Riley Songs of Friendship Part 6

OLD CHUMS

"If I die first," my old chum paused to say, "Mind! not a whimper of regret:--instead, Laugh and be glad, as I shall.--Being dead, I shall not lodge so very far away But that our mirth shall mingle.--So, the day The word comes, joy with me." "I'll try," I said, Though, even speaking, sighed and shook my head And turned, with misted eyes. His roundelay Rang gaily on the stair; and then the door Opened and--closed. . . . Yet something of the clear, Hale hope, and force of wholesome faith he had Abided with me--strengthened more and more.-- Then--then they brought his broken body here: And I laughed--whisperingly--and we were glad.

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[Ill.u.s.tration: Scotty--headpiece]

SCOTTY

Scotty's dead--Of course he is!

Jes' that same old luck of his!-- Ever sence we went cahoots He's be'n first, you bet yer boots!

When our schoolin' first begun, Got two whippin's to my one: Stold and smoked the first cigar: Stood up first before the bar, Takin' whisky-straight--and me Wastin' time on "blackberry"!

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Beat me in the Army, too, And clean on the whole way through!

In more sc.r.a.pes around the camp, And more troubles, on the tramp: Fought and fell there by my side With more bullets in his hide, And more glory in the cause,-- That's the kind o' man _he_ was!

Luck liked Scotty more'n me.-- _I_ got married: Scotty, he Never even would _apply_ Fer the pension-money I Had to beg of "Uncle Sam"-- That's the kind o' cuss _I_ am!-- Scotty allus first and best-- Me the last and ornriest!

Yit fer all that's said and done-- All the battles fought and won-- We hain't prospered, him ner me-- Both as pore as pore could be,-- Though we've allus, up tel now, Stuck together anyhow-- Scotty allus, as I've said, Luckiest--And now he's _dead_!

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[Ill.u.s.tration: The old man--headpiece]

THE OLD MAN

Lo! steadfast and serene, In patient pause between The seen and the unseen, What gentle zephyrs fan Your silken silver hair,-- And what diviner air Breathes round you like a prayer, Old Man?

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Can you, in nearer view Of Glory, pierce the blue Of happy Heaven through; And, listening mutely, can Your senses, dull to us, Hear Angel-voices thus, In chorus glorious-- Old Man?

In your reposeful gaze The dusk of Autumn days Is blent with April haze, As when of old began The bursting of the bud Of rosy babyhood-- When all the world was good, Old Man.

And yet I find a sly Little twinkle in your eye; And your whisperingly shy Little laugh is simply an Internal shout of glee That betrays the fallacy You'd perpetrate on me, Old Man.

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So just put up the frown That your brows are pulling down!

Why, the fleetest boy in town, As he bared his feet and ran, Could read with half a glance-- And of keen rebuke, perchance-- Your secret countenance, Old Man.

Now, honestly, confess: Is an old man any less Than the little child we bless And caress when we can?

Isn't age but just a place Where you mask the childish face To preserve its inner grace, Old Man?

Hasn't age a truant day, Just as that you went astray In the wayward, restless way, When, brown with dust and tan, Your roguish face essayed, In solemn masquerade, To hide the smile it made, Old Man?

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[Ill.u.s.tration: In your reposeful gaze]

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Now, fair, and square, and true, Don't your old soul tremble through, As in youth it used to do When it brimmed and overran With the strange, enchanted sights, And the splendors and delights Of the old "Arabian Nights,"

Old Man?

When, haply, you have fared Where glad Aladdin shared His lamp with you, and dared The Afrite and his clan; And, with him, clambered through The trees where jewels grew-- And filled your pockets, too, Old Man?

Or, with Sinbad, at sea-- And in veracity Who has sinned as bad as he, Or would, or will, or can?-- Have you listened to his lies, With open mouth and eyes, And learned his art likewise, Old Man?

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And you need not deny That your eyes were wet as dry, Reading novels on the sly!

And review them, if you can And the same warm tears will fall-- Only faster, that is all-- Over Little Nell and Paul, Old Man!

Oh, you were a lucky lad-- Just as good as you were bad!

And the host of friends you had-- Charley, Tom, and d.i.c.k, and Dan; And the old School-Teacher, too, Though he often censured you; And the girls in pink and blue, Old Man.

And--as often you have leant, In boyish sentiment, To kiss the letter sent By Nelly, Belle, or Nan-- Wherein the rose's hue Was red, the violet blue-- And sugar sweet--and you, Old Man,--

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So, to-day, as lives the bloom, And the sweetness, and perfume Of the blossoms, I a.s.sume, On the same mysterious plan The Master's love a.s.sures, That the selfsame boy endures In that hale old heart of yours, Old Man.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The old man--tailpiece]

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JAMES B. MAYNARD

His daily, nightly task is o'er-- He leans above his desk no more.

His pencil and his pen say not One further word of gracious thought.

All silent is his _voice_, yet clear For all a grateful world to hear;

He poured abroad his human love In opulence unmeasured of--

While, in return, his meek demand,-- The warm clasp of a neighbor-hand

In recognition of the true World's duty that he lived to do.