The waiters hurry, skurry, with ring and clink of glasses, But the sparkling wines flow dimmer than the laughing eyes of lasses, And the myriad golden planets which glitter in yon skies Are eclipsed by eyes which soften at Gerardi’s melodies. Sore heart of baffled hopes, against consolation proof, Hast thou found life’s gilded web of rotten warp and woof? Drink deep of the nepenthe of woman’s witching tongue, And hear the Florentine repeat the songs which Petrarch sung. He culls the flowers of Paradise and squeezes their aroma With “Kentucky Home” and “Hearts and Flowers” and heavenly “La Paloma.” The very stars stoop down to kiss this old Italian wizard, While I--I just feel weak and faint and hollow round the gizzard. I soar aloft among the stars, inhaling the aroma Of the silver songs of Florence and Madrid’s “La Paloma,” And “Love Me and the World is Mine” in melody divine Breathes from Gerardi’s harp-strings like bouquet of Roman wine. And Weber’s “Invitation”--he pours it like old wine-- “Come right on in, oh stranger! the water’s very fine!” And oh! my willing soul would stay ’mid girls and song like this And dream and sigh itself away in everlasting bliss. And there, within my vision’s range, I see a bearded “Colonel,” With jingling spurs--he fears no peers--it is the Courier-Journal. He mounts his foam-flecked war-steed, so spirited and gay; He’s going for a whirl to-night, around the “Milky Way.” He sings the old camp-meeting songs of Democratic Zion And Salvation Army melodies in praise of Billy Bryan. And from New England’s silver springs to the glaciers of Alaska He calls on all to march behind bold Billy of Nebraska. I guess he’ll skim its richest cream for Democratic butter, While many an unhorsed rival lies cussin’ in the gutter. His paragraphs are golden lamps which flare around a palace, And he pours the wine of genius from an overflowing chalice. Strong-limbed, sound-winded “Dark Horse”--he’s “bearded like a pard”--(Good-bye, old Pard!) An expert he in “sharps and flats”--the match of old Gerardi; Both artists, those old boys, “by gum!” of copious variety-- Age can not wither, nor custom stale, their infinite--sobriety. DEDICATION HYMN. SUNG AT THE REOPENING OF THE METHODIST CHURCH, HOPKINSVILLE, KY., JANUARY 31, 1902. Jesus, this earthly shrine once more Opes wide in majesty; The temple of our hearts anew We consecrate to thee. Redemption’s gates wide open swing, All hail, thou Galilean King! Faith laid the eternal corner-stone, Hope built aloft the tower, And Love shall call thy children, Lord, At worship’s solemn hour. Redemption’s glorious song they sing, All hail, Life’s re-awakening Spring!