lee.

{46}

[Illustration: Friend of a wayward hour--headpiece]

FRIEND OF A WAYWARD HOUR

Friend of a wayward hour, you came
Like some good ghost, and went the same;
And I within the haunted place
Sit smiling on your vanished face,
And talking with--your name.

But thrice the pressure of your hand--
First hail--congratulations--and
Your last "God bless you!" as the train
That brought you snatched you back again
Into the unknown land.

{47}

"God bless me?" Why, your very prayer
Was answered ere you asked it there,
I know--for when you came to lend
Me your kind hand, and call me friend,
God blessed me unaware.

[Illustration: Friend of a wayward hour--tailpiece]

{48}

[Illustration: My Henry--headpiece]

MY HENRY

He's jes' a great, big, awk'ard, hulkin'
Feller,--humped, and sort o' sulkin'--
Like, and ruther still-appearin'--
Kind-as-ef he wuzn't keerin'
Whether school helt out er not--
That's my Henry, to a dot!

Allus kind o' liked him--whether
Childern, er growed-up together!
Fifteen year' ago and better,
'Fore he ever knowed a letter,
Run acrosst the little fool
In my Primer-class at school.

{49}

[Illustration: Nothin' that boy wouldn't resk!]

{51}

When the Teacher wuzn't lookin',
He'd be th'owin' wads; er crookin'
Pins; er sprinklin' pepper, more'n
Likely, on the stove; er borin'
Gimlet-holes up thue his desk--
Nothin' _that_ boy wouldn't resk!

But, somehow, as I was goin'
On to say, he seemed so knowin',
_Other_ ways, and cute and cunnin'--
Allus wuz a notion runnin'
Thue my giddy, fool-head he
Jes' had be'n cut out fer me!

Don't go much on _prophesyin'_,
But last night whilse I wuz fryin'
Supper, with that man a-pitchin'
Little Marthy round the kitchen,
Think-says-I, "Them baby's eyes
Is my Henry's, jes' p'cise!"

{52}

[Illustration: A letter to a friend--headpiece]

A LETTER TO A FRIEND

The past is like a story
I have listened to in dreams
That vanished in the glory
Of the Morning's early gleams;
And--at my shadow glancing--
I feel a loss of strength,
As the Day of Life advancing
Leaves it shorn of half its length.

{53}

But it's all in vain to worry
At the rapid race of Time--
And he flies in such a flurry
When I trip him with a rhyme,
I'll bother him no longer
Than to than