ed them aright,
His presence would ever
Afford us delight;
But the third hand he has
Is a very unkind hand,
For this ogre's real name
Is Little Behind Hand.
Little Behind Hand
Is tyrant indeed,
From which we would have
Mankind ever freed.
Little Behind Hand
Can seldom find work,
For he stumbles in blindness
And gropes in the dark,
He is sullen and mean,
Near-sighted and sour,
Ruin and trouble
'Bout him constantly lower.
Drive him off! Drive him off!
Ere he fasten on you
His fangs of destruction,
The pestilent dew
That he breathes on his victim
To deaden the sense
Of his presence and power,
And their sad consequence.
Strike him down! Strike him down!
With strong, sturdy blow,
If you yield to him now
He will soon lay you low,
And when hand and foot
Are at his command,
You will feel he has grown
To a Big Behind Hand.

* * * * *

The public tide is polluted
With offal, fraud, and deceit;
In ev'ry line of industry
Its venomous forms we meet
In men who sneer at truth and right,
Who, Honor's path have decried,
That they might gain the golden calf
Whose power they have deified.

MY CHOICE.

I would rather dwell a hermit
In some silent peaceful wood,
Where no voice of human being
Ever breaks the solitude;
Where babbling brook, and minstrelsy
Of winged friends are heard
To join the sylvan choruses
Of leaves when gently stirred,
Than live in costly splendor
With a heartless, greedy throng,
Whose only thought is sordid pelf
Obtained by fraud and wrong.

I would far prefer a cavern
On some rocky sea-girt isle,
Where the constant intonations
Of the waves as they recoil
With their soughing and deep moaning
For a momentary rest,
Tell of liquid matter only
That bespeaks itself distressed,
Than to live where human bodies
Bend and writhe for freedom's air,
Till the heart breaks in deep sorrow,
And the soul sinks in despair.

I would choose a lone oasis
With one tree, one flower, one spring,
One bird of sprightly plumage
With throat attuned to sing;
One whisper of approval
From a voiceless power within;
One p