THE OLD FAVORITE. 



In the field the old horse looked neglected and gray, 

 With the burrs in his tail and his mane all awry. 



A wet spot on his side showed he'd rolled in the clay, 

 But the years had not dimmed the wild glint of his 

 eye. 



When I called him he came on the old fashioned trot, 

 About which the reporters made many a note, 



And as soon as he stopped at the gate of the lot, 



He was nosing for sweets, in the sleeve of my coat. 



'Twas a trick he'd been taught, in his old racing days, 

 And to see him remember it made my heart long 



For the lads, who had gone on their different ways, 

 Since the days of my youth when one's hopes are so 

 strong. 



When I touched his soft muzzle and felt his warm 

 breath 

 On the hand that had reined him in many a race, 

 I could feel we were friends, and would be until death ; 

 And the thought brought a sigh, though it seemed 

 out of place. 



As I looked at him then I remembered the day 



When he first caught my fancv and made my heart 

 bound, 

 As he stood on the track one bright morning in May, 

 With his head in the air, while his tail touched the 

 ground. 



