Wait, wait awhile; those axles grease,
And shift this buckle's fretting;
And give that galling collar ease;-
How grateful is he getting!
So poor yourselves, and short of joys,
Unkindly used, unfairly,
I sometimes wonder, men and boys,
You're merciful so rarely :
If you have felt how hunger gripes,
Why famish and ill use 'em?
If you've been weal'd by sores and stripes,
How can you beat and bruise 'em?
Oh, fear! lest GOD has taught in vain,
And so your hearts you harden;
Oh, hope! for lo! He calls again,
And now's the time for pardon:
Yes, haste to-day to put away
Your cruelties and curses,-
And man at least, if not his beast,
Shall bless me for my verses.
The Dog's Petition:
AGAINST THE TRUCK SYSTEM."
Have pity, Master, on me! I scarce can drag the load,— I all but pull my heartstrings out upon this stony road; Yet, with a cudgel and a curse my willing toil you pay, And leap upon the truck behind, to help me on my way!
Half-starved, and weal'd, and bruised, and gall'd, in every bone I
And strain beneath the crushing load, as if my back would break,
The while athirst I struggle on among these dusty ruts,
And dread the mended places where the flint so sharply cuts!
O Man, O Master! Nature's hand-(it is the hand of GOD!)
For roads like this made stubborn hoofs,-my soft foot for the sod;
Built the strong frame of beasts of draught to pull your cart or van,
But gave me nobler sense and wish to be the friend of Man!
With faithful zeal to watch the flock or homestead night and day,
To chase your game, or bravely hunt the prowling beasts of prey ;
With joyous love to welcome you, with courage to defend ;-
O Man, art thou "the friend of GOD ?"—then let me be thy friend.
Yes,-learned lords and sporting men, who make or mar the laws,
Why hesitate such ills to cure,-for is there not a cause?
The town is quit of dog-truck-scamps and cruelties like these,
But in our lonely country lanes they torture as they please.
No eye to see, no hand to help,-(but His, long suffering still,
Who yet shall bless good's bruisèd heel, and crush the head of ill!)
No pity in the cruel heart to stay the hand that flogs,-
O senators, consider well the case of country-dogs.
And for your clients, dog-truck-men,-ask all the country through,
In every village, who is worst of all their roughest crew?
They'll tell you, one and all alike, as honestly they can,
Our model rogue and thief and sot is-yonder dog-truck-man.
A WORD OF COMFORT TO THE LOYAL.
England's heart! Oh never fear
The sturdy good old stock;
Nothing's false or hollow here,
But solid as a rock:
England's heart is sound enough,
And safe in its old place,
Honest, loyal, blithe, and bluff,
And open as her face!
England's heart! With beating nerves
It rallies for the throne,-
And, with Luther, well preserves
The knee for GOD alone!
England's heart is sound enough,
Unshaken and serene,
Like her oak-trees true and tough
And old, but glad and green!
England's heart! All Europe hurl'd
To ruin, strife, and dearth,
Sees yet one Zoar in the world,
The Goshen of the earth!
England's heart is sound enough,-
And-though the skies be dark,
Though winds be loud, and waves be roughSafe, as Noah's ark!
England's heart,-Ay, GoD be praised,
That thus, in patriot pride,
An English cheer can yet be raised
Above the stormy tide:
Safe enough, and sound enough,
It thrills the heart to feel
A man's a bit of English stuff,
True from head to heel!
My Own Place.
A RHYME FOR ALL GOOD MEN AND TRUE.
Whoever I am, wherever my lot,
Whatever I happen to be,
Contentment and Duty shall hallow the spot
That Providence orders for me;
No covetous straining and striving to gain
One feverish step in advance,—
I know my own place, and you tempt me in vain
To hazard a change and a chance!
I care for no riches that are not my right,
No honour that is not my due;
But stand in my station by day, or by night,
The will of my Master to do;
He lent me my lot, be it humble or high,
And set me my business here;
And whether I live in His service, or die,
My heart shall be found in my sphere!
If wealthy, I stand as the steward of my King;
If poor, as the friend of my LORD;
If feeble, my prayers and my praises I bring;
If stalwarth, my pen or my sword:
If wisdom be mine, I will cherish His gift;
If simpleness, bask in His love;
If sorrow, His hope shall my spirit uplift;
If joy, I will throne it above!
The good that it pleases my GOD to bestow,
I gratefully gather and prize;
The evil,-it can be no evil, I know,
But only a good in disguise;
And whether my station be lowly or great,
No duty can ever be mean,
The factory-cripple is fix'd in his fate
As well as a King or a Queen!
For duty's bright livery glorifies all
With brotherhood, equal and free,
Obeying, as children, the heavenly call,
That places us where we should be;
A servant, the badge of my servitude shines
As a jewel invested by Heaven;
A monarch, remember that justice assigns
Much service, where so much is given!
Away then with "helpings" that humble and harm
Though "bettering" trips from your tongue,
Away! for your folly would scatter the charm
That round my proud poverty hung:
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