I's boun' to see my gal to-night

Oh, lone de way, my dearie!

De moon ain't out, de stars ain't bright —
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
Dis hoss o' mine is pow'ful slow,
But when I does git to yo' do'
Yo' kiss 'll pay me back, an' mo',
Dough lone de way, my dearie.

De night is skeery-lak an' still —
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
'Cept fu' dat mou'nful whippo'will-
Oh, lono de way, my dearie!
De way so long wif dis slow paco,
'T'u'd seem to me lak savin' grace
Ef you was on a nearer place,

Fu' lone de way, my dearie.

I hyeah de hootin' of de owl

Oh, lone de way, my dearie!

I wish dat watch-dog would n't howl
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
An' evaht'ing bofe right an' lef',
Seem p'in'tly lak hit put itso'f
In shape to skeer me half to def
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!

He byeah you bleatin' on de hill;
Come byeah an' keep yo' mou'nin' still,
O li'l' lamb!

De Mastah sen' de Shepud fo'f; He wandah souf, he wandah no'f, O li'l' lamb!

He wandah cas', he wandah wes'; De win' a-wrenchin' at his breas', O li'l' lamb!

Oh, tell de Shepud whaih you hide;
He want you walkin' by his side,
O li'l' lamb!

He know you weak, he know you so';
But come, don' stay away no mo',
O li'l' kumb!

An' af' ah while de lamb he hyeah De Shepud's voice a-callin' cleahSweet li'l' lamb!

He answah f'om de brambles thick, "O Shepud, I 's a-comiu' quick". O li'l' lamb!

A DEATH SONG

Of a lonely wing on a dawn-lit bay.
Then add the gleam of a golden fan,
And I will paint you Miyoko San.

Find me the thought of a rose, at sight
Of her own pale face in a fawning stream,
The polished night

Of a crow's slow flight,

And the long, sweet grace of a willow's dream.

Then add the droop of a golden fan,
And I will paint you Miyoko San.

Lure me a lay from a sunbeam's throat,
The chant of bees in a perfumed lair,
Or a single note

Gone mad to float

How dear that aching memory

Of cuckoo cry and lark's light wing! And for their sake how dear to me!

Who owns not how, so often tried,

The bond all trial hath withstood; The leaping pulse, the racial pride

In more than common brotherhood; Nor feels his kinship like a flood Rise blotting every dissonant trace, He is not of the ancient blood! He is not of the Island race!

WAR

THE great Republic goes to war,
But spring still comes as spring has done,
And all the summer months will run
Their summer sequence as before;
And every bird will build its nest,
The sun sink daily in the west,

And rising eastward bring new day
In the old way.

But ah, those dawns will have a light,
Those western skies burn golden bright,
With what a note the birds will sing,
And winter's self be turned to spring
Than any springtime sweeter far,
When once again, calm entering,

The great Republic comes from war!

JUDGMENT

A DEAD Soul lay in the light of day, Desperate, wan, it had passed;

(NEW YORK HARBOR, AUGUST 20, 1898)

To eastward ringing, to westward winging, o'er mapless miles of sea,

On winds and tides the gospel rides that the furthermost isles are free, And the furthermost isles make answer, harbor, and height, and hill, Breaker and betch cry each to ench, ""T is

the Mother who calls! Be still!" Mother! new-found, beloved, and strong to hold from harm,

Stretching to these across the seas the shield of her sovereign arm, Who summoned the guns of her sailor who bade her navies roam, Who calls again to the leagues of main,

sons,

and who calls them this time home!

And the great gray ships are silent, and the weary watchers rest, The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the golden west Invisible hands are lining a glory of crimson bars,

And far above is the wouder of a myriad wakened stars!

Peace! As the tidings silence the strenu ous cannonade,

Peace at last! is the bugle blast the length of the long blockade,

And eyes of vigil weary are lit with the glad release,

From ship to ship and from lip to lip it is "Peace! Thank God for peace."

Ah, in the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show

The sons of these who swept the sens how she bade them rise and go, — How, when the stirring summons smote on her children's ear,

South and North at the call stood forth, and the whole land answered, "Here!" For the soul of the soldier's story and the heart of the sailor's song

Are all of those who meet their focs as right should meet with wrong, Who fight their guns till the focman runs, and then, on the decks they trod, Brave faces raise, and give the praise to the grace of their country's God !

Yes, it is good to battle, and good to be strong and free,

To

carry the hearts of a people to the uttermost ends of sea,