Because you strike a random blow At what you do not understand, And beckon with a friendly hand To something that you do not know, I hold no speech of your desert, Nor answer with porrected shield The wooden weapon that you wield, But meet you with a cast of dirt. Dispute with such a thing as you-- Twin show to the two-headed calf? Why, sir, if I repress my laugh, 'T is more than half the world can do. 1882. PRAYER. Fear not in any tongue to call Upon the Lord--He's skilled in all. But if He answereth my plea He speaketh one unknown to me. A "BORN LEADER OF MEN." Tuckerton Tamerlane Morey Mahosh Is a statesman of world-wide fame, With a notable knack at rhetorical bosh To glorify somebody's name-- Somebody chosen by Tuckerton's masters To succor the country from divers disasters Portentous to Mr. Mahosh. Percy O'Halloran Tarpy Cabee Is in the political swim. He cares not a button for men, not he: Great principles captivate him-- Principles cleverly cut out and fitted To Percy's capacity, duly submitted, And fought for by Mr. Cabee. Drusus Turn Swinnerton Porfer Fitzurse Holds office the most of his life. For men nor for principles cares he a curse, But much for his neighbor's wife. The Ship of State leaks, but _he_ doesn't pump any, Messrs. Mahosh, Cabee & Company Pump for good Mr. Fitzurse. TO THE BARTHOLDI STATUE. O Liberty, God-gifted-- Young and immortal maid-- In your high hand uplifted; The torch declares your trade. Its crimson menace, flaming Upon the sea and shore, Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming That Law shall be no more. Austere incendiary, We're blinking in the light; Where is your customary Grenade of dynamite? Where are your staves and switches For men of gentle birth? Your mask and dirk for riches? Your chains for wit and worth? Perhaps, you've brought the halters You used in the old days, When round religion's altars You stabled Cromwell's bays? Behind you, unsuspected, Have you the axe, fair wench, Wherewith you once collected A poll-tax from the French? America salutes you-- Preparing to disgorge. Take everything that suits you, And marry Henry George. 1894 AN UNMERRY CHRISTMAS. Christmas, you tell me, comes but once a year. One place it never comes, and that is here. Here, in these pages no good wishes spring, No well-worn greetings tediously ring-- For Christmas greetings are like pots of ore: The hollower they are they ring the more. Here shall no holly cast a spiny shade, Nor mistletoe my solitude invade, No trinket-laden vegetable come, No jorum steam with Sheolate of rum. No shrilling children shall their voices rear. Hurrah for Christmas without Christmas cheer!