AT UTTER LOAF.

I.

An afternoon as ripe with heat As might the golden pippin be With mellowness if at my feet It dropped now from the apple-tree My hammock swings in lazily.

II.

The boughs about me spread a shade That shields me from the sun, but weaves With breezy shuttles through the leaves Blue rifts of skies, to gleam and fade Upon the eyes that only see Just of themselves, all drowsily.

III.

Above me drifts the fallen skein Of some tired spider, looped and blown, As fragile as a strand of rain, Across the air, and upward thrown By breaths of hayfields newly mown-- So glimmering it is and fine, I doubt these drowsy eyes of mine.

IV.

Far-off and faint as voices pent In mines, and heard from underground, Come murmurs as of discontent, And clamorings of sullen sound The city sends me, as, I guess, To vex me, though they do but bless Me in my drowsy fastnesses.

V.

I have no care. I only know My hammock hides and holds me here In lands of shade a prisoner: While lazily the breezes blow Light leaves of sunshine over me, And back and forth and to and fro I swing, enwrapped in some hushed glee, Smiling at all things drowsily.

A LOUNGER.

He leant against a lamp-post, lost In some mysterious reverie: His head was bowed; his arms were crossed; He yawned, and glanced evasively: Uncrossed his arms, and slowly put Them back again, and scratched his side-- Shifted his weight from foot to foot, And gazed out no-ward, idle-eyed.

Grotesque of form and face and dress, And picturesque in every way-- A figure that from day to day Drooped with a limper laziness; A figure such as artists lean, In pictures where distress is seen, Against low hovels where we guess No happiness has ever been.

A SONG OF LONG AGO.

A song of Long Ago: Sing it lightly--sing it low-- Sing it softly--like the lisping of the lips we used to know When our baby-laughter spilled From the glad hearts ever filled With music blithe as robin ever trilled!

Let the fragrant summer-breeze, And the leaves of locust-trees, And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the wings of honey-bees, All palpitate with glee, Till the happy harmony Brings back each childish joy to you and me.

Let the eyes of fancy turn Where the tumbled pippins burn Like embers in the orchard's lap of tangled gra.s.s and fern,-- There let the old path wind In and out and on behind The cider-press that chuckles as we grind.

Blend in the song the moan Of the dove that grieves alone, And the wild whir of the locust, and the b.u.mble's drowsy drone; And the low of cows that call Through the pasture-bars when all The landscape fades away at evenfall.

Then, far away and clear, Through the dusky atmosphere, Let the wailing of the kildee be the only sound we hear: O sad and sweet and low As the memory may know Is the glad-pathetic song of Long Ago!

THE CHANT OF THE CROSS-BEARING CHILD.

I bear dis cross dis many a mile.

O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

I bear dis cross 'long many a road Wha' de pink ain't bloom' an' de gra.s.s done mowed.

O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

Hits on my conscience all dese days Fo' ter bear de cross ut de good Lord lays On my po' soul, an' ter lif my praise.

O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

I 's nigh-'bout weak ez I mos' kin be, Yit de Marstah call an' He say,--"You 's free Fo' ter 'cept dis cross, an' ter cringe yo' knee To no n'er man in de worl' but me!"

O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

Says you guess wrong, ef I let you guess-- Says you 'spec' mo', an'-a you git less:-- Says you go eas', says you go wes', An' whense you fine de road ut you like bes'

You betteh take ch'ice er any er de res'!

O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

He build my feet, an' He fix de signs Dat de shoe hit pinch an' de shoe hit bines Ef I on'y w'ah eights an-a wanter w'ah nines; I hone fo' de rain, an' de sun hit shines, An' whilse I hunt de sun, hits de rain I fines.-- O-a trim my lamp, an-a gyrd my lines!

O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile!

I wade de wet, an' I walk de dry: I done tromp long, an' I done clim high; An' I pilgrim on ter de jasper sky, An' I taken de resk fo' ter cas' my eye Wha' de Gate swing wide an' de Lord draw nigh, An' de Trump hit blow, an' I hear de cry,-- "You lay dat cross down by an' by!-- O de Cross-bearin' Chile-- Do Cross-bearin' Chile!"

THANKSGIVING.

Let us be thankful--not only because Since last our universal thanks were told We have grown greater in the world's applause, And fortune's newer smiles surpa.s.s the old--

But thankful for all things that come as alms From out the open hand of Providence:-- The winter clouds and storms---the summer calms-- The sleepless dread--the drowse of indolence.

Let us be thankful--thankful for the prayers Whose gracious answers were long, long delayed, That they might fall upon us unawares, And bless us, as in greater need, we prayed.

Let us be thankful for the loyal hand That love held out in welcome to our own, When love and only love could understand The need of touches we had never known.

Let us be thankful for the longing eyes That gave their secret to us as they wept, Yet in return found, with a sweet surprise, Love's touch upon their lids, and, smiling, slept.

And let us, too, be thankful that the tears Of sorrow have not all been drained away, That through them still, for all the coming years, We may look on the dead face of To-day.

AUTUMN.