.AJUl &RD OTHER POEMS THEODORE HENRY SHACKELFORD }.;■■'■}:■■'■':}■ wife mm 1 it make m mm PSi IB ■ Class -, ■■ -- \ Book ^ £> gMISi? t to go. Now I don't believe in sperrits, Nor in supahstitious folks, An' I'se jis as independent as kin be, But I feel my time's 'bout up now, 'Case I'se lived a good long while, An' I 'spec' dat Gab'iel soon will come faw me. 136 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford 'Liza Jane's done gone to Heaben Put nigh on ten yeahs ago, An' I can't jis see why I is lef hyeah still. An' somehow I'se kindah longin' Faw dat little white-washed fence What am standin' 'roun' de chu'ch yahd by de hill. Den jis lay me daih beside huh, Down beneaf de elum tree, Whaih de robins in its branches sadly sing. An' de creepin' vines is growin' An' a climbin' on de stones, An' de grass is tall an' wavin' in de spring. ON ACCOUNT. You said I would reap what I planted, You said I would pay for my fun, I laughed as I said in my folly "The things I have done, I have done." Your words through the years have gone with me, I tried but I could not forget. I have paid — a thousand times over And still I am paying that debt. 137 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford THE BUFFALOES' PARADE. 'Twas a March day, warm and sunny, In the year "nineteen-eighteen," That a New York throng was treated To this patriotic scene ; When three thousand negro soldiers All in battle togs arrayed, Ere they left to help their Allies, Were to hold a grand parade. Came the cry at length "they're coming," And it fell on eager ears, For ten thousand gay spectators Gave as many lusty cheers, As they saw the manly fighters Marching up Fifth Avenue Past the Union League's great clubhouse For the Governor's review. Moved they with clock-work precision, Steady step and fearless eye, Heads erect, and faces forward, Bound to "see it through" or die. And their bayonets were bristling And their teeth were clenched the while, All except those fleeting moments When some friend caused them to smile. 138 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford And the watchful, waiting thousands Who were packed along the way- Cried "Hurrah, Three-Sixty-Seventh," And again "Hip, hip hurray." Then the boys received the colors From the Governor's own hands And again they started marching To the music of their bands. Thus they moved on up to Harlem, And their steady, martial tread Filled each patriot with courage, While each foe was filled with dread. There were mothers who were crying, But their tears were tears of joy, Joy that each could help her country With a noble-hearted boy. No need, there, to search for traitors, All who saw those negroes knew That beneath each suit of khaki Beat a heart both tried and true. And they knew they would not falter To uphold earth's righteous laws And would face hell and the Kaiser, To defend their country's cause. Then the bands played "Suwanee River" — It was syncopated, too — And the crowds all grew light-hearted, For you just could not stay blue. Then they next cut loose on "Dixie," And you ought have heard them play. All the tears were quickly banished, Driven were all cares away. 139 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford And the cheers rose higher, higher, For the noble Buffaloes Who had spent their time in gaining Strength to overcome their foes, And to keep Old Glory waving, And to march on, undismayed, Until they returned triumphant From their European parade. HOPE O Hope! into my darkened life Thou hast so oft' descended ; My helpless head from failure's blows, Thou also hast defended ; When circumstances hard, and mean, Which I could not control, Did make me bow my head with shame, Thou comforted my soul. When stumbling blocks lay all around, And when my steps did falter, Then did thy sacred fires burn Upon my soul's high altar. Oft' was my very blackest night Scarce darker than my day, But thou dispelled those clouds of doubt, And cheered my lonely way. E'en when I saw my friends forsake, And leave me for another, Then thou, O Hope, didst cling to me Still closer than a brother; Thus with thee near I groped my way Through that long, gloomy night Till now; yes, as I speak, behold, I see the light! the light! 140 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford DE DEACON'S MISTAKE Now Hi'am Ephum Johnson was A pusson ob renown, A deacon in de Baptist Chu'ch, De oldest in de town; Respected by bofe white an' black, Because ob kindly ways, Which dough peculiar wah conceived In dose dahk slav'ry days, An' many tales de deacon tol\ Which brought teahs to de eyes, Ob dose who heahd an' filled dey heahts Wid sorrow an' surprise. He tole ob slav'ry, sin an' shame, An' deed ob dankest hue, He told dem ob One crucified, Who died fo' me an' you. An' sinnahs trimbled when dey saw Him comin' down de street, An' always doffed dey hats to him Wheah evah dey might meet. An' always, too, in meetin's daih Wah many groans an' sighs, As deacon prayed yo' thoughts arose Frum ea'th to vaulted skies. 141 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford But yet, in spite ob all ob dis, De deacon he would go An' stay away faw half de night, Whaih? no one seemed to know. An' people den begun to talk, An' sometimes laugh or smile; But Deacon Johnson went to chu'ch An' prayed on all de while. De meetin' did not seem complete If deacon was not daih ; No one could raise de hymns like he, Naw no one lead in praih. But strange t'ings happen in dis life, De dumb is made to talk, An' sometimes dose lame fum dey youth Take up dey beds an' walk. So deacon, now by habit bent, Strolled down de road one night, An' some one seen him sneakin' in When it was broad daylight. 'Twas Sunday, an' dough deacon knowed Dat he was in de lu'ch He put on his Prince Albert coat An' went on off to chu'ch. But dough he tried so very ha'd His vigil still to keep, His eyelids kep' a-drappin' 'till Dey finely closed in sleep. An' he would sort o' nod his head An' slowly move his han's Aroun' in semicircles like So many little fans. 142 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford De preachuh finished up his talk While he was sleepin' daih, An' said, "If Bruddah Johnson's heah, Will he please lead in praih?" "Yes, daih he is !" some sistah said, Expectin' him to lead ; Dat fan'like motion still kep' on — He was asleep, indeed. An' when de preachah looked an' saw, He said with thund'rous roah, Dat rattled 'gainst de window-panes, An' rolled on out de doah, "Ouah bruddah seems to be asleep. Some tonic he must need ! Now, Bruddah Johnson, when you wake, Will you please kindly lead?" Dat dis was still de night befo', Good Deacon Johnson felt. An' he said, "No, suh, lead yo'-self, You know dat I jis dealt!" Well, folks, I tell you now dat chu'ch Was nigh tu'ned upside-down, An' when 'twas foun' dat he played cards, De Deacon lef de town. A lesson, too, he lef behin' Faw folks who seemed to doubt, Dat it is true, de sins you do, Will sometimes fin' you out. An' sayin' high-faultin' praihs Don't help a single bit, When in yo' heaht you's nothin' but A low-down hyppocrite. 143 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford A RACE FOR LIFE Far in the wilds of Canada, Deep in the timber belt, Where giant hemlocks skyward rose A logger's family dwelt. And in the spring the logs were cut, And seasoned for the mill; In summer all his time it took His plot of ground to till. In autumn there was harvesting, And other work to do, Supplies to get, and firewood, To last the winter through. And when at length by snow and ice The forest kings were crowned And nature slept all clothed in white, Still work enough was found. For then the logger plied his trade, And made a trip each day, And to the siding took his logs Some fifteen miles away. Returning thus one afternoon, He struck the lonely road Which lay between his home and him When he had sold his load. 144 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford "Get up, my beauties," then said he — His horses forward sprang, And clear upon the frosty air The many sleigh bells rang. The woods lay dark and still and bare, And from the trees around, No echo broke upon his ears Except the sleighbells' sound. He still drove on his prancing steeds, For anxious then was he To reach his home before the night, And wife and children see. Then of a sudden came a sound That fills strong hearts with fear, The horses, too, that sound have heard, With fright they plunge and rear. And closer now there comes again A long blood curdling wail, It was a wolf, the driver knew, His face turned deathly pale. And soon that sound was multiplied As others joined the chase ; Then as the driver snapped his whip A race for life took place. The horses shook their flowing manes, Their heads were outward tost, Their hoof beats rained upon the snow, Then on the air were lost. Could he but reach the clearing first, There in its friendly space, The driver knew a chance he stood That howling pack to face. 145 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford And so he drove his frantic steeds And called them out by name, Up, Dandy ! Lil' ! Hi Jack, you scamp ! And on the pack still came. Then mingled with the howl of wolves, The silver sleigh bells rang, Far out in air the driver's whip Above the horses sang. The wolves, half starving, see their meal About to slip away, They snapping, snarling as they come, Strive to surround their prey. The driver rises to his feet, The reins he clutches tight ; And lifts the horses in their stride And drives with all his might. Gone is his cap and torn by wolves, His hair tost by the wind, The comfort tied about his neck Is streaming out behind. His veins stand out like gnarled vines Around some rugged tree, And from their sockets stand his eyes; Yet ever on drives he. And still drives on those foaming steeds, And slackens not his pace; But only prays that they may last To win that awful race. The horses' breath comes thick and hot; They quiver, too, with fright ; Then as their pace begins to fail, The clearing comes in sight. 146 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford And now he quickly reins them in, And brings them standing there ; Quick to his shoulder flies his gun, A shot rings on the air. And quick in answer to that shot One hungry wolf was gone, And as he fell by all the pack Was he then pounced upon. To crimson soon was turned the snow, And dead wolves strewed the place Where lately had the driver stood With grim death face to face. And ere that gun had ceased to crack. The last gaunt brute was gone; The driver gathered up his reins And once more he drove on. HYMN TO PHILADELPHIA Though you may travel many miles, And go from coast to coast, Of all the cities you will see, There's one you'll love the most; It is in Pennsylvania, Upon the Delaware, And all the nations of the earth Are represented there. 147 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford 'Twas William Penn who laid its plans In years long past and gone. Now though he sleeps beneath the sod That city still lives on. Her name is Philadelphia, Tribute to her we bring, And all who walk upon her streets With joy her praises sing. And hospitality for all Doth in her heart exist, Which is akin to "mother love," That you cannot resist. When once you've tasted of her joys, No matter where you roam, You always will remember her, And think of her as "home." O, blessed Philadelphia, Thy name we love to hear ; Within thy boundaries it seems To heaven we are near ! Thy river's peaceful waters flow Out to the deep blue sea, And mighty ships upon it ride In perfect safety. Thou art a city which can boast Of great commercial wealth, While latitude and longitude Make thee abound in health. We love thy parks and museums, Thy schools and churches grand, Thy literature, and works of art, The finest in the land. 148 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford Here liberty was first proclaimed, Upon "that July morn," And in good Betsy Rosses house Old Glory, too, was born. Then fling thy standard to the sky, And let it proudly wave ; And let all nations know thy worth, Thou city of the brave ! i MY COUSIN FROM BOSTON Now, we live in a "country town," As folks are wont to say ; I had a pretty cousin, though, Who lived up Boston way. And invitations oft' to her By wife and me were sent ; We wanted her to visit us, And would not be content, But wrote and wrote to Boston. A message we at last received, And read it with a smile, My cousin said 'twould please her much To visit us a while. So to the station then next day We had the chauffeur drive, And meet the train on which she was Expected to arrive — "The limited from Boston." 149 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford But he came back and said her wrath Upon him she had poured, And said that she had rather walk Than ride up in a "Ford." And then my wife to meet her ran, And kissed her on the face. 'Twas not returned ; my cousin said Folks thought it out of place To kiss at all in Boston. But still we overlooked her faults — That was, my wife and I — We said that all would come out right, In some sweet bye and bye. So many days she spent with us, But worse and worse she grew ; And she would grumble and complain, No matter what we'd do — 'Twas different in Boston. On Sundays if we went to church And heard a sermon grand, Why she would say the preacher was The poorest in the land. On weekdays if we saw a game At our baseball park, She said the grandstand looked as old As Uncle Noah's ark — They had it beat in Boston. Or if we went to see a show At our playhouse new, She said " 'twas small and second class, The show was rotten, too." 150 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford "The Tremont and the Hollis Street Have got that skinned a mile." Yes, that's the very way she talked, And never cracked a smile — My cousin up from Boston. A letter wife one day picked up, And womanlike, you know, She had to read it through and through Before she'd let it go. My cousin's mother it was from, It had arrived that day; She mentioned several other things, And then went on to say That things were dull in Boston. She also said "I'm mighty glad You struck those country folks, I thought that I would nearly die A laughing at your jokes." Still we resolved to hold our peace And play the game on through And not let on that we were wise, And see what she would do — This cousin up from Boston. We took her out to dinner then, At our best cafe, I noticed that she ate right well, Nor did she long delay, The dinners cost two dollars each, But as we neared the door, She cast a backward glance and said, "That service sure was poor, We've got it beat in Boston." 151 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford And then she laughed about the friends Whom we met on the street, We never passed a single one That Boston could not beat. And when at last we reached that place, Which wife and I called "home," She said, as round the cosy room Her chilly gaze did roam, "I wish I was in Boston." That was too much my cup was full And slopping o'er the brim, My jaw got set and on my face, There came a look most grim, I said, "You'd better go there then, My work is all in vain. You are the worst I've ever seen, You've got more gall than brain, Yes go on back to Boston!" My cousin then broke down and cried, To change she made a vow ; She kept it too, then fell in love, And she is married now, They have the cutest little flat Not many squares away; She and her husband visit us Most every other day, Nor does she mention "Boston." 152 Fido 'spected somepin mus' be wrong'. Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford FIDO Yes, dat's Fido what you see daih, Co'se he's gittin' ole an' slow; An' his bes' days all is ovah now, I feah. But I'll tell you why we keeps him, Faw I s'pose you'd like to know, Hit's a story, too, I'd like faw you to heah. He was little when we got him, But he had a heap o' sense, Dough daih wa'nt no pedigree 'tached to his name. He was pahtly houn' an' bull dog An' a little shepe'd, too, But dat dog he made you love him jis de same. He was young an' fat an' playful, Wid a nice clean coat o' haih, An' his limbs was jis as graceful as could be; An' his eyes was bright an' sparklin' An' his hearin' it was keen, Better dog dan him you wouldn't want to see. An' de reason why we keeps him An' we give him sich good keer Is because dat many, many yeahs ago, When we chillen all was little An' ouah daddy was away, Dat a tramp come up to ouah house you know. 153 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford !>->» He axed mammy, "Whaih yo' husband'?' Mammy said he was away Den at once dat tramp he stahted gittin' bad ; Said dat he mus' hab some money An' he stahted lookin' roun' An' I s'pose he'd took de las' cent dat we had. j But somehow it seems dat Fido 'Spected somepin mus' be wrong An' at once he come a dashin' thoo de doo' An' my mammy was so skaid, suh, Dat she couldn't say a word — She jis stood daih sick an' tremblin' in de floo'. Den ole Fido's back got bristled An' his eyes tunned almos' green An' he also had a look upon his face Dat said he was daih faw business An' dey'd be somebody bit; So de tramp decided den to leave de place. And he started out a runnin', Wid ole Fido at his heels, An' dey looked jis like two racers on a track Bruthah Bub was yellin' sick 'im, Jis' as loud as he could yell, An' ole Fido took him roun' de house an' back. Man, dat tramp was runnin' puhty — Coat tail stood out on de win' — I can't tell you how he looked an' I'm not try'n— Den I saw him tuhnin' sideways And I wondah'd what 'twas faw, It was only so as he could keep from fly'n'I 154 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford Fido gib him one good bite, dough, As de tramp went troo de gate, An dat dog he was excited as could be. Den he looked up in ouah faces An' his tail was waggin' so Jis as if to say, "Now ain't you proud o' me?" Bruthah Bub den hugged an' kissed him An' my mammy hugged 'em bofe, 'Cause daih really wasn't nothin' else to do. An' when daddy come at night, suh, An' foun' out what he had did, Why he called ole Fido in an' hugged him too. Now aldough he's ole an' feeble An' his teef is falling' out, An' his haih is gittin' straggly like an' thin, An' He can't see like he use' to An' his hearin' ain't so fine, Still we keeps him faw de good dat he has been. 155 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford THE TRIALS OF AN ENTERTAINER Well, daih ain't no use in talkin', Daih's some folks dat jis won't do; Dey ain't got a bit mo'e mannahs Dan a chile ob one, aw two. In de chu'ch, aw hall, aw pahlah, Makes no diffe'nce whaih you go, You will meet dat kind ob people Dat is boun' to make you so'e. Dey won't come till ten o'clock, suh, So de concert can begin. Even aftah you git stahted Some will come a walkin' in, Soundin' like a pack o' hosses, Jist a stompin' on de floo'. An' dey'll walk right straight up front, suh, So daih finery dey can show. Den dey'll stan' daih jis faw meanness; Staht to squabblin' 'bout a seat; Now if dat ain't aggravating Well, I hope I may be beat. Den you'll see some gall an' feller Sittin' on de fust front row Dat will alius be a tryin' Faw to show how much dey know. An' dey'll talk all thoo de singin', Dey don't want to hyeah daih-self — An' dey'll keep up sich a racket Dat daih can't nobody else. If dey know de piece you's speakin' Dey recite it long wid you, But daih ain't no use in kickin', Cause some people jis won't do. 156 Poems by Theodore Henry Shackelford LULLABY What's dc mattah, honey chile, You's been cryin' dis long while? Now gib mammy jis one smile — Hush, hush, hush. All day long you's run about, Now yo' mammy does not doubt Dat huh baby's tiahd out — Hush, hush, hush. "Ohthah chillen playin' too," Yes, yo' mammy knows dats true, But dey's oldah, chile, dan you ; Hush, hush, hush. Golden sun am in de Wes', Time faw you to go to res' — Lay yo' head on mammy's breas' — Hush, hush, hush. Cotton fiel's am snowy white; You mus' go to bed tonight; An' git up befo'e daylight — Hush, hush, hush. Say yo' praihs, "I lay me down," Chile, you mus' not look aroun', Dat wa'nt nothin' but a. soun' — Hush, hush, hush. Now git in yo' trun'le bed, Since yo' evenin' praih is said ; Angels flutt'rin roun' you head — Hush, hush, hush. Dough you's tiahd out to-night, You wil wake up feelin' bright, Now aint dat a puhty sight? Hush, hush, hush. 157 i Words and melody by Theodore H. Shack leford, Moderate. LULLABY. Music arranged by R. Henri Robinson. S. $ -I L 1. What's de mat-tah, 2. Cot - ton - fiel's am 3. Now git in yo' ^= 3=3 r r H 4 p 1 4-f 2 - 3 1=F 3=5 ±=t hoa - ey chile, You's been cry - in' dis long while? snow - y white, You mus' go to bed to - night, trun - 'le bed, Since yo' eve - nin' praih is said; 4 1 1 , :feT £= 3 ff * r r -a- ^r st- !»*- It Now gib mam - my jis one smile, Hush! Hush! An' git up be - fo'e day - light, Hush! Hush! Ang - gels flut- t'rin' roun' yo' head, Hush! Hush! I S z # 4- T \- :fet -pz- * 3=8 i-SCE S r LULLABY.— Concluded. =F ^^ HuBh! Hush! Hush! J- All day long you's run a - bout, Say yo' praihs. "I lay me down," Dough you's ti - ahd out to - night, =T TBT- T5*- r* rn r* m =g ^;g= g = ^ --&T- KL -&- i £ ± t=t ± — I Now yo' mam - my does not doubt Dat huh ba - by's Chile, you mus' not look a - roun', Dat wan't noth - in' You will wake up feel - in' bright, Now aint dat a ~r gjjig B J JJ -^3 * I ad — *-» — v« — Sufi » #- '-1 1 1 Se PP i'br Zasf verse onfr/. I -#— *- 5t T ± ti-ahd but a puh-ty out, Hush! Hush! Hush! soun', Hush! Hush! Hush! sight ? Hush ! Hush ! Hush ! Hush! Hush! Hush! JUST FOR YOU. Word9 and Melody by Theodore H. Shackleford. Music arranged by R. Henri Robinson. Andantino. nt. 3B= ■«-- — -t&t MH ir &z 4-/SZ- -+