There is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; But when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? _Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear._ Buy a pup and your money will buy Love unflinching that cannot lie-- Perfect passion and worship fed By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head. _Nevertheless it is hardly fair To risk your heart for a dog to tear._ When the fourteen years which Nature permits Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits, And the vet's unspoken prescription runs To lethal chambers or loaded guns, _Then you will find--it's your own affair, But ... you've given your heart to a dog to tear._ When the body that lived at your single will, When the whimper of welcome is stilled (how still!), When the spirit that answered your every mood Is gone--wherever it goes--for good, _You will discover how much you care, And will give your heart to a dog to tear._ We've sorrow enough in the natural way, When it comes to burying Christian clay. Our loves are not given, but only lent, At compound interest of cent per cent. Though it is not always the case, I believe, That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve: For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, A short-time loan is as bad as a long-- _So why in--Heaven (before we are there) Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?_ THE RABBI'S SONG If Thought can reach to Heaven, On Heaven let it dwell, For fear thy Thought be given Like power to reach to Hell. For fear the desolation And darkness of thy mind Perplex an habitation Which thou hast left behind. Let nothing linger after-- No whimpering ghost remain, In wall, or beam, or rafter, Of any hate or pain. Cleanse and call home thy spirit, Deny her leave to cast, On aught thy heirs inherit, The shadow of her past. For think, in all thy sadness, What road our griefs may take; Whose brain reflect our madness, Or whom our terrors shake. For think, lest any languish By cause of thy distress-- The arrows of our anguish Fly farther than we guess. Our lives, our tears, as water, Are spilled upon the ground; God giveth no man quarter, Yet God a means hath found, Though faith and hope have vanished, And even love grows dim-- A means whereby His banished Be not expelled from Him. THE BEE BOY'S SONG _Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees! 'Hide from your neighbours as much as you please, But all that has happened, to_ us _you must tell, Or else we will give you no honey to sell!'_ A maiden in her glory, Upon her wedding-day, Must tell her Bees the story, Or else they'll fly away. Fly away--die away-- Dwindle down and leave you! But if you don't deceive your Bees, Your Bees will not deceive you.