384 



SKETCHES IN RHYME. 



Lay him there and part in sorrow ; but, ere many years have flown, 

 Comes that pilgrim, life aweary, there to lay his burden down. 

 Comes to reap a life-sown harvest, from the Cross to take the Crown, 

 When he'd lain his burden down. 



^ofir^ Si)urnA (sKgair^. 



After Bret Harte — Several Years. 



Who hasn't heard of old John Burns? 

 The man so praised and slandered by turns ; 

 Till some, as the stories to mind they recall. 

 Much doubt if he ever lived at all. 

 For who ever led such a double life 

 As he, when the Boys in Blue held strife 

 With the rebs in gray and butternut brown 

 On the hills o'erlooking Gettysburg town ? 



For he saw no fight, yet he bravely fought — 



Was badly wounded, yet he was not 



A valiant soldier, a cowardly brag, 



A crusty crank, a comical wag, 



A poor shoemaker in rented house, 



A thrifty farmer with " bees and cows !" 



Why such contrariness, when, forsooth, 

 'Tis so much easier to tell the truth ? 



Where the quiet streets come sloping down 

 The sun-set side of Gettysburg town, 

 And shady suburb to meadow turns 

 You'll find the house of old John Burns. 



A rustic cottage I'd like to paint ; 

 Many-gabled and mossy and quaint ; 



