With that benign assurance born
When youth gives age the reverence due,
And bend their wise heads as I go
As courteous ladies do.

Long may you stand before my door,
Oh, kindly neighbours garbed in green,
And bend with rustling welcome o'er
The many friends who pass between;
And where the little children play
Look down with gracious mien.

THE LITTLE JOYS

My little joys went by me
As little children run
Across the fields at sunset
When playing time is done.

And now alone at twilight
What is there may content
The heart that loved their laughter
And frolic merriment?

Ah well, who knows but still may dawn
Another fairer day
Wherein my little joys may come
A-dancing out to play.

SONGS OF HIMSELF

HIMSELF

The houseful that we were then, you could count us by the dozens,
The wonder was that sometimes the old walls wouldn't burst:
Herself (the Lord be good to her!), the aunts and rafts of cousins,
The young folks and the children,--but Himself came first.

_Master of the House he was, and well for them that knew it:_
_His cheeks like winter apples and his head like snow;_
_Eyes as blue as water when the sun of March shines through it._
_And steppin' like a soldier with his stick held so._

Faith, but he could tell a tale would serve a man for wages,
Sing a song would put the joy of dancin' in two sticks;
But Saints between themselves and harm that saw him in his rages,
Blazin' and oratin' over chess and politics.

_Master of the House he was, and that beyond all sayin',_
_Eh, the times I've heard him exhortin' from his chair_
_The like of any Bishop, yet snappin' off his prayin'_
_To put the curse on Phelan's dog for howlin' in the prayer._

The times I've seen him walkin' out like Solomon in glory,
Salutin' with great elegance the gentry he might meet;
An eye for every pretty girl, an ear for every story,
And takin' as his just deserts the middle of the street.

_Master of the House, with much to love and be forgiven,--_
_Yet, thinkin' of Himself to-day--Himself--I see him go_
_With that old light step of his, across the Courts of Heaven,_
_His hat a little sideways and his stick held so._

THE FAIR

The pick o' seven counties, so they're tellin' me, was t