I’VE a humble little motto That is homely, though it’s true,… Keep a—pluggin’ away. It’s a thing when I’ve an object That I always try to do, —

De 'cession’s stahted on de gospel… De Capting is a—drawin’ nigh: Bettah stop a—foolin’ an’ a—try to… Lif’ up yo’ haid w’en de King go… Oh, sinnah mou’nin’ in de dusty ro…

She gave a rose, And I kissed it and pressed it. I love her, she knows, And my action confessed it. She gave me a rose,

UNCLE JOHN, he makes me tired; Thinks 'at he’s jest so all—fired Smart, 'at he kin pick up, so, Ever’thing he wants to know. Tried to ketch me up last night,

Out of my heart, one treach’rous w… I locked young Love and threw the… Grief, wandering widely, found the… And hastened with it, straightway,… With Love beside him. He unlocked…

EF you’s only got de powah fe’ to… Keep ermong de people wid de whist… Ef you don’t, you’ll fin’ out sho’… In a place dat’s all a bed o’ this… 'Tain’t no use a—goin’ now, ez sho…

STEP me now a bridal measure, Work give way to love and leisure, Hearts be free and hearts be gay — Doctor Dan doth wed to—day. Diagnosis, cease your squalling —

THE night is dewy as a maiden’s m… The skies are bright as are a maid… Soft as a maiden’s breath the wind… Up from the perfumed bosom of the… Like sentinels, the pines stand in…

EIGHT of 'em hyeah all tol’ an’… Dese eyes o’ mine is wringin’ wet; My haht’s a—achin’ ha’d an’ so’, De way hit nevah ached befo’; My soul’s a—pleadin’, 'Lawd give…

(Lines on reading ‘Driftwood.’) Driftwood gathered here and there Along the beach of time; Now and then a chip of truth ‘Mid boards and boughs of rhyme;

The snow lies deep upon the ground… And winter’s brightness all around Decks bravely out the forest sere, With jewels of the brave old year. The coasting crowd upon the hill

MY cot was down by a cypress grov… And I sat by my window the whole… And heard well up from the deep da… A mocking—bird’s passionate song. And I thought of myself so sad an…

I 's boun’ to see my gal to—night— Oh, lone de way, my dearie! De moon ain’t out, de stars ain’t… Oh, lone de way, my dearie! Dis hoss o’ mine is pow’ful slow,

Slow moves the pageant of a climbi… Their footsteps drag far, far belo… And, unprevailing by their utmost… Seem faltering downward from each… No strange, swift—sprung exception…