Pipe and Pouch Part 24

PART I.

This Indian weed, now withered quite.

Tho' green at noon, cut down at night, Shows thy decay, All flesh is hay: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

The pipe, so lily-like and weak, Does thus thy mortal state bespeak; Thou art e'en such-- Gone with a touch: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And when the smoke ascends on high, Then thou behold'st the vanity Of worldly stuff-- Gone with a puff: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And when the pipe grows foul within, Think on thy soul defiled with sin; For then the fire It doth require: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And seest the ashes cast away, Then to thyself thou mayest say, That to the dust Return thou must: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

PART II.

Was this small plant for thee cut down?

So was the Plant of Great Renown, Which Mercy sends For n.o.bler ends: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

Does juice medicinal proceed From such a naughty foreign weed?

Then what's the power Of Jesse's Flower?

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

The promise, like the pipe, inlays, And by the mouth of faith conveys What virtue flows From Sharon's Rose: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

In vain the unlighted pipe you blow; Your pains in outward means are so, 'Till heavenly fire Your heart inspire: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

The smoke, like burning incense, towers: So should a praying heart of yours, With ardent cries, Surmount the skies: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

TOBACCO IS AN INDIAN WEED.

Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut down at eve; It shows decay; we are but clay; Think of this when you smoke tobacco.

The pipe that is so lily white, Wherein so many take delight, Is broke with a touch,--man's life is such; Think of this when you smoke tobacco.

The pipe that is so foul within Shows how man's soul is stained with sin, And then the fire it doth require; Think of this when you smoke tobacco.

The ashes that are left behind Do serve to put us all in mind That unto dust return we must; Think of this when you smoke tobacco.

The smoke that does so high ascend Shews us man's life must have an end; The vapor's gone,--man's life is done; Think of this when you smoke tobacco.

From "_Pills to Purge Melancholy_."

TOBACCO.

Let poets rhyme of what they will, Youth, Beauty, Love, or Glory, still My theme shall be Tobacco!

Hail, weed, eclipsing every flow'r, Of thee I fain would make my bow'r, When fortune frowns, or tempests low'r, Mild comforter of woe!

They say in truth an angel's foot First brought to life thy precious root, The source of every pleasure!

Descending from the skies he press'd With hallowed touch Earth's yielding breast; Forth sprang the plant, and then was bless'd, As man's chief treasure!

Throughout the world who knows thee not?

Of palace and of lowly cot The universal guest,-- The friend of Gentile, Turk, and Jew, To all a stay, to none untrue, The balm that can our ills subdue, And soothe us into rest!

With thee the poor man can abide Oppression, want, the scorn of pride, The curse of penury.

Companion of his lonely state, He is no longer desolate, And still can brave an adverse fate With honest worth and thee!

All honor to the patriot bold Who brought, instead of promised gold, Thy leaf to Britain's sh.o.r.e.

It cost him life; but thou shalt raise A cloud of fragrance to his praise, And bards shall hail in deathless lays The valiant knight of yore.

Ay, Raleigh! thou wilt live till Time Shall ring his last oblivious chime, The fruitful theme of story; And man in ages hence shall tell How greatness, virtue, wisdom, fell, When England sounded out thy knell, And dimmed her ancient glory.

And thou, O plant! shalt keep his name Unwithered in the scroll of fame, And teach us to remember; He gave with thee content and peace, Bestow'd on life a longer lease, And bidding every trouble cease, Made summer of December.

THOMAS JONES.

THE CIGAR.

Some sigh for this and that, My wishes don't go far; The world may wag at will, So I have my cigar.

Some fret themselves to death With Whig and Tory jar; I don't care which is in, So I have my cigar.

Sir John requests my vote, And so does Mr. Marr; I don't care how it goes, So I have my cigar.

Some want a German row, Some wish a Russian war; I care not. I'm at peace So I have my cigar.

I never see the "Post,"

I seldom read the "Star;"

The "Globe" I scarcely heed, So I have my cigar.

Honors have come to men My juniors at the Bar; No matter--I can wait, So I have my cigar.

Ambition frets me not; A cab or glory's car Are just the same to me, So I have my cigar.

I wors.h.i.+p no vain G.o.ds, But serve the household Lar; I'm sure to be at home, So I have my cigar.