POETICAL FAVORITES

RECOMPENSE

BY EDWIN M. ABBOTT

What is the price of manhood?

What sale does honor bring?
Does pure, untarnished character

Count nought in lifetime's ring?
Do bauble scions rule us?

Does riot, ruin reign
The purest soul to trample down

To crush, destroy, rend twain?
Is there no truth or honor

To cause mankind to stay
The all-consuming thirst for lust

That lures them far away?
Does honest labor cheapen

The mold wherein we're cast;
Is black, corrupt impurity

The flag flung from life's mast?
Forget not. One is watching,
Our actions, day by day,

And riches gained at such a cost

He surely will repay.
For though mankind is judging

Appearances, poor art,
The God, the just the righteous Judge.

Inspects our inmost heart. Condemn not, then, I pray thee,

For thou, thyself, some day May seek for mercy from thy Judge,

Whose verdict none can sway. And temper all thy judgments

With love and common sense. The end well merits all 'twill bring;

It serves full recompense.

LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS

BY CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS

I haf got a leedle boy

Vot gomes schust to my knee; Der queerest schap, der greatest rogue

As efer you dit see;
He runs and jumps, and smashes dings

In all barts of der house
But vot of dot? he vas mine son,

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He get der measles und der mumbs,

Unt eferyding dot's oud;
He sbills mine glass of lager beer,
Poots schnuff indo mine kraut;

He fills my pipe mit Limburg cheese,

Dot vas der roughest chouse; I'd dake dot vrom no oder boy

But leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He dakes der milk ban for a dhrum,

Und cuts mine cane in dwo
To make der schticks to beat it mit

Mine cracious, dot vas drue!
I dinks mine head vas schplit abart,

He kicks oup sooch a touse
But nefer mind, der poys vas few

Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.

He asks me questions sooch as dese:

Who baints mine nose so red? Who vas it cut dot schmoot blace out

Vrom der hair ubon mine head?
Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp

Vene'er der glim I douse
How gan I all dose dings eggsblain

To dot shmall Yawcob Strauss?

I somedimes dink I schall vild

Mit sooch a grazy poy, Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest

Und beaceful dimes enshoy;
But ven he was ashleep in ped

So guiet as a mouse,
I brays der Lord, "Dake anydings,
But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss.”

MOTHER'S DOUGHNUTS

El Dorado, 1851

BY CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS

I've just been down ter Thompson's, boys,

'N feelin' kind o’ blue, I thought I'd look in at “ The Ranch,"

Ter find out what wuz new; When I seed this sign a-hanging

On a shanty by the lake: "Here's whar yer get your doughnuts

Like yer mother used ter make."

I've seen a grizzly show his teeth,

I've seen Kentucky Pete Draw out his shooter, 'n advise

A“ tenderfoot " ter treat; But nuthin' ever tuk me down,

'N made my benders shake, Like that sign about the doughnuts

That my mother used ter make.

A sort o’mist shut out the ranch,

'N standin' thar instead,
I seen an old, white farm-house,

With its doors all painted red.
A whiff came through the open door-

Wuz I sleepin' or awake?
The smell wuz that of doughnuts
Like my mother used ter make,

The bees wuz hummin'round the porch

Whar honeysuckles grew; A yellow dish of apple-sass

Wuz settin' thar in view. 'N on the table, by the stove,

An old-time" Johnny-cake," 'N a platter full of doughnuts Like my

mother used ter make.

A patient form I seemed ter see,

In tidy dress of black,
I almost thought I heard the words,

"When will my boy come back?” 'N then - the old sign creaked:

But now it was the boss who spake: "Here's whar yer gets yer doughnuts Like

yer mother used ter make."

Well, boys, that kind o' broke me up,

'N ez I've “struck pay gravel,” I ruther think I'll pack my kit,

Vamoose the ranch, 'n travel. I'll make the old folks jubilant,

'N if I don't mistake, I'll try some o' them doughnuts

Like my mother used ter make.