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For this world is placed 'twixt the day and the night,
That the eye of the man might not be destroyed;
By the sun of that sword he shall see flame in light,
When he's born again from this second void,
And then shall he see the eternal sight,

For there ever is day, and there never is night.

Then shalt thou fear too at thy second birth;

But when thou hast wakened and gazed all around, And seen all who had formerly loved thee on earth, 'Round thy couch stand and cry, Oh, the lost one is found! Thou shalt laugh; and thy Father, to hear thy voice, That a god hath been born shall rejoice, rejoice; And when all the delights of that heaven are unfurled, Thou❜lt rejoice to have been born from this darksome world.

THE OVERTHROW OF SATAN

By LEONARD CHARLES VAN NOPPEN

['Vondel's Lucifer' translated from the Dutch, 1898. Copyright, The Search-Light Information Library. By permission. The extracts are from Act V.]

URIEL: Even as bright day to gloomy night is changed,
Whene'er the sun forgets his golden glow,
So in his downward fall his beauty turned
To something monstrous and most horrible;
Into a brutish snout his face, that shone
So glorious; his teeth into large fangs,
Sharpened for gnawing steel; his hands and feet
Into four various claws; into a hide

Of black that shining skin of pearl; while from
His bristled back two dragon wings did sprout.
Alas! the proud Archangel, whom but now
All Angels honored here, hath changed his shape
Into a hideous medley of seven beasts,
As outwardly appears: A lion proud;
A greedy, gluttonous swine; a slothful ass;
A fierce rhinoceros, with rage inflamed;
An ape, in every part obscene and vile,
By nature lewd and most lascivious;

A dragon, full of envy; and a wolf

Of sordid avarice. His beauteous form

Is now a monster execrable, by God

And Spirit and man e'er to be cursed. That beast
Doth shrink to view its own deformity,

And veils with darkling mists its Gorgon face.

RAFAEL: Thus shall Ambition learn how vain to tilt For God's own crown. Where stayed Apollion?

URIEL: He saw his tide ebb when his star declined,
And fled so fled they all. Then, from above,
The celestial ordnance pours forth shot on shot,
With lightning flash and rolling thunders loud,
Causing the monsters that into the light

Have crawled to swell the rout; and pleased are all,
With God's array, to aid in such pursuit!

O! what a whirl of storms in one resolved!

And what a noisy tumult rises round!

What floods sweep by! Our legions, blessed by God,
Advance, and strike and crush whate'er they meet.
What cries of pain now burst forth everywhere,
As from the fleeing hordes one hears, amid
This wild confusion and this change of form
In limbs and shapes, their roars and bellowings.
Some yell, and others howl. What fearful frowns
Those Angel faces wear, the mirrors dread,
Of Hell's infernal horrors. Hark! I hear
Michael return, triumphant, to display,
Here in the light, the spoil from Angels reft.
The choristers now greet him with their songs
Of praise, with sound of cymbal, pipe, and drum.
They come in front, and strew their laurel leaves
'Mid those celestial harmonies around.

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CHORUS: Hail to the hero, hail!

Who the wicked did assail;

And in the fight, o'er his might and his standard,
Triumphant did prevail.

Who strove for God's own crown,

From his high and splendid throne,

Into night, with his might, hath been driven.
How dazzling God's renown!

Through flames the tumult fell,

The valiant Michael

With his hand the fierce brand can extinguish:

All mutiny shall quell.

God's banner he doth rear:

Come, wreathe his brow austere.

Now, in peace, shall increase Heaven's Palace:
No discord now we hear.

Then to the Godhead raise,

In His deathless courts, your praise. Glory bring to the King of all Kingdoms: His deeds inspire our lays.

MICHAEL: Praise be to God! The state of things above
Has changed. Our Grand Foe has met his defeat;
And in our hands he leaves his standard, helm,
And morning-star, and shield and banners bold.
Which spoil, gained in pursuit, even now doth hang,
'Mid joys triumphant, honors, songs of praise,
And sounds of trump, on Heaven's axis bright,
The mirror clear of all rebelliousness,
Of all ambition that would rear its crest
'Gainst God, the stem immovable-grand fount,
Prime source, and Father of all things that are,
Which from His hand their nature did receive,
And various attributes. No more shall we
Behold the glow of Majesty Supreme
Dimmed by the damp of base ingratitude.

There, deep beneath our sight and these high thrones,
They wander through the air and restlessly

Move to and fro, all blind and overcast

With shrouding clouds, and horribly deformed.

Thus is his fate, who would assail God's Throne.

CHORUS: Thus is his fate, who would assail God's throne. Thus is his fate, who would, through envy, man,

In God's own image made, deprive of light.

THE BIRDS AND THEIR FALSE LOVERS

By FRANCIS P. WIGHTMAN

['Little Leather Breeches,' 1899. By permission of J. F. Taylor and Company.]

"Well," said the red bird, sitting on a tree

"I had a mate as well as thee.

But she grew fickle, an' away she fled,
An' ever since then my head's been red!”

"Well," said the blue bird, sitting on a tree—
"I had mate as well as thee.

But he grew fickle, and away he flew,

And ever since then my head's been blue."

"Well," said the black bird, sitting on a tree-
"I had a mate as well as thee-

But she flew away, and never came back,
And ever since then my head's been black!"

"Well," said the green bird, sitting on a tree,-
"I had a mate ez well ez thee—

But he flew away, an' wuz never more seen,
An' ever sence then my haid's ben green.'

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"Well," said the brown bird, sitting on a tree— "I had a mate as well as thee,

But he flew up, and never came down,

And ever since then my head's been brown!"

"Wely," said the gray bird, sitting on a tree"I had a mate as well as thee.

But she grew fickle, and flew away,

And ever since then my head's been gray."

OLD DAN TUCKUH

By FRANCIS P. WIGHTMAN

['Little Leather Breeches,' 1899. By permission of J. F. Taylor and Company.]

Ol' Dan Tuckuh was a fine ol' man,

He used t' ride a Durham ram,

Rode 'im down t' de bottom of a hill,

An' ef 'e ain't up, 'e's down there still!
Git out'n de way

Ol' Dan Tuckuh!

Come too late f'r t' git yo' suppuh!

Ol' Dan Tuckuh, he got drunk,
Fell en de fiah an' 'e kick't up a chunk.
A red-'ot coal got in 'is shoe

Great Gran-daddy! how de ashes flew!
Git out'n de way

Ol' Dan Tuckuh!

Come too late f'r t' git yo' suppuh!

Ol' Dan Tuckuh was a fine ol' man-
Washed 'is face innah fryin' pan-
Combed 'is hair withuh wag'n weel,
An' died withuh toothache in 'is heel.
Git out'n de way

Ol' Dan Tuckuh!

Come too late f'r t' git yo' suppuh!

OMENS

By FRANCIS P. WIGHTMAN

['Little Leather Breeches,' 1899. By permission of J. F. Taylor and Company.]

W'en de screech-owl light on de gable en',

En holler "Who-00, 00-00!"

Den yo' bettuh keep yo' eye-ball peel,

Kase 'e bring bad luck t' yo'!

W'en de ol' black cat, widde yaller eyes,
Slink aroun' lak she atterer mouse,
Den yo' bettuh tekcayr yo'se'f en frien's,
Kase dey's sholy a witch en de house!

W'en de puddle-duck 'e leave de pon'
En start t' comb 'e fedder
Den yo' bettuh tek yo' omberel,
Kase dey's gwine tubbe wet wedder!

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