Yea, since above his work he may not rise,
She makes the field his skies.

See! she that bore him, and metes out the lot,
He serves her. Vex him not

To scorn the rock whence he was hewn, the pit
And what was digged from it;

MISS THOMAS was born in Chatham, Ohio, but since 1888 she has made her home in New York city. She has written much for the magazines, both in prose and verse, and her writings have been gathered into several volumes. Her verse is marked by delicacy of

thought, sincerity of feeling, and exquisiteness of finish.

MOTHER ENGLAND

THERE was a rover from a western shore,

England! whose eyes the sudden tears did drown,
Beholding the white cliff and sunny down
Of thy good realm, beyond the sea's uproar.
I, for a moment, dreamed that, long before,
I had beheld them thus, when, with the frown
Of sovereignty, the victor's palm and crown

5

15

Thou from the tilting field of nations bore.
Thy prowess and thy glory dazzled first;
But when in fields I saw the tender flame
Of primroses, and full-fleeced lambs at play,
Meseemed I at thy breast, like these, was nursed ;
Then mother Mother England! - home I came,
Like one who hath been all too long away!

5

II

As nestling at thy feet in peace I lay,

A thought awoke and restless stirred in me:

My land and congeners are beyond the sea,
Theirs is the morning and the evening day.
Wilt thou give ear while this of them I
say:
'Haughty art thou, and they are bold and free,
As well befits who have descent from thee,
And who have trodden brave the forlorn way.
Children of thine, but grown to strong estate;
Nor scorn from thee would they be slow to pay,
Nor check from thee submissly would they bear;
Yet Mother England! yet their hearts are great,
And if for thee should dawn some darkest day,
At cry of thine, how proudly would they dare!'"

THE MOTHER WHO DIED TOO

SHE was so little-little in her grave,

ΤΟ

15

20

The wide earth all around so hard and cold

She was so little! therefore did I crave

My arms might still her tender form enfold. She was so little, and her cry so weak

25

When she among the heavenly children came She was so little I alone might speak

For her who knew no word nor her own name.

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

1853

MR. RILEY was born at Greenfield, Indiana, where his father was a lawyer. For some years he was engaged in journalism, both in Greenfield and in Indianapolis. Much of his early verse, in the Hoosier dialect, first appeared in the newspapers. It attracted wide attention, and

several volumes of verse followed. In recent years he has resided at Indianapolis, but he has traveled widely, and has been unusually successful in giving readings from his own verse.

And the old man jes' wrapped up in him!
Never heerd him speak but once

Er twice in my life, —and first time was

When the army broke out, and Jim he went,

The old man backin' him, fer three months;
And all 'at I heerd the old man say

Was, jes' as we turned to start away,
"Well, good-by, Jim:

Take keer of yourse'f!"

'Peared like he was more satisfied

Jes' lookin' at Jim

And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see?
'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him!

15

And over and over I mind the day

The old man come and stood round in the way
While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim —
And down at the deepot a-heerin' him say,

"Well, good-by, Jim:

Take keer of yourse'f!"

20

Never was nothin' about the farm
Disting'ished Jim;

Neighbors all ust to wonder why

The old man 'peared wrapped up in him:
But when Cap. Biggler, he writ back
'At Jim was the bravest boy we had

In the whole dern rigiment, white er black,
And his fightin' good as his farmin' bad-
'At he had led, with a bullet clean
Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag
Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen,
The old man wound up a letter to him
'At Cap. read to us, 'at said: "Tell Jim
Good-by,

And take keer of hisse'f!"

Jim come home jes' long enough

To take the whim

'At he'd like to go back in the calvery –
And the old man jes' wrapped up in him!

Jim 'lowed 'at he'd had sich luck afore,
Guessed he'd tackle her three years more.
And the old man give him a colt he'd raised,
And follered him over to Camp Ben Wade,
And laid around fer a week er so,

Watchin' Jim on dress-parade

"Tel finally he rid away,

And last he heerd was the old man say,

"Well, good-by, Jim:

Take keer of yourse'f!"

5

IO

15

20

25

Tuk the papers, the old man did,

A-watchin' fer Jim,

Fully believin' he'd make his mark

Some way-jes' wrapped up in him!

30

And many a time the word 'ud come
'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum
At Petersburg, fer instunce, where
Jim rid right into their cannons there,
And tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t'other way,
And socked it home to the boys in gray,

As they skooted fer timber, and on and on

Jim a lieutenant, and one arm gone,

And the old man's words in his mind all day, —

"Well, good-by, Jim:

Take keer of yourse'f!"

Think of a private, now, perhaps,

We'll say like Jim,

'At's clumb clean up to the shoulder-straps-
And the old man jes' wrapped up in him!
Think of him with the war plum' through,
And the glorious old Red-White-and-Blue
A-laughin' the news down over Jim,
And the old man, bendin' over him
The surgeon turnin' away with tears
'At hadn't leaked fer years and years,
As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to
His Father's, the old voice in his ears,
"Well, good-by, Jim:

Take keer of yourse'f!"

IKE WALTON'S PRAYER'

I CRAVE, dear Lord,

No boundless hoard

Of gold and gear,

Nor jewels fine,

1 Used by special permission of The Bobbs-Merrill Company, publishers. From

Afterwhiles. Copyright, 1891.