HOMELESS. It is cold, dark midnight; yet listen Is it one of your dogs, fair lady, Who whines in the bleak cold street? Is it one of your silken spaniels Shut out in the snow and the sleet? My dogs sleep warm in their baskets, Safe from the darkness and snow; All the beasts in our Christian England Find pity wherever they go. (Those are only the homeless children Who are wandering to and fro.) Look out in the gusty darkness, I have seen it again and again, That shadow, that flits so slowly Up and down past the window It is surely some criminal lurking Out there in the frozen rain. pane : Nay; our criminals are all sheltered; Who has got neither food nor bed: And the night cries, "Sin to be living!" And the river cries, "Sin to be dead!" Look out at that farthest corner, Where the wall stands blank and bare: Can that be a pack which a peddler Has left and forgotten there? His goods, lying out unsheltered, Will be spoilt by the damp night-air. Nay; goods in our thrifty England But, in counting the riches of England, Our beasts and our thieves and our chattels A. A. Procter. CRADLE-SONG OF THE POOR. Hush! I can not bear to see thee I have got no bread to give thee; When God sent thee first to bless me, Sleep, my darling, thou art weary: I have watched thy beauty fading, And thy strength sink day by day: Soon, I know, will Want and Fever Take thy little life away. Famine makes thy father reckless; Had we but a crust for thee. Sleep, my darling, thou art weary : Better thou shouldst perish early, With my joy, my peace, were flown, Than thy heart grow cold and careless, Reckless, hopeless, like my own. Sleep, my darling, thou art weary : I am wasted, dear, with hunger, Where no want and pain can be. Such the plaint that, late and early, Every heart, like God's bright angel, God has glory when his children Bring his poor ones joy and peace. Listen! Nearer, while she sings, A. A. Procter. THE DUKE OF BRUNSWICK'S DIAMONDS. The famous Duke of Brunswick, he surely must be blessed With the richest hoard of diamonds that ever man possessed; So rich and rare, so bright and fair, were never known before: I almost feel it wealth enough to tell of such a store. There's one of curious history, traced back to a Turkish saber; Another, supposed invaluable, belonged to the Emperor Baber; And a solitaire of twelve rich gems, whose chronicles reveal That they buttoned the vest of Pedro, the Emperor of Brazil. There's one of surpassing luster, but of a blackish dye, That served for many centuries as an Indian idol's eye. There's one that blazed on a German throne, and one of the purest sheen That on the lily finger shone of Mary, the Scottish queen. Diamonds bright as the starry spheres, and diamonds dark as the jet; And two that have dangled at the ears of Maria Antoinette. In short, the rarest collection of ancient or modern time; But to give the merest catalogue is beyond the province of rhyme. You must see the duke's own volume for their histories, luster, and rate, Which he gives in an octavo, pages two hundred and sixty eight. Now, surely the duke is the happiest man that lives this side of the grave. Alas! he is chained by his diamonds; he is body and soul their slave! |