The very air in twain—and then, through all the world grown still,
I only heard the bobolink go singing at his will.
I was the first man down the cliff. There's little left to tell.
We found him lying, breathing yet and conscious, where he fell.
The question in his eager eyes, I answered with a word,—
"Safe!" Then he smiled, and whispered low some words I scarcely heard.
We would have raised him, but his lips grew white with agony.
"Not yet; it will be over soon," he whispered. "Wait with me;"
Then, lower, smiling still, "It is my last ride, friends; but I
Have done my duty, and God knows I do not fear to die."
He closed his eyes. We watched his life slip, like an ebbing tide,
Far out upon the infinite, where all our hopes abide.
He spoke but once again, a name not meant for mortal ears,
"My Rose!" She must have heard that call, amid the singing spheres!
Mary A . P. Stansbury.
OVER THE CROSSIN'.
"Shine? shine, sor? Ye see, I'm just a-dien'
Ter turn yer two boots inter glass
Where ye'll see all the sights in the winders
'Ithout lookin' up as yer pass.
Seen me before? I've no doubt, sor;
I'm punctooal haar, yer know,
Waitin' along the crossin'
Fur a little un', name o' Joe;
My brother, sor, an' a cute un',
Ba'ly turned seven, an' small,
But gettin' his livin' grad'ely
Tendin' a bit uv a stall
