GET úp, fool, from your bended knee; Gód has no eyes and cannot see." "But mén have eyes and see me kneel; To kneel to God is quite genteel.” "Then kneel away, but don't grimace; An úgly thing 's a lóng- drawn face." "I bég excuse; it's so they paint Madónna, Magdalen and saint."
"At least your óratory spare,
The wheedling rhétoric you call prayer;
Or for the Gód blush, who, to do
What 's right, needs to be coaxed by you."
"My rhétoric were indeed misplaced,
Of good breath a mere wanton waste,
Hád my by-standing friends no ear
The humble, suppliant voice to hear,
In which I let th' Omniscient know
What we think of him here below,
And how, if he 'd few blunders make,
Mé for his counsellor he should take,
And, in all things requiring nice
Discrimination, my advice
Exáctly following, himself spare
Responsibility and care,
And mé scarce less anxiety
Lest áll should not well managed be."
"Incómparably honest friend,
Pray ón; my lécture 's at an end;
There's not a word you 've said but 's true;
I'll kneel beside you and pray too."
FLEURUS, HAINAULT (BELGIUM), Nov. 10, 1854.
JACK and Jóck once mét each other
Ón a road that eást and wést lay,
Pósting both as fást as áble,
Westward Jack, and Jóck due eastward:
"Whither, Jack, in súch a húrry?"
Said Jock, stópping shórt and greeting.
"Straight to heaven," repliéd Jack hásty,
"Túrn aboút, Jock, and come with me."
"Whát! to heaven?" said Jóck astónished; "Jack, you can't to heáven get that way; Heaven lies eastward évery child knows Cóme with me, I 'm bound straight for it."
"Báh!" said Jack, "you 're súrely jóking; Why, it's straight to hell you 're going.
you 're wise you'll turn with mé, Jock; Read the signpost: HEAVEN *** MÍLES EAST."
"Whát care Í, Jack, for your signpost?
Áll my friends have still gone this way;
Father, móther, bóth grandfathers,
Áll my uncles, aúnts and cousins."
"For your friends I cáre as little,
Jóck, as yoú care fór my signpost,
Bút to end our difference lét us
Leave it to the toll-bar keéper."
To the toll-bar Jack and Jóck go,
Dóff their bonnets, pút the question:
"Géntlemén," repliés the tóll - man,
"Please both of you pay the tóll first."
Paid the tóll, says thé toll-keeper
With a shrewd shrug óf his shoulders:
"Géntlemén, you 're free to take now
Either road to heaven or neither."
Só the two friends fóllowed on straight
Each the way he had been góing,
And I doubt much either 's nearer
Heaven today than when he stárted.
Walking from BASECLES to Tournay (Belgium), Nov. 14, 1854.
THE BEGGAR AND THE BISHOP.
"My lord bishop," said the beggar,
"Thoú and ĺ in Christ are brethren,
Lét us therefore live as brothers;
i'll begin, do thoú as Í do.
"Hére 's one hálf my crúst and bacon,
Hére 's one of my twó sixpénces;
Nów give mé one hálf the income
Of thy see and présentations."
"Yés, beyond doubt wé are brethren,"
Said the bishop with a gráve smile,
"Ánd have both received our portions
From the same impártial Párent.
"Tó divide again were impious
Disconténtednéss on oúr parts;
Keep thou thine as I will mine keep,
Ánd let bóth praise thé great giver.
"Bút as I am bound in fairness
Tó acknowledge I've the lion's share,
Táke this cháritáble shílling
Ánd my bléssing, and no móre say."
Walking from CANTERBURY to SITTINGBOURNE (KENT), Nov. 23, 1854.
TÓNGUELESS thou 'st yét a triple voice, gray lock;
For, first, thou speakest of a time when soft,
Brown, glóssy, curly hair my temples shaded;
When supple and elastic were my joints,
My strong heart full of joy and hope and courage,
My infant reáson breathless in pursuit
Of fúgitive, light-foot, ignis-fatuus Knowledge;
A time when in my curling locks my mother
Her fingers used to wreathe and smiling say: -
"Heaven bless my boy and make him a good man.”
And next thou speákest of a time, gray lock,
When prématurely with my yet brown hair
White hairs began to mingle, and my mother
With tender hand would pluck them and say sighing:
"Thése might have wéll a little longer waited,
And spáred the sorrow to a mother's eyes."
And I would smile, and press her hand and say:
"Bé of good heart; we 've many a year before us,
Móther and són, to live, and love each other,
My vigorous manhood sheltering and protecting
Hér in whose shélter sáfe I grew to manhood."
And last, thou speakest of a time, gray lock
A time, alás! no longer in perspective,
Distant and dim and dreaded, but here present
When the kind fingers, that in my brown curls
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