Republicans of differing views Are pro or con protection; If that's the issue they would choose,
Come, brothers, share the fellowship We celebrate to-night; There's grace of song on every lip
How happens it, my cruel miss, You're always giving me the mitten? You seem to have forgotten this:
(LYRIC INTERMEZZO) There fell a star from realms above-- A glittering, glorious star to see!
My books are on their shelves again And clouds lie low with mist and rain. Afar the Arno murmurs low
Little eyelids, cease your winking; Little orbs, forget to beam; Little soul, to slumber sinking,
Play that you are mother dear, And play that papa is your beau; Play that we sit in the corner here,
I say, as one who never feared The wrath of a subscriber's bullet, I pity him who has a beard
As I was going to Bethlehem-town, Upon the earth I cast me down All underneath a little tree
Sweetheart, be my sweetheart When birds are on the wing, When bee and bud and babbling flood
Sing, Christmas bells! Say to the earth this is the morn Whereon our Saviour-King is born;
I count my treasures o'er with care.-- The little toy my darling knew, A little sock of faded hue,
God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, Wherever you may be,-- God rest you all in fielde or hall,
God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, Wherever you may be,-- God rest you all in fielde or hall,
How cool and fair this cellar where My throne a dusky cask is; To do no thing but just to sing
Dear wife, last midnight while I read The tomes you so despise, A specter rose beside the bed
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- Sailed on a river of misty light
So, come! though favors I bestow Cannot be called extensive, Who better than my friend should know
I like the Anglo-Saxon speech With its direct revealings; It takes a hold, and seems to reach
There is a certain Yankee phrase I always have revered, Yet, somehow, in these modern days,
Shall I woo the one or other? Both attract me--more's the pity! Pretty is the widowed mother,
Fuscus, whoso to good inclines-- And is a faultless liver-- Nor moorish spear nor bow need fear,
Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray; For though you pine your life away With dull complaining breath,
If ever in the sylvan shade A song immortal we have made, Come now, O lute, I pri' thee come--
How breaks my heart to hear you say You feel the shadows fall about you! The gods forefend
What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, With smiles for diet, Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha,
Sweet, bide with me and let my love Be an enduring tether; Oh, wanton not from spot to spot,
(HORACE'S ODES, III, I) I hate the common, vulgar herd! Away they scamper when I "booh" 'em!
When I remark her golden hair Swoon on her glorious shoulders, I marvel not that sight so rare
In maudlin spite let Thracians fight Above their bowls of liquor; But such as we, when on a spree,
I once knew all the birds that came And nested in our orchard trees; For every flower I had a name--
All human joys are swift of wing For heaven doth so allot it That when you get an easy thing
Many a beauteous flower doth spring From the tears that flood my eyes, And the nightingale doth sing
(FOR THE FELLOWSHIP CLUB) Lyman and Frederick and Jim, one day, Set out in a great big ship--
The eastern sky is streaked with red, The weary night is done, And from his distant ocean bed
One night a tiny dewdrop fell Into the bosom of a rose,-- "Dear little one, I love thee well,
(EGYPTIAN FOLK-SONG) Grim is the face that looks into the night Over the stretch of sands;
As once I rambled in the woods I chanced to spy amid the brake A huntsman ride his way beside
Last night, my darling, as you slept, I thought I heard you sigh, And to your little crib I crept,
Star of the East, that long ago Brought wise men on their way Where, angels singing to and fro,
Star of the East, that long ago Brought wise men on their way Where, angels singing to and fro,
Nay, why discuss this summer heat, Of which vain people tell? Oh, sinner, rather were it meet
Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow - It's off for a sailor thy father would go;
Keep me, I pray, in wisdom's way That I may truths eternal seek; I need protecting care to-day,--
The gods let slip that fiendish grip Upon me last week Sunday-- No fiercer storm than racked my form
Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, In agony I knelt and said: "0 God! what have I done,
"Give me my bow," said Robin Hood, "An arrow give to me; And where 't is shot mark thou that spot,
I hear Thy voice, dear Lord; I hear it by the stormy sea When winter nights are black and wild,
When the world is fast asleep, Along the midnight skies-- As though it were a wandering cloud--
I'm a beautiful red, red drum, And I train with the soldier boys; As up the street we come,
The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet song To my dear little boy at play - Merrily singeth all day long,
I love the lyric muse! For when mankind ran wild in grooves Came holy Orpheus with his songs
Sometime there ben a lyttel boy That wolde not renne and play, And helpless like that little tyke
M'cenas, I propose to fly To realms beyond these human portals; No common things shall be my wings,
Boy, I detest the Persian pomp; I hate those linden-bark devices; And as for roses, holy Moses!
No more your needed rest at night By ribald youth is troubled; No more your windows, fastened tight,
Come, my little one, with me! There are wondrous sights to see As the evening shadows fall;
Last night the Stork came stalking, And, Stork, beneath your wing Lay, lapped in dreamless slumber,
My Shepherd is the Lord my God,-- There is no want I know; His flock He leads in verdant meads,
Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, I found a shell, And to my listening ear the lonely thing
(ALASKAN BALLAD) The Northland reared his hoary head And spied the Southland leagues away--
O hapless day! O wretched day! I hoped you'd pass me by-- Alas, the years have sneaked away
Aha! a traitor in the camp, A rebel strangely bold,-- A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp,
Fuscus, whoso to good inclines, And is a faultless liver, Nor Moorish spear nor bow need fear,
There--let thy hands be folded Awhile in sleep's repose; The patient hands that wearied not,
The cruel mother of the Loves, And other Powers offended, Have stirred my heart, where newly roves
You vain, self-conscious little book, Companion of my happy days, How eagerly you seem to look
If ever in the sylvan shade A song immortal we have made, Come now, O lute, I prithee come,
Though mighty in Love's favor still, Though cruel yet, my boy, When the unwelcome dawn shall chill
When praising Telephus you sing His rosy neck and waxen arms, Forgetful of the pangs that wring
Than you, O valued friend of mine, A better patron non est! Come, quaff my home-made Sabine wine,--
What perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, With smiles for diet, Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha,
O mother Venus, quit, I pray, Your violent assailing! The arts, forsooth, that fired my youth
Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray; For though you pine your life away With dull complaining breath,
There are two phrases, you must know, So potent (yet so small) That wheresoe'er a man may go
Yonder stands the hillside chapel Mid the evergreens and rocks, All day long it hears the song