It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this— That in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all To render the deeds of mercy.
THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY."
HAVE you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, That was built in such a logical way
It ran a hundred years to a day,
And then of a sudden it-ah, but stay,
I'll tell you what happened, without delay—
"" THE WONDERFUL ONE-HOSS SHAY."
Scaring the parson into fits,
Frightening people out of their wits
Have you heard of that, I say?
Seventeen hundred and fifty-five, Georgius Secundus was then alive- Snuffy old drone from the German hive. That was the year when Lisbon town Saw the earth open and gulp her down; And Braddock's army was done so brown, Left without a scalp to its crown.
It was on that terrible earthquake day That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.
Now, in building of chaises, I tell you what, There is always, somewhere, a weakest spot- In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, In panel or crossbar, or floor, or sill, In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace-lurking still. Find it somewhere you must and will- Above or below, or within or without; And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out.
But the Deacon swore (as deacons do, With an "I dew vum " or an "I tell yeou”)—— He would build one shay to beat the taown
'N' the keounty 'n' the kentry raoun';
It should be built so that it couldn't break daown:
"Fur," said the Deacon, "'tis mighty plain
Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; 'N' they way 't' fix it, uz I maintain,
To make that place uz strong uz the rest.”
So the Deacon inquired of the village folk Where he could find the strongest oak, That couldn't be split, nor bent, nor broke That was for spokes, and floor, and sills; He sent for lancewood, to make the thills; The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees; The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these;
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