The poetical works of Edwin Oscar Gale . no Life can truly beTill Life through Death is brought to Life in you retain that garb of mine, and yours on me bestow, 257 That Death as Life will men greet me, and Life in you shall donned Lifes beaming countenance. Life on the pale horse fliew,And since that time they both have been disguised their tasks to do. Deep shadows in the valley crept, a dampness touched the setting sun in crimson dyed the clouds on mountain bare,And halo cast around the head of loving Nazarene,Who Death in Life, and Life in Death, for all
The poetical works of Edwin Oscar Gale . no Life can truly beTill Life through Death is brought to Life in you retain that garb of mine, and yours on me bestow, 257 That Death as Life will men greet me, and Life in you shall donned Lifes beaming countenance. Life on the pale horse fliew,And since that time they both have been disguised their tasks to do. Deep shadows in the valley crept, a dampness touched the setting sun in crimson dyed the clouds on mountain bare,And halo cast around the head of loving Nazarene,Who Death in Life, and Life in Death, for all mankind has , Cal., October 14, 1895. AUNTY, I STUMP YOU TO RUN MEA RACE To Mrs. N. G. R., who ran, then encouraged himby granting a little the start. Her pet was a four-year-old type of those wideawake answer at meal-call to hubby(When shouted above their own noise).His cheeks were as red as June round as his tattered-brim hat:(Who knowing a boy but supposesHe liked it the better for that) ? 258. He yelled to his Auntie one morningI stump you to run me a race. No bluebells mute tinkling at evenIn thanks giving praise to the skies,So near caught the azure of heavenAs Bubs little roguish blue love had the sunbeams for weavingTheir gold in his beautiful hair,Girls thought that they always were leavingFair traces at least of it there. He yelled to his Aunty one morning,I stump you to run me a race,Nights jewels the lawn were adorning,Their sisters were bathing his faceAs toddled he after his NettaAway to a great chestnut tree,Where grieved and defeated he met her,Instead of with usual glee. Four times was he sadly defeated,Four times his aunt left him behind;Then coming to where she was Bubby unburdened his Netta, Ill bet I can beat yerJust give me a little the kissed the disconsolate creature:He won the fond wish of his heart. Thus men are we constantly meetingDepressed with the burdens of
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