Dear — , I'll gie ye some advice,
You'll tak it no uncivil:
You shouldna paint at angels, man,
But try and paint the Devil.

To paint an angel's kittle wark,
Wi' Nick there's little danger;
You'll easy draw a lang-kent face,
But no sae weel a stranger.

I

Across the painted colonnades
Among the terra cotta fawns
Among the potted palms, the lawns,
The cigarettes and serenades
Here's the comedian again
With broad dogmatic vest, and nose
Nose that interrogates the stars,
Impressive, sceptic, scarlet nose;
The most expressive, real of men,
A jellyfish impertinent,
A jellyfish without repose.
Leaning across the orchestra
Just while he ponders, legs apart,
His belly sparkling and immense:
It's all philosophy and art.

TO
[Mrs. M. R.]
COUNCEL
CONCERNING HER
CHOISE.

Dear, heavn-designed Soul !
Amongst the rest
Of suters that beseige your Maiden brest,
Why may not I
My fortune try
And venture to speak one good word
Not for my self alas, but for my dearer L ORD ?
You'ave seen allready, in this lower sphear
Of froth and bubbles, what to look for here.

1. Dear happy souls who have begun The joyful work of
3. Let Jesus be your joy and strength; Rely on him a-
praise, Oh, do not stop, but ever run The
lone; Oh, never stop and you at length Shall
blessed Christian race. 2. When worldly cares be-
shine before the throne. 4. There you may join the
astray, astray,
to praise, to praise,
set you round To turn your feet astray, Oh,
shining throng, The God of heaven to praise; And
do not stop on earthly ground, But run the heavenly way.
never stop your joyful song To everlasting days.

Dear God, my little boy of three
Has said his nightly prayer to Thee;
Before his eyes were closed in sleep
He asked that Thou his soul would keep;
And I, still kneeling at his bed,
My hand upon his tousled head,
Do ask, with deep humility,
That Thou, dear Lord, remember me.
Make me, kind Lord, a worthy dad,
That I may lead this little lad
In pathways ever fair and bright,
That I may keep his steps aright.
O God, his trust must never be
Destroyed or even marred by me.
So for the simple things he prayed

Dear Fronto, famed alike in peace and war,
If you would learn what my chief wishes are,
Know that I crave some acres few to till,
And live at ease as careless as I will.
Why should I always trudge the stony street
And go each morn some haughty lord to greet,
When all the country's spoils are mine to get
Caught in the meshes of a hunting-net?
When I with line could snare the leaping trout
And from the hive press golden honey out,
While Joan my humble board with eggs supplies
Boiled on a fire whose logs she never buys?

Dear friends, we are gathered together,
With innocent hearts, that are light;
Each face is abeam, and meet doth it seem,
As there is a wedding tonight.
A wedding! with love and peace in full bloom;
And a sweet, comely, bride and an exquisite groom.

Dear friends, we are gathered together,
And happiness leads us tonight;
We follow her star, with nothing to mar,
Through the sweet, dreamy whirl of delight;
And we feel our hearts throb and swell for the room,
To encompass our hopes, for the sweet bride and groom.

Dear Friends and Patrons of the DENVER NEWS!
On South Platte's Plains or 'mid the Mountain dews,
In thriving towns throughout our golden mines,
Please pause awhile, and read your Carrier's lines;
And should his carol be but poorly sung,
His muse's a novice, and the country's young!

Since New Year's last, Columbia's sacred Star
Has been bedimmed by bloody civil war;
The Union heart has beat with travail throes,
The Union ship has sailed 'midst myriad foes;
But yet, thank God! her course is onward, on;

The house felt like the opera,
the audience in their seats, hushed, ready,
but the cast not yet arrived.

And if I said anything
to try to appease the anxious air, my words
would hang alone like the single chandelier

waiting to dim the auditorium, but still
too huge, too prominent, too bright, its light
announcing only itself, bringing more

emptiness into the emptiness.











Used by permission.

Dear Friend,
I hear this town does so abound
With saucy censurers that faults are found
With what of late we in poetic rage
Bestowing threw away on the dull age.
But howsoe'er envy their spleens may raise
To rob my brows of the deserved bays,
Their thanks at least I merit, since through me
They are partakers of your poetry;
And this is all I'll say in my defense:
T' obtain one line of your well-worded sense
I'd be content t' have writ the British Prince.
I'm none of those who think themselves inspired