Snowflakes Part 8

An' what he taught ol' haughty Spain I guess she'll not forget; Fer the way he licked them Spanyards Wuz a caution, now, you bet!

The people all went wild about His bravery and fame, An' now he's got an "Admiral"

Hitched on afore his name.

But nairy youngster would 'a' knowed What in his brain-pan lay 'F I hadn't said, "Git up and dust!"

To them that summer day.

TO MY DOG.

n.o.ble fellow, faithful friend!

Devoted, kind, and true; In all this wide, wide world I've found No one who loves like you.

Faithful dog, rememb'rest thou (Oh, lucky day for thee!) When thou, a friendless puppy, came To beg a crust from me?

Then thou wast hungry, footsore, cold, Thy sides were lank and thin; But when I saw thy friendly face I gladly took thee in.

Now thou art beautiful and plump.

Thy fur is soft and sleek, A pretty collar buckled round Thy n.o.ble, glossy neck.

But thou, oh, n.o.ble, trusty friend, Repay'st this care of mine A thousand-fold, for who could spurn Devotion such as thine?

I know if thou, in time to come, Some other friend should find, Thou wilt not say of me harsh words And sentences unkind.

So they who would our friendship scorn-- My fondness would reprove,-- Would better come to thee and learn True grat.i.tude and love.

SOMEBODY.

There's somebody stayin' aroun' our house-- I don't know who or where-- That sneaks about an' follers me out An' in an' ever'where

I go; an' 'sturbs my skates an' things, An' scatters 'em all about; But you bet your stuff it'll go mighty tough With 'im when I find 'im out!

Though I hang my hat an' coat away, Up on the peg with care, I'll just be bound they can't be found When I want 'em,--anywhere.

When I've hunted for 'em till I'm late for school, An' mad as one ol' March hare, An' a dozen more, right down on the floor I'll find that hat, just where

Somebody's went an' throwed it down,-- It's the same with my books each day, My bat an' ball, my mittens an' all, Though I'm sure I put 'em away.

But I tell you this: if I ever find Who that meddlesome "somebody" is, I'll rout 'im, an' scout 'im, an' all that's about 'im, I'll learn 'im to mind his biz.

THE HERO OF EVERY-DAY LIFE.

(SONG.)

We sing of the hero of battle, We cherish and worship his name; Of the hero of old, and the hero of gold, Of him who has honor and fame.

The hero of love's tender pa.s.sion, Who basks in its mystical ray, As we journey along, but never a song For the hero we meet every day.

The one who can face, aye, so bravely His losses, rebuffs, and defeat; Whose heart will not break though the world may forsake,-- From the enemy will not retreat.

Who never will murmur at fate, when It seems an unmerciful foe, But struggles along with a heart true and strong, And strikes a far n.o.bler blow.

Though his last golden castle is shattered And sown to the wind long ago, Each one that he meets with a warm smile he greets,-- His burden we never may know.

But hark! sweetest melodies mingle With the din of earth's tumult and strife-- Heaven's joyous bells ring and archangels sing For the hero of every-day life.

THE CHILD'S INQUIRY.

Oh, where is that beautiful city, mamma, The one that is called Fort Wayne?

Does it rest in the light of a clear blue sky, 'Way out on a sandy plain?

Or may it be found where the roses climb Over trellises built so high That if you would pluck off the topmost one You'd have to climb up to the sky?

Or where all the streets are so smooth and so clean That buggies and bicycles, too, Glide along with all ease in the sweet dreamy breeze, Like balloons in soft heavens of blue?

Mother: Not there, my child, not there.

Fort Wayne is a hustling city, my dear, On the banks of the old Maumee, Where most of the folks are too busy to care The beauties of nature to see.

'Tis a place where they all pay a tax, my dear, For repairing the street, you know, That they all may enjoy their bicycles, dear, As "b.u.mpety b.u.mp" they go.

And should you e'er enter that city, my dear, Be sure that you always look down, Or first thing you know in a rut you will go, And find yourself flat on the ground.

Or if 'tis not you that is flat on the ground, Your bicycle ruined will be-- There are tacks, broken beer-bottles strewn all around, And your tire will be punctured, you see.

Fort Wayne is the city of "tags," my dear, As every taxpayer knows; Tags on their horses, their wheels, and their dogs, And tags from their heads to their toes.

When its people go into the country, my dear, To enjoy its cool breezes and shade, They are bangled and spangled with tags, my dear, Till they look like a circus parade.

It is there, my child, it is there.

TO THE OLD TOWN CLOCK.