POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2103, 19 November 1880, Page 3

POETRY.

GYP. I [From " The Turf, Field and Farm."! Only a dog—well, he to me Was something more than a speechless brute, And out of his eyes there grew to be An eloquent utterance, although mute. He could not tell me, the poor dumb thing, All that he felt, but he seemed to say— Plainly—as man could, " Master, mine, Home I welcome you day by day." Evening and morning by my ohair He sat and looked with a sweet content; And whether the skies were cloudy or fair, Or sunshine or shadow over me went, He knew no change, my constant friend—'Twas me he came to the door to see, Though those more trusted had closed it quite, With never a whisper for charity. I had seen grief and drank of care, Bitter the draught as of Mara's well, The loved had altered and oeased to share, Their plenty with one on whom sorrow fell. The Levite passed on the other side ; The priest went by with a heedless glee ; For thieves had beaten me sad and sore, And no Samaritan came to me, I, all scarred and beaten and torn, Was only a man that was ambushed and slain— One by the heat of the battle borne Downward in agony, wounds, and pain ; Let me crawl out in the woods to die, Hunger and thirst and the grave are mine— Bravely my comrades are marching by, Bravely their colors in triumph shine. So I grew old before my time ; Not loss of friends, but the loss of faith Whitened my hair, and made me long For rest and quiet, though it were death. Yet over all, and out of this Great trial there rose up an earnest trust In Him who knoweth what may be best, And numbers the grains of the sea-shore dust. Well! let it go ; my lesson learned, I oling to those who have clung to me; Deomiug experience easily earned Albeit it came to me heavily. Some on shore and some on sea, Battle and storm and foundering ship Swallowed them up ; and now at last I pile the earth over poor old Gyp. Fbaskun W. Fish.