Gryll
Had his fill
Of aspiring and falling and wearing hats.

Gryll
Had his fill
Of avoiding fats.

Gryll
Had nil
In the way of an attitude of holier-than-thou.

Gryll
Still
Fancied a sow.

Gryll,
Until
Becoming a hog, was forever worrying about laying up everything he might need, and using everything he had laid up — or, if he couldn't use it, seeing that it was properly disposed of, or defended.

Gryll
Felt swill
Had things to recommend it.

Gryll
Felt ill

RECOMMENDING PEACE WITH THE AMERICAN STATES

Grown sick of war, and war's alarms,
Good George has changed his note at last —
Conquest and death have lost their charms;
He and his nation stand aghast,
To think what fearful lengths they've gone,
And what a brink they stand upon.

Old Bute and North, twin sons of hell,
If you advised him to retreat

Growing old but not retiring,
For the battle still is on;
Going on without relenting
Till the final victory's won.
Ever on, nor think of resting,
For the battle rages still,
And my Saviour still is with me
And I seek to do His will.

Years roll by, the body weakens,
But the spirit still is young;
Breath of God — it never ages,
Is eternal, ever strong.
Rather, year by year it strengthens,
Gaining o'er the things of sense.
By Thy Spirit, lead my spirit,
Saviour, till Thou call me hence.

The groves of Blarney they look so charming,
Down by the purling of sweet, silent streams,
Being banked with posies that spontaneous grow there,
Planted in order by the sweet rock close.
'Tis there's the daisy and the sweet carnation,
The blooming pink and the rose so fair,
The daffodowndilly, likewise the lily,
All flowers that scent the sweet, fragrant air.

'Tis Lady Jeffers that owns this station;
Like Alexander, or Queen Helen fair,
There's no commander in all the nation,
For emulation, can with her compare.

A group of jolly cowboys, discussing plans at ease,
Says one, " I'll tell you something, boys, if you will listen, please.
I am an old cowpuncher and hyer I'm dressed in rags,
I used to be a tough one and go on great big jags.
But I have got a home, boys, a good one, you all know,
Although I have not seen it since long, long ago.
I'm going back to Dixie once more to see them all,
Yes, I'm going to see my mother when the work's all done this fall.

" After the roundup's over and after the shipping's done,

The Russian bear is huge and wild,
He has devoured the infant child,
The infant child is not aware
It has been eaten by the bear.

A greyhound should be headed like a Snake,
And necked like a Drake,
Footed like a Cat,
Tailed liked a Rat,
Sided like a Team,
Chined like a Beam.

The first year he must learn to feed,
The second year to field him lead,
The third year he is fellow-like,
The fourth year there is none sike,
The fifth year he is good enough,
The sixth year he shall hold the plough,
The seventh year he will avail
Great bitches for to assail,
The eighth year lick ladle,
The ninth year cart saddle,
And when he is comen to that year

Grey was the morn, all things were grey,
'Twas winter more than spring;
A bleak east wind swept o'er the land,
And sobered everything.

Grey was the sky, the fields were grey,
The hills, the woods, the trees —
Distance and foreground — all the scene
Was grey in the grey breeze.

Grey cushions, and a grey skin rug,
A dark grey wicker trap,
Grey were the ladies' hats and cloaks,
And grey my coat and cap.

A narrow, lonely, grey old lane;
And lo, on a grey gate,
Just by the side of a grey wood,

The grey goat grazed on the hill,
The grey hare grazed by his side,
And never a word they said
From morning till eventide,
And never a word they said,
Though each understood the other,
For the wind that played on the hill
Whispered, " My dear grey brother. "

The grey goat went home at dusk,
Down to the cottage door,
The grey hare scuttled away
To his burrow across the moor.
And never a word they said,
Though each understood the other,
For the wind that slept on the hill
Murmured, " Good night, grey brother. "

The grey gaunt days dividing us in twain
Seemed hopeless hills my strength must faint to climb,
But they are gone; and now I would detain
The few clock-beats that part us; rein back Time,

And live in close expectance never closed
In change for far expectance closed at last,
So harshly has expectance been imposed
On my long need while these slow blank months passed.

And knowing that what is now about to be
Will all have been in O, so short a space!
I read beyond it my despondency
When more dividing months shall take its place,