The Dog's Book of Verse Part 19

Dog Jack has gone on the silent trail, Wherever that may be; But well I know, when I whistle the call, He will joyfully answer me.

That call will be when I, myself, Have pa.s.sed through the Gates of Gold; He will come with a rush, and his soft brown eyes Will glisten with love as of old.

Oh, Warder of Gates, in the far-away land, This little black dog should you see, Throw wide your doors that this faithful friend May enter, and wait for me.

H.P.W.

IN MEMORY OF "DON"

Our Don--only a dog!

Yes, only a dog, you say; With a large, warm heart, And a bright, brown eye, With an earnest bark And a warm caress

For you and me and The friends he loved best.

Oh, how we shall Miss him, you and I, His noisy welcome, and Rough good-bye!

Some time, somewhere, Some day, I trust, We shall meet again; Oh, yes, we must!

And the joy of that meeting I dare not say.

Ay, mock, ye skeptics, And laugh to scorn The faith I hold Of all life that's born; It cannot be wasted, Nor can it be lost.

And oh, for the faith, And the Indian's trust, That Don and his mistress Will meet some day-- Just over the river Not far away!

M.S.W.

RODERICK DHU

You are just a poor dumb brute, my Roderick Dhu, And our scientific brethren scoff at you.

They "reason" and they "think,"

Then they set it down in ink, And clinch it with their learned "point of view."

Even some divines deny you have a soul, And reject you from Man's final heav'nly goal: Your presence isn't wanted You're not of the anointed.

You're not upon the mighty Judgment Roll.

Yet the truth s.h.i.+nes from your eyes, my faithful friend, And your faithfulness doth that of men transcend; You would lie right down and die, Without even wond'ring why, To save the man you loved--and meet your end.

When my heart was almost breaking, Roderick Dhu, Who was it gave me sympathy, but you!

You crept so close to me, And you licked me tenderly, And not a human friend was half so true.

And would I, reasoning wisely, p.r.o.nounce you just a beast?

Your actions "automatic," not "conscious" in the least?

Set myself so high above you, As not to know and love you, And toss you but a bone while I shall feast?

My bonnie Collie, such wrong there shall not be, Not for me to grasp at Heav'n and leave the Dark for thee, You're nothing but a dog, Not in Heaven's Catalogue-- But whatsoe'er thy fate, the same for me.

HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS.

QUESTIONS

Where are you now, little wandering Life, that so faithfully dwelt with us, Played with us, fed with us, felt with us, Years we grew fonder and fonder in?

You who but yesterday sprang to us, Are we forever bereft of you?

And is this all that is left of you-- One little grave, and a pang to us?

WILLIAM HURRELL MALLOCK.

HIS EPITAPH

His friends he loves. His fellest earthly foes-- Cats--I believe he did but feign to hate.

My hand will miss the insinuated nose, Mine eyes the tail that wagged contempt at Fate.

WILLIAM WATSON.

IN MEMORIAM

I miss the little wagging tail; I miss the plaintive, pleading wail; I miss the wistful, loving glance; I miss the circling welcome-dance.

I miss the eyes that, watching, sued; I miss her tongue of grat.i.tude That licked my hand, in loving mood, When we divided cup or food.

I miss the pertinacious scratch (Continued till I raised the latch Each morning), waiting at my door; Alas, I ne'er shall hear it more.

"What folly!" hints the cynic mind, "Plenty of dogs are left behind To snap and snarl, to bark and bite, And wake us in the gloomy night.

"You should have sought a human friend, Whose life eternal ne'er could end-- Whose gifts of intellect and grace Bereavement never could efface."

Plenty of snarling things are left, But I am of a friend bereft; I seek not intellect, but heart-- 'Tis not my head that feels the smart.

While loving sympathy is cherished, While grat.i.tude is not quite perished; While patient, hopeful, cheerful meeting At our return is pleasant greeting;