To Your Dog and To My Dog Part 8

Yet, when his soft brown eyes so dumbly plead For one caress from my too-busy hand, I wonder from what far and unknown land Came the true soul, which in his gaze I read.

Whence all his loyalty and faithful zeal?

Why does he share my joyous mood, and gay?

Why mourn with me, when I perchance do mourn?

When hunger-pressed, why scorn a bounteous meal That by my side he may pursue his way?

Whence came his n.o.ble soul, and where its bourn?

"WITHOUT ARE DOGS"

BY EDWARD A. CHURCH

By permission of the Author and of the _Century Magazine_

"WITHOUT ARE DOGS"

If, through some wondrous miracle of grace, To the Celestial City I might win, And find upon the golden pavement place, The gates of pearl within;

In some sweet pausing of the immortal song To which the choiring Seraphim give birth, Should I not for that humbler greeting long Known in the dumb companionships of earth?

Friends whom the softest whistle of my call Brought to my side in love that knew no doubt, Would I not seek to cross the jasper wall If haply I might find you there "without"?

YOU'RE A DOG

BY C. L. GILMAN

By permission of the Author and of OUTING PUBLISHING CO., N. Y.

YOU'RE A DOG

At the kennel where they bred you they were raising fancy pets, Yellow didn't matter, so the blood was blue.

But the Red G.o.ds mixed a medicine that cancelled all their bets-- Make your tail say "thanks," they've made a dog of you.

You have heard the wolf-pack howling and have barked a full defiance; You have chased the moose and routed out the deer; You have worked and played and lived with man in honorable alliance, You have shared his tent and campfire as his peer.

When you might have copped the ribbon you have worn the harness-collar, Pulling thrice your weight through brush and slush and bog.

Sure, you might have been a "champion," without value save the dollar, But the Red G.o.ds made you priceless--YOU'RE A DOG!

A GENTLEMAN

From _New Orleans Times-Picayune_

By permission of _New Orleans Times-Picayune_

A GENTLEMAN

I own a dog who is a gentleman; By birth most surely, since the creature can Boast of a pedigree the like of which Holds not a Howard or a Metternich.

By breeding. Since the walks of life he trod, He never wagged an unkind talk abroad.

He never snubbed a nameless cur because Without a friend or credit card he was.

By pride. He looks you squarely in the face Unshrinking and without a single trace Of either diffidence or arrogant a.s.sertion such as upstarts often flaunt.

By tenderness. The littlest girl may tear With absolute impunity his hair, And pinch his silken flowing ears the while He smiles upon her--yes, I've seen him smile.

By loyalty. No truer friend than he Has come to prove his friendship's worth to me, He does not fear the master--knows no fear-- But loves the man who is his master here.

By countenance. If there be n.o.bler eyes, More full of honor and of honesties, In finer head, on broader shoulders found-- Then have I never met the man or hound.

Here is the motto of my lifeboat's log: "G.o.d grant I may be worthy of my dog!"

MY DOG

BY ST. JOHN LUCAS

MY DOG

The Curate thinks you have no soul: I know that he has none. But you, Dear friend! whose solemn self-control In our four-square, familiar pew,

Was pattern to my youth--whose bark Called me in summer dawns to rove-- Have you gone down into the dark Where none is welcome, none may love?

I will not think those good brown eyes Have spent their light of truth so soon, But in some canine Paradise Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon,

And quarters every plain and hill, Seeking its master--As for me, This prayer at least the G.o.ds fulfil: That when I pa.s.s the flood and see