1 The kind of a man for you and me! He faces the world unflinchingly, And smites, as long as the wrong resists, With a knuckled faith and force like fists: He lives the life he is preaching of, And loves where most is the need of love; His voice is clear to the deaf man's ears, And his face sublime through the blind man's tears; The light shines out where the clouds were dim, And the widow's prayer goes up for him; The latch is clicked at the hovel door And the sick man sees the sun once more, And out o'er the barren fields he sees Springing blossoms and waving trees, Feeling as only the dying may, That God's own servant has come that way, Smoothing the path as it still winds on Through the golden gate where his loved have gone. 2 The kind of a man for me and you! However little of worth we do He credits full, and abides in trust That time will teach us how more is just. He walks abroad, and he meets all kinds Of querulous and uneasy minds, And sympathizing, he shares the pain Of the doubts that rack us, heart and brain; And knowing this, as we grasp his hand We are surely coming to understand! He looks on sin with pitying eyes-- E'en as the Lord, since Paradise--, Else, should we read, Though our sins should glow As scarlet, they shall be white as snow--? And feeling still, with a grief half glad, That the bad are as good as the good are bad, He strikes straight out for the Right-- and he Is the kind of a man for you and me! _The Harper_ Like a drift of faded blossoms Caught in a slanting rain, His fingers glimpsed down the strings of his harp In a tremulous refrain: Patter and tinkle, and drip and drip! Ah! But the chords were rainy sweet! And I closed my eyes and I bit my lip, As he played there in the street. Patter, and drip, and tinkle! And there was the little bed In the corner of the garret, And the rafters overhead! And there was the little window-- Tinkle, and drip, and drip--! The rain above, and a mother's love, And God's companionship! _Old Aunt Mary's_ Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine, In those old days of the lost sunshine Of youth-- when the Saturday's chores were through, And the "Sunday's wood" in the kitchen too, And we went visiting, "me and you," Out to Old Aunt Mary's? It all comes back so clear to-day! Though I am as bald as you are gray-- Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane, We patter along in the dust again, As light as the tips of the drops of the rain, Out to Old Aunt Mary's! We cross the pasture, and through the wood Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood, Where the hammering "red-heads" hopped awry, And the buzzard "raised" in the "clearing" sky And lolled and circled, as we went by Out to Old Aunt Mary's. And then in the dust of the road again; And the teams we met, and the countrymen; And the long highway, with sunshine spread As thick as butter on country bread, Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead Out to Old Aunt Mary's.