POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2360, 26 October 1881, Page 4

POETRY.

FARMER ALLEN TALKS. I sot in tho amen corner, whar’ I’ve sot for many a’ year, An’ I sealed every word ye uttered with a gonooine hearty tear ; It’s bin a long time, parson, sonoe ye spoke in so fine a strain. An’ I hope the Lord ’ll spare ye to do it of’n again. Yer text wa’nt outen the Bible—yo must ’a made it yeraelf— But a better one war’ never tuk from the theological shelf. Fur truer words nor sounder ones in the good book can’t be found ; " Tho best o’ crops are sometimes raised on the most onpromising ground.”

Ab soon as the words war’ spoken my heart opened up its ears, An 1 while it swallowed the gospel truth my eyes war' swimmin’ in tears, Fur it seemed to me ye war' aimin’ at the pew in which I sot; Yor language fitted a lot o’ my past experience to a dot. I guess you remember Charlie, the wildest boy in the State, Allua in deviltry, paraon, in mischief early an’ late, Robbia’ the neighbors’ orchards, runnin’ with Godless bojs, An’ a-playin' with his parents’ hearts jea’ like they war’ rubber toys. From bad to worse ho elided, a sinkin’ lower an’ lower— Kep’ driftin’ out on sin’s dark stream away from morality’s shore— Farther an’ farther ho drifted, an’ lower an’ lower he sunk. Till at last all hope departed when they fetched him home to us drunk! Rad companions hod led him to a cursed den in town. Where ha played with cards an’ swallowed the fiery pizen down — They kep’ a edgin’ him onward till his brain war’ all afire— Sunk him down till he wallored like a gruntin’ hog in the mire.

When sober he promised faithfully he’d never touch it agin, An’ fur weeks ho stuck to his promise, held up

as bright as a pin. But tho tempter agin fell on him, the fearful

demon o’ drink, An’ sunk him whar’ I’d no idee a human bein’ could sink. An’ then dark stories reached us of his doin’s here and there; Of the company he war’ keepin’ an’ tho crimes ho helped to share ; Headed straight fur perdition we saw our

poor son go. With not one redeemin' feature to lighten the awful blow !

At last his worn out mother tuk sick an’ passed away. An’ Charlie oum to tho heme ho hadn’t seen fur many a day ; I’ll never forgit the expression that come to his bloated face As he gazed on hia poor old mother looked fast in death’s embrace. The tears cum forth in torrents, as he stooped an’ kissed her cheek. An’ tho aobs o’ mis’ry choked him till he could hardly speak; But at last he cried in anguish, that out my heart like a knife : “ Oh, God an’ mother forgive me, an’ I’ll lead a hotter life !” * # * # I’ve bin to Washington, parson, got back from thar’ last night, An’ I sot in the Congress chamber, my soul swelled up with delight. I sot thar’ alongside of Charlie, when he give ’em a speech eo grand That the greatest men in tho country rushed up fur to shake his hand. Flushed and triumphant, ho stood thar’ a-liatenin’ to their praise, An’ a wcarin’ tho same sweet look he wore in

his earlier boyhood days. An’ now do ye wonder, parson, that my heart gin a desperate bound When yo said that the best o’ crops could be growed on the most. onpromisin’ ground ? Wyoming Kit.