Such life divine inspired within, Would form stern barriers to all sin, And be the motive power to lead, To all that man could wish or need.
Blest reason, long dethroned, might then Become the guide of erring men, Blind superstition meet its doom, Within an unregretted tomb.
Let all with one accord then bend, Their powers to further this grand end, Love then would herald the new birth, Of peace and good will through the earth.
Poor Tyne! no verse of mine has ever sung The praise of one more faithful than thou wert, For warm affection formed a major part Of thy canine existence, now, alas! Cut short by sad and cruel accident. We cannot choose but mourn thee, good old dog, Who for a period of thirteen years Guarded the family hearth and claimed a share Of warm affection in its daily life, Watching through tender, melancholy eyes, Each loved one forming its component parts. Ready to follow, sport, caress or play, If but a kind word led the cue or way, _Parisien emigré_ of sixty-seven, Reserved for kinder, more congenial fate Than thy unhappy brethren of the siege; Perchance with instinct keen thou did'st rejoice To leave thy native land, o'ercharged with strife, And on a foreign shore tell out thy life. Thy soft, thick, creamy coat, expressive tail, Deep, lustrous, loving eyes, short bark and wail; Thy wild delight at prospect of a walk, Glad boundings over green sward fresh and free, Thy look of conscious guilt when wrong was done, And patient waiting at thy master's side, For well-selected morsel of each meal; Thy pleadings, far more eloquent than words Of mine could ever chronicle, thy sweet Low whinings of inquiry or desire, All will be long remembered, watcher true, Good, old, affectionate, responsive Tyne!
Is there a heart so sere as not to feel Pleasures innumerable o'er it stead, In sweet surroundings of earth's lovely flowers, Which cheer and elevate man's saddest hours.
Sweet messages from heaven they convey, Through perfumed breath they sing their God-taught-lay, Root firmly bedded in the active sod, And eye turned upward to their Father God.
Pure gems of earth are beauteous to behold, Set in the royalty of burnished gold; But what is their dead beauty, to the glow Of living, loving glory which flowers show?