The Dog's Book of Verse Part 18

SYDNEY SMITH.

THE DIFFERENCE

My dog! The difference between thee and me Knows only our Creator--only he Can number the degrees in being's scale Between th' Instinctive lamp, ne'er known to fail, And that less steady light, of brighter ray, The soul which animates thy master's clay; And he alone can tell by what fond tie My look thy life, my death thy sign to die.

No, when that feeling quits thy glazing eye 'Twill live in some blest world beyond the sky.

ANONYMOUS.

LADDIE

Lowly the soul that waits At the white, celestial gates, A threshold soul to greet Beloved feet.

Down the streets that are beams of sun Cherubim children run; They welcome it from the wall; Their voices call.

But the Warder saith: "Nay, this Is the City of Holy Bliss.

What claim canst thou make good To angelhood?"

"Joy," answereth it from eyes That are amber ecstasies, Listening, alert, elate, Before the gate.

Oh, how the frolic feet On lonely memory beat!

What rapture in a run 'Twixt snow and sun!

"Nay, brother of the sod, What part hast thou in G.o.d?

What spirit art thou of?"

It answers: "Love."

Lifting its head, no less Cajoling a caress, Our winsome collie wraith, Than in glad faith.

The door will open wide, Or kind voice bid: "Abide, A threshold soul to greet The longed-for feet."

Ah, Keeper of the Portal, If Love be not immortal, If Joy be not divine, What prayer is mine?

KATHERINE LEE BATES.

A DOG'S EPITAPH

When some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of wo, And storied urns record who rests below; When all is done, upon the tomb is seen Not what he was, but what he should have been, But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,

Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in Heaven the soul he held in earth; While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole, exclusive Heaven.

Oh, man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded ma.s.s of animated dust!

Thy love is l.u.s.t, thy friends.h.i.+p all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!

By nature vile, enn.o.bled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.

Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pa.s.s on--it honors none you wish to mourn; To mark a friend's remains these stones arise-- I never knew but one, and here he lies.

LORD BYRON.

THE Pa.s.sING OF A DOG

This kindly friend of mine who's pa.s.sed Beyond the realm of day, Beyond the realm of darkling night, To unknown bourne away

Was one who deemed my humble home A palace grand and fair; Whose fullest joy it was to find His comrade ever there.

Ah! He has gone from out my life Like some dear dream I knew.

A man may own a hundred dogs, But one he loves, and true.

ANONYMOUS.

MY DOG

The curate thinks you have no soul!

I know that he has none. But you, Dear friend! whose solemn self-control In our four-square, familiar pew,

Was pattern to my youth--whose bark Called me in summer dawns to rove-- Have you gone down into the dark Where none is welcome, none may love?

I will not think those good brown eyes Have spent their light of truth so soon; But in some canine Paradise Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon,

And quarters every plain and hill Seeking its master. As for me, This prayer at least the G.o.ds fulfill-- That when I pa.s.s the floor, and see

Old Charon by the Stygian coast Take toll of all the shades who land, Your little, faithful, barking ghost May leap to lick my phantom hand.

ANONYMOUS.

JACK