Ain’t nobody nevah tol’ you not a… 'Bout de time dat all de critters… Some folks tell it in a sto’y, som… ‘Peahs to me you ought to hyeahed… Well, de critters all was p’osp’ou…

A man of low degree was sore oppre… Fate held him under iron—handed sw… And ever, those who saw him thus d… Would bid him bend his stubborn wi… But he, strong in himself and obdu…

I KNOW a man With face of tan, But who is ever kind; Whom girls and boys Leave games and toys

This poem must be done to—day; Then, I 'll e’en to it. I must not dream my time away,— I ‘m sure to rue it. The day is rather bright, I know

DEEP in my heart that aches with… And strives with plenitude of bitt… There lives a thought that clamors… And spends its undelivered force i… What boots it that some other may…

Whose little lady is you, chile, Whose little gal is you? What’s de use o’ kiver’n up yo’ fa… Chile, dat ain’t de way to do. Lemme see yo’ little eyes,

Oh, wind of the spring—time, oh, f… When blossoms and bird—song are ri… Oh, joy for the season, and joy fo… That gave me the roses of life, of… That gave me the roses of life.

With sombre mien, the Evening gra… Comes nagging at the heels of Day… And driven faster and still faster Before the dusky—mantled Master, The light fades from her fearful e…

“I am but clay,” the sinner plead, Who fed each vain desire. “Not only clay,” another said, “But worse, for thou art mire.”

THOUGH the winds be dank, And the sky be sober, And the grieving Day In a mantle gray Hath let her waiting maiden robe h…

Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust, What of his loving, what of his lu… What of his passion, what of his p… What of his poverty, what of his p… Earth, the great mother, has calle…

Folks is talkin’ ‘bout de money, ’… All de time de season 's changin’… An’ dey 's wond’rin’ 'bout de meta… While de price o’ coal is risin’ a… Some folks says dat gold ’s de onl…

Temples he built and palaces of ai… And, with the artist’s parent—prid… His fancy saw his vague ideals gro… Into creations marvellously fair; He set his foot upon Fame’s nethe…

She told her beads with down—cast… Within the ancient chapel dim; And ever as her fingers slim Slipt o’er th’ insensate ivories, My rapt soul followed, spaniel—wis…

BEYOND the years the answer lie… Beyond where brood the grieving sk… And Night drops tears. Where Faith rod—chastened smiles… And doff its fears,