"But _I fetched_ her! O _I fetched_ her!-- 'Cause a little while ago, As I kindo' set, With one eye shet, And a-singin' soft and low, A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, Sayin',--' Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!'" A WORN-OUT PENCIL. Welladay! Here I lay You at rest--all worn away, O my pencil, to the tip Of our old companionship! Memory Sighs to see What you are, and used to be, Looking backward to the time When you wrote your earliest rhyme!-- When I sat Filing at Your first point, and dreaming that Your initial song should be Worthy of posterity. With regret I forget If the song be living yet, Yet remember, vaguely now, It was honest, anyhow. You have brought Me a thought-- Truer yet was never taught,-- That the silent song is best, And the unsung worthiest. So if I, When I die, May as uncomplainingly Drop aside as now you do, Write of me, as I of you:-- Here lies one Who begun Life a-singing, heard of none; And he died, satisfied, With his dead songs by his side. THE STEPMOTHER. First she come to our house, Tommy run and hid; And Emily and Bob and me We cried jus' like we did When Mother died,--and we all said 'At we all wisht 'at we was dead! And Nurse she couldn't stop us, And Pa he tried and tried,-- We sobbed and shook and wouldn't look, But only cried and cried; And nen someone--we couldn't jus' Tell who--was cryin' same as us! Our Stepmother! Yes, it was her, Her arms around us all-- 'Cause Tom slid down the bannister And peeked in from the hall.-- And we all love her, too, because She's purt nigh good as Mother was! THE RAIN. I. The rain! the rain! the rain! It gushed from the skies and streamed Like awful tears; and the sick man thought How pitiful it seemed! And he turned his face away, And stared at the wall again, His hopes nigh dead and his heart worn out. O the rain! the rain! the rain! II. The rain! the rain! the rain! And the broad stream brimmed the shores; And ever the river crept over the reeds And the roots of the sycamores: A corpse swirled by in a drift Where the boat had snapt its chain-- And a hoarse-voiced mother shrieked and raved. O the rain! the rain! the rain! III. The rain! the rain! the rain!-- Pouring, with never a pause, Over the fields and the green byways-- How beautiful it was! And the new-made man and wife Stood at the window-pane Like two glad children kept from school.-- O the rain! the rain! the rain! THE LEGEND GLORIFIED. "I deem that God is not disquieted"-- This in a mighty poet's rhymes I read; And blazoned so forever doth abide Within my soul the legend glorified.