=The Worldly Way= By Monroe H. Rosenfeld. “Come back, my child,” said the father fond To his boy who had gone astray Out in the bitter world of sin— Out in the sorrowed way; “Thou hast erred, my child, yet what of that? And Frailty’s name is mine, Thy path of sin is naught to me, For repentance is divine!” And so it chanced that the lad returned One night, when the low’ring day Of Life had cast its dark’ning gloom And lured him from his way; And wine and song and kindly hands, Like the dream of the prodigal son, Were lent in humble, sweet embrace To welcome the erring one! –––––––– A maiden fair in tattered gown, Aweary and sad at heart, Passed out in the rabble of the street With penance for a part. Hers was the fate of Passion’s love, And she a thing of scorn; “Thou hast erred and sinned,” cried the bitter world, “’Twere better to be unborn!” “Thou art not my child!” the father said, As he closed the mansion door— “Passion and sin go hand in hand, Seek thou another shore!” And the girl went forth forever, aye, A penitent child of shame— One of the millions wandering on For woe and Death to claim. –––––––– Ah! this was many years ago, When life was a youthful dream; And yester eve I saw two graves In a churchyard near a stream; The glittering waters rippled soft Their cadence for a song Of the sinner and sinned who buried lay Apart from the madding throng. The same sweet carol of the birds Overhead, that sang their strain; The same sweet zephyrs lingering by Made dirges for the twain. One forgiven! The other spurned! Both in the depths of clay. Yet each again to rise, despite The cross of the worldly way! –––––––– “Here’s where I prove an artist Without a brush,” he cried, As he drew a lovely maiden Up closer to his side. * * * * * =Hell= Sometimes we say— It’s colde’r’n Hell; Sometimes we say— It’s hotter’n Hell, And when it rains, ’Tis Hell we cry; It’s also Hell When it is dry.