The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1899-10-20
CURRENT VERSE.
The Anglers Reveille.

The Anglers Reveille.
What time the rose Of dawn is laid
across the nrs OF night;
And all the drowsy little stars have fallen
asleep In light;
'Tis then a wandering wind awakes, and
runs from tree to tree,
And borrows words from all the birds to
sound the revellle.
This is the carol the Robin throws
Owe the edge of the valley;
Listen how boldly 1t flows,
Sally on sally
Tirra-llrra, down the river,
Laughing water all a-ouiver.
Day Is near, clear, clears
Fish are breaking,
Time for waking,
Tup, tup, tup!
Do you hear? All clear.
Wake up!
The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed
and vanished with the dark,
And like a dove the heart forsakes the
prison of the ark:
Now forth she fares through friendly
woods and dlamond-fields of dew,
While every voice cries out "Rejoice"
as III the wCrld were new
This is the ballad the Bluebird sings,
Unto his mate replying,
Shaking the tune from his wings
While he is flying
Surely, surely surely,
Life is dear
Even here
Blue above,
You to love,
Purely purely, purely.
There's wild azalea on the hill, and roses
down the dell,
And just a spray of lilac still abloom bo-
side the well;
The colunbine adorns the rocks, the
laurel buds grow pink,
Along the stream white arums gleam,
and violets bend to drink.
This is the song of the Yellowthroat,
Fluttering gaily beside you;
Hear how each voluble note
Offers to guide you:-
Which way, sir?
] say sir,
Let met teach you,
] beseech you!
Are you wishing
jolly fishing?
This way, sir!
Let me teach you.
Oh come, forget your foes and fears, and
leave your cares behind.
And wander forth to try your luck, with
cheerful, quiet mind;
For be your fortune great or small, you'll
take what God may give,
And all the day your heart will say
:" 'Tis luck enough to live"
This is the song the Brown Thrush filings
Out of his thicket of roses:
Hark how it MARBLES and rings,
Mark how II closest
Luck. luck.
What luck?
Good enough for me!
I'm alive, you see.
Sun shining, no repining,
Never borrow idle sorrow;
Drop 1t Cover it up!
Hold your cup!
Joy will fill It,
Don't spill 1t!
Steady, be ready,
Love you luck!
Henry Van Dyke, in Bird Lore.
The Regimental Flag.
There are tears.
| and cheers,
dear comrades
For the flag that's called "Old Glory"
| When its folds. unfurled, are waving,
| And the pages of it's story
We are turning once again.
They are light,
and bright.
the colors
That shine upon that banner,
| From northern lakes to southern gulf,
From ocean to savanna,
And across the western plain.
One that's worn,
and torn.
and ribboned
| We have followed, marching, singing,
| In the days of strong young manhood,
And still those sorgs are ringing
In the gray and grand old souls,
Who, in life's
hard strife,
still trudging
Hold IL dearest of all banners,
For ii led them, marching, fighting,
Through sorrows and hosannahs,
By the glory of its folds.
So, with tears,
| and cheers,
| we greet 1t
| And with songs of love and gladness,
| For the mem ries clustered round 1t TEEN
| With fondness and with sadness,
And the lights and shades of days,
That in youth,
and truth,
and trial
| Made the tinting of life's manner,
For we laughed and sang, and comrades
| died
Around that brave old manner,
In battles blare and blaze.
| w.
1t was borne,
| and torn,
in battle
Oft II rested by the fountains;
On the dusty march 1t fiuttered,
And 1t waved upon the mountains,
From many a rugged crag.
| Now the stars,
and bars,
OF Glory
In peace are grandly streaming,