I often wonder how 'twould be
Were he the master 'stead of me--
And I the dog.
A world of deep devotion lies
Behind the windows of his eyes;
Yet love is only half his charm--
He'd die to shield my life from harm.
Yet he's a dog.
If dogs were fashioned out of men
What breed of dog would I have been?
And would I e'er deserve caress,
Or be extolled for faithfulness
Like my dog here?
As mortals go, how few possess
Of courage, trust, and faithfulness
Enough from which to undertake,
Without some borrowed traits, to make
A decent dog!
JOSEPH M. ANDERSON.
CHARITY'S EYE
One evening Jesus lingered in the marketplace,
Teaching the people parables of truth and grace,
When in the square remote a crowd was seen to rise,
And stop with loathing gestures and abhorring cries.
The Master and his meek disciples went to see
What cause for this commotion and disgust could be,
And found a poor dead dog beside the gutter laid--
Revolting sight! at which each face its hate betrayed.
One held his nose, one shut his eyes, one turned away,
And all among themselves began to say:
"Detested creature! he pollutes the earth and air!"
"His eyes are blear!" "His ears are foul!" "His ribs are bare!"
"In his torn hide there's not a decent shoestring left,
No doubt the execrable cur was hung for theft.
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