Debts overwhelm me and creditors call, No more can I pay, they already have all. The sheriff may come to bleed me afresh, And take by the law one pound of my flesh; But now, nor never, will I change my plan, For I cherish the fate of the honest man. In liquid poisons I do not indulge, Nor by vile language my weakness divulge: From labor and right I never do quail, And still my efforts continue to fail, Yet I keep trying to do what I can To merit the fate of the honest man. O, God of the poor, extend thy good word, And grant the honest a better reward, Save them from Shylocks, temptation and pain, Make troubles on earth in heaven their gain, O, give me the strength to live by my plan, And die the proud death of the honest man. TIME AND TIDE. Composed while dreaming about time and tide. “Come, Time,” says Tide, “along with me, For we must go together, And join our forces at the sea, Nor wait for wind or weather.” CHRISTMAS DAY. Written at the request of my daughter Grace, then eleven years old, to be spoken by her at the holiday exercises in school, December, 1887. There never had been a Christmas morn, Till near nineteen hundred years ago, When Christ our glorious Lord was born, And peace and good will began to grow. Christ taught fathers and mothers to pray, And how good, pure and kind they should be, And when some one pushed children away, Said, “Suffer them to come unto Me.” We all should rejoice and be thankful That Christ loved little children so strong, And strive to be happy and cheerful, And never to do anything wrong. It pays to be good and be pleasant, And pleases our kind parents so well, We are sure to receive a nice present, When old Santa Claus comes with his bell. Now, my good friends and my teacher, too, I have one strong wish for which I’ll pray, I wish for me and I wish for you, That Christ will come back some Christmas day. PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE. A little nonsense is, now and then, Highly relished by the best of men, And women, too, are so fond of fun. They laugh for joy when a game’s begun. There are games of skill, and games of chance, And games with sweet music and the dance, Some play at whist, and some at poker, But all enjoy progressive euchre. A goodly party is twenty-four, There may be less, and there may be more; Twelve ladies fine you first invite, And twelve gentlemen to spend the night. The tables now you arrange and fix, And number them plainly one to six, A pack of clean cards on each you lay, All ready for the approaching fray. Use thirty-two cards, be uniform, And in conduct to the rules conform; Your table number is fixed by chance, And good order will the fun enhance.