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Songs of Men, An Anthology Quotes
Songs of Men, An Anthology
by
Robert Frothingham1 rating, 5.00 average rating, 0 reviews
Songs of Men, An Anthology Quotes
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“Tim, An Irish Terrier
It's wonderful dogs they're breeding now:
Small as a flea or large as a cow;
But my old lad Tim he'll never be bet
By any dog that he ever met,
Come on 'says he'for I'm not kilt yet!
No matter the size of the dog he'll meet,
Tim trails his coat the length o'the street.
D'ye mind his scar an'his ragged ear,
The like of a Dublin Fusilier?
He's a massacree dog that knows no fear.
But he'd stick to me till his lastest breath;
An'he'd go with me to the gates of death.
He'd wait a thousand years,maybe,
Scratching the door an'whining for me
If myself were inside in Purgatory.
So I laugh when I hear them make it plain
That dogs and men never meet againj.
For all their talk who'd listen to them
With the soul in the shining eyes of him?
Would God be wasting a dog like Tim?
- Winifred M. Letts.”
― Songs of Men, an Anthology Selected and Arranged By Robert Frothingham
It's wonderful dogs they're breeding now:
Small as a flea or large as a cow;
But my old lad Tim he'll never be bet
By any dog that he ever met,
Come on 'says he'for I'm not kilt yet!
No matter the size of the dog he'll meet,
Tim trails his coat the length o'the street.
D'ye mind his scar an'his ragged ear,
The like of a Dublin Fusilier?
He's a massacree dog that knows no fear.
But he'd stick to me till his lastest breath;
An'he'd go with me to the gates of death.
He'd wait a thousand years,maybe,
Scratching the door an'whining for me
If myself were inside in Purgatory.
So I laugh when I hear them make it plain
That dogs and men never meet againj.
For all their talk who'd listen to them
With the soul in the shining eyes of him?
Would God be wasting a dog like Tim?
- Winifred M. Letts.”
― Songs of Men, an Anthology Selected and Arranged By Robert Frothingham
“WE MEET AT MORN
Still half in dream, upon the stair I hear
A patter coming nearer and more near,
And then upon my chamber door
A gentle tapping —
For dogs, though proud, are poor.
And if a tail will do to give command.
Why use a hand?
And after that a cry, half sneeze, half yapping,
And next a scuffle on the passage floor.
And then I know the creature lies to watch
Until the noiseless maid will lift the latch.
And like a spring
That gains its power by being tightly stayed.
The impatient thing
Into the room
Its whole glad heart doth fling.
And ere the gloom
Melts into light, and window blinds are rolled,
I hear a bounce upon the bed,
I feel a creeping toward me — a soft head.
And on my face
A tender nose, and cold —
This is the way, you know, that dogs embrace —
And on my hand, like sun-warmed rose-leaves flung.
The least faint flicker of the wannest tongue —
And so my dog and I have met and sworn
Fresh love and fealty for another morn.
- Hardwicke Drummond Rawnsley”
― Songs of Men, an Anthology Selected and Arranged By Robert Frothingham
Still half in dream, upon the stair I hear
A patter coming nearer and more near,
And then upon my chamber door
A gentle tapping —
For dogs, though proud, are poor.
And if a tail will do to give command.
Why use a hand?
And after that a cry, half sneeze, half yapping,
And next a scuffle on the passage floor.
And then I know the creature lies to watch
Until the noiseless maid will lift the latch.
And like a spring
That gains its power by being tightly stayed.
The impatient thing
Into the room
Its whole glad heart doth fling.
And ere the gloom
Melts into light, and window blinds are rolled,
I hear a bounce upon the bed,
I feel a creeping toward me — a soft head.
And on my face
A tender nose, and cold —
This is the way, you know, that dogs embrace —
And on my hand, like sun-warmed rose-leaves flung.
The least faint flicker of the wannest tongue —
And so my dog and I have met and sworn
Fresh love and fealty for another morn.
- Hardwicke Drummond Rawnsley”
― Songs of Men, an Anthology Selected and Arranged By Robert Frothingham
“SIX FEET
My little rough dog and I
Live a life that is rather rare.
We have so many good walks to take
And so few hard things to bear;
So much that gladdens and re-creates.
So little of wear and tear.
Sometimes it blows and rains,
But still the six feet ply:
No care at all to the following four
If the leading two know why.
'T is a pleasure to have six feet, we think.
My little rough dog and I.
And we travel all one way;
'T is a thing we should never do.
To reckon the two without the four
Or the four without the two.
It would not be right if any one tried,
Because it would not be true.
And who shall look up and say
That it ought not so to be,
Tho' the earth is Heaven enough for him,
Is it less than that to me?
For a little rough dog can make a joy
That enters eternity!
Anonymous”
― Songs of Men, an Anthology Selected and Arranged By Robert Frothingham
My little rough dog and I
Live a life that is rather rare.
We have so many good walks to take
And so few hard things to bear;
So much that gladdens and re-creates.
So little of wear and tear.
Sometimes it blows and rains,
But still the six feet ply:
No care at all to the following four
If the leading two know why.
'T is a pleasure to have six feet, we think.
My little rough dog and I.
And we travel all one way;
'T is a thing we should never do.
To reckon the two without the four
Or the four without the two.
It would not be right if any one tried,
Because it would not be true.
And who shall look up and say
That it ought not so to be,
Tho' the earth is Heaven enough for him,
Is it less than that to me?
For a little rough dog can make a joy
That enters eternity!
Anonymous”
― Songs of Men, an Anthology Selected and Arranged By Robert Frothingham
“TO MY DOG BLANCO
My dear dumb friend, low lying here,
A willing vassal at my feet, —
Glad partner of my home and fare.
My shadow in the street, —
I look into your great brown eyes,
Where love and loyal homage shine,
And wonder where the difference lies
Between your soul and mine.
For all of good that I have found
Within myself or human kind
Hath royally informed and crowned
Your gentle heart and mind.
I scan the whole broad earth around
For that one heart which, real and true,
Bears friendship without end or bound.
And find the prize in you.
I trust you as I trust the stars;
Nor cruel loss, nor scoff, nor pride.
Nor beggary, nor dungeon bars.
Can move you from my side.
As patient under injury
As any Christian saint of old;
As gentle as a lamb with me,
But with your brothers bold.
More playful than a frolic boy,
More watchful than a sentinel —
By day and night your constant joy
To guard and please me well.
I clasp your head upon my breast —
The while you whine and lick my hand —
And thus our friendship is confessed.
And thus we understand.
Ah, Blanco I Did I worship God
As truly as you worship me,
Or follow where my Master trod,
With your humility —
Did I sit fondly at His feet.
As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine,
And watch Him with a love as sweet.
My life would grow divine.
- Josiah Gilbert Holland”
― Songs of Men, an Anthology Selected and Arranged By Robert Frothingham
My dear dumb friend, low lying here,
A willing vassal at my feet, —
Glad partner of my home and fare.
My shadow in the street, —
I look into your great brown eyes,
Where love and loyal homage shine,
And wonder where the difference lies
Between your soul and mine.
For all of good that I have found
Within myself or human kind
Hath royally informed and crowned
Your gentle heart and mind.
I scan the whole broad earth around
For that one heart which, real and true,
Bears friendship without end or bound.
And find the prize in you.
I trust you as I trust the stars;
Nor cruel loss, nor scoff, nor pride.
Nor beggary, nor dungeon bars.
Can move you from my side.
As patient under injury
As any Christian saint of old;
As gentle as a lamb with me,
But with your brothers bold.
More playful than a frolic boy,
More watchful than a sentinel —
By day and night your constant joy
To guard and please me well.
I clasp your head upon my breast —
The while you whine and lick my hand —
And thus our friendship is confessed.
And thus we understand.
Ah, Blanco I Did I worship God
As truly as you worship me,
Or follow where my Master trod,
With your humility —
Did I sit fondly at His feet.
As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine,
And watch Him with a love as sweet.
My life would grow divine.
- Josiah Gilbert Holland”
― Songs of Men, an Anthology Selected and Arranged By Robert Frothingham
