I am quite sure he thinks that I am God--
Since He is God on whom each one depends
For life, and all things that His bounty sends--
My dear old dog, most constant of all friends;
Not quick to mind, but quicker far than I
To Him whom God I know and own; his eye
Deep brown and liquid, watches for my nod;
He is more patient underneath the rod
Than I, when God His wise corrections sends.
He looks love at me, deep as words e'er spake;
And from me never crumb or sup will take
But he wags thanks with his most vocal tail;
And when some crashing noise wakes all his fear
He is content and quiet if I'm near,
Secure that my protection will prevail;
So, faithful, mindful, thankful, trustful, he
Tells me what I unto my God should be.
May 24-25, 1902.
He had lived out his life, but not his love;
Daily up steep and weary stair he came,
His big heart bursting with the strain, to prove
His loneliness without me. Just the same
Old word of greeting beamed in his deep eye,
With a new look of wonder in it, asking why
"The whole creation groans and travails." He
And I there faced the mystery of pain.
Finding me dumb and helpless, down again
He went, unanswered, with the dawn to die,
And find the mystery opened with the key,
"The creature from corruption's bondage free."
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