. . . . . . When all has been recited, And the teacher's bell is heard, And visitors, invited, Have dropped a kindly word, A hush of holy feeling Falls down upon us there, As though the day were kneeling, With the twilight for the prayer. . . . . . . Midst the wealth of facts and fancies That our memories may recall, Thus the old school-day romances Are the dearest, after all!-- When some sweet thought revises The half-forgotten tune That opened "Exercises," On "Friday Afternoon." "JOHNSON'S BOY" The world is turned ag'in' me, And people says, "They guess That nothin' else is in me But pure maliciousness!" I git the blame for doin' What other chaps destroy, And I'm a-goin' to ruin Because I'm "Johnson's boy." THAT ain't my name--I'd ruther They'd call me IKE or PAT-- But they've forgot the other-- And so have _I_, for that! I reckon it's as handy, When Nibsy breaks his toy, Or some one steals his candy, To say 'twas "JOHNSON'S BOY!" You can't git any water At the pump, and find the spout So durn chuck-full o' mortar That you have to bore it out; You tackle any scholar In Wisdom's wise employ, And I'll bet you half a dollar He'll say it's "Johnson's boy!" Folks don't know how I suffer In my uncomplainin' way-- They think I'm gittin' tougher And tougher every day. Last Sunday night, when Flinder Was a-shoutin' out for joy, And some one shook the winder, He prayed for "Johnson's boy." I'm tired of bein' follered By farmers every day, And then o' bein' collared For coaxin' hounds away; Hounds always plays me double-- It's a trick they all enjoy-- To git me into trouble, Because I'm "Johnson's boy." But if I git to Heaven, I hope the Lord'll see SOME boy has been perfect, And lay it on to me; I'll swell the song sonorous, And clap my wings for joy, And sail off on the chorus-- "Hurrah for 'Johnson's boy!'" HER BEAUTIFUL HANDS Your hands--they are strangely fair! O Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,-- Fair--for the witchery of the spell That ivory keys alone can tell; But when their delicate touches rest Here in my own do I love them best, As I clasp with eager, acquisitive spans My glorious treasure of beautiful hands! Marvelous--wonderful--beautiful hands! They can coax roses to bloom in the strands Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine, Under mysterious touches of thine, Into such knots as entangle the soul And fetter the heart under such a control As only the strength of my love understands-- My passionate love for your beautiful hands.