A SONG FOR THE DOG.
Ye heirs to a bright immortality born,
Oh! lift not your heads in the triumph of scorn;
Take some heed how ye sneer at the cur o'er his bone,
Whose good work, fairly weigh'd, might outbalance your own.
Oh! lift not your heads in the triumph of scorn;
Take some heed how ye sneer at the cur o'er his bone,
Whose good work, fairly weigh'd, might outbalance your own.
Come hither, blind pilgrim, say who is thy guide?
No son of proud reason is found at thy side!
How is it thou darest, all sightless, to roam,
And canst track out the pathway safe back to thy home?
No son of proud reason is found at thy side!
How is it thou darest, all sightless, to roam,
And canst track out the pathway safe back to thy home?
"Tis my Dog that I trust to," the darken'd one cries,
"And he ministers well to my visionless eyes;
He leadeth me gently, and heralds my feet
Through the world's busy mob and the city's long street.
"And he ministers well to my visionless eyes;
He leadeth me gently, and heralds my feet
Through the world's busy mob and the city's long street.
"Ah! where is another, whose patience and care
Would endure so unwearied the task and the fare?
'Tis my Dog that I trust to, and ne'er can I find
Such a friend to the palsied, the poor, and the blind."
Would endure so unwearied the task and the fare?
'Tis my Dog that I trust to, and ne'er can I find
Such a friend to the palsied, the poor, and the blind."
Rigid-limb'd traveller mounting the peak,
With the blood curdling fast in thy heart and thy cheek;
Thine eyelids are heavy—thy breathing grows deep,
And sleep hath come over thee—terrible sleep.
With the blood curdling fast in thy heart and thy cheek;
Thine eyelids are heavy—thy breathing grows deep,
And sleep hath come over thee—terrible sleep.
Who shall discover thy snow-curtain'd bed?
Who shall stand up between thee and the dead?
Who shall tear off the cold wrap from thy form,
And call loudly for help through the shriek of the storm?
Who shall stand up between thee and the dead?
Who shall tear off the cold wrap from thy form,
And call loudly for help through the shriek of the storm?
It is not man's footstep—that ne'er would have found thee;
It is not man's hand—that would ne'er have unbound thee;
It is not man's wisdom—his powers had fail'd—
'Tis the Dog that has come where the man would have quail'd.
It is not man's hand—that would ne'er have unbound thee;
It is not man's wisdom—his powers had fail'd—
'Tis the Dog that has come where the man would have quail'd.
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