. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . ed. She turned, and there the wanderer stood With snow-flakes on her hair ;A faded woman, wild and worn,The ghost of something then upon the mothers breast th« whitened head was laid, Can God and you forgive me all ? for I havesinned, she said. The widow dropped upon her knees Before the fading fire,And thanked the Lord whoss love at last Had granted her desire ;The daughter kneeled beside her. tco, teartstreaming from her eyes,And prayed, God help me to be good tomother ere
. Perfect pearls of poetry and prose; the most unique, touching, inspiring and beautiful literary . ed. She turned, and there the wanderer stood With snow-flakes on her hair ;A faded woman, wild and worn,The ghost of something then upon the mothers breast th« whitened head was laid, Can God and you forgive me all ? for I havesinned, she said. The widow dropped upon her knees Before the fading fire,And thanked the Lord whoss love at last Had granted her desire ;The daughter kneeled beside her. tco, teartstreaming from her eyes,And prayed, God help me to be good tomother ere she dies. 130 THE VAGABONDS. They did not talk about the sin, My child; the widow said, and smiled The shame, the bitter woe ; A smile of love and pain, They spoke about those little graves I kept it so lest you should come And things of long ago. And turn away again! And then the daughter raised her eyes and Ive waited for you all the while—a mothers asked in tender tone, love is true; Why did you keep your door unbarred Yet this is but a shadowy type of His who -when you were all alone? died for jou!. S-j*^ THE VAGABONDS. J. T. TROWBRIDGE. are two travelers, Roger and • i^erfi my dog ;—como hero, you Hcamp!Jump for the gentleman,—mind your eye!Over tho tahln,—look out for the lamji!—Tho rogue is growing a little old: Five years weve tramped through wind and weather,And slept out-doors wlif^n nights were cold,And ate anl drank — and starved to gethor. Weve learned what comfort is, I ti<!l you IA bod on tho floor, a bit of rosin, THE YANKEE AND THE DUTCHMANS DOG. 131 A fire to thaw our thumbs, (poor fellow! The paw he holds up theres been frozen,)Plenty of catgut for my fiddle, (This out-door business is bad for strings,)Then a few nice buckwheats, hot from thegriddle, And Roger and I set up for kings ! Why not reform ? Thats easily said ; But Ive gone through such wretched forgetting the taste of bread. And scarce remembering what me
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Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectenglishliterature
