While working on a sermon the pastor heard a knock at his office door. "Come in," he invited. A sad-looking man in threadbare clothes came in, pulling a large pig on a rope. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" asked the... Read more of Quite In Church at Free Jokes.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

Tobacco Is An Indian Weed.
Tobacco's but an Indian weed, Grows green at morn, cut...

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...

My After-dinner Cloud.
Some sombre evening, when I sit And feed in solitude...

A Good Cigar.
Oh, 'tis well and enough, A whiff or a puff From th...

Acrostic.
To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles, O'er cankere...

A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book, A cosy nook, A fire,--at least ...

Tobacco.
The Indian weed, withered quite, Green at noon, cut do...

The Patriotic Smoker's Lament.
Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh, Briton of the true...

To See Her Pipe Awry.
Betty bouncer kept a stall At the corner of a street...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

Cigars And Beer.
Here With my beer I sit, While g...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,-- Or p'raps a ...

Wrongfellow.
I like cigars Beneath the stars, Upon the water...

Ingin Summer.
Jest about the time when Fall Gits to rattlin' in th...

The Pipe You Make Yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes a...

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

The Duet.
I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the te...



EDIFYING REFLECTIONS OF A TOBACCO-SMOKER.








_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANSLATED BY
EDWARD BRECK._



As oft I fill my faithful pipe,
To while away the moments glad,
With fragrant leaves, so rich and ripe,
My mind perceives an image sad,
So that I can but clearly see
How very like it is to me.

My pipe is made of earth and clay,
From which my mortal part is wrought;
I, too, must turn to earth some day.
It often falls, as quick as thought,
And breaks in two,--puts out its flame;
My fate, alas! is but the same!

My pipe I color not, nor paint;
White it remains, and hence 'tis true
That, when in Death's cold arms I faint,
My lips shall wear the ashen hue;
And as it blackens day by day,
So black the grave shall turn my clay!

And when the pipe is put alight
The smoke ascends, then trembles, wanes,
And soon dissolves in sunshine bright,
And but the whitened ash remains.
'Tis so man's glory crumble must,
E'en as his body, into dust!

How oft the filler is mislaid;
And, rather than to seek in vain,
I use my finger in its stead,
And fancy as I feel the pain,
If coals can burn to such degree,
How hot, O Lord, must Hades be!

So in tobacco oft I find,
Lessons of such instructive type;
And hence with calm, contented mind
I live, and smoke my faithful pipe
In reverence where'er I roam,--
On land, on water, and at home.





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Previous: INGIN SUMMER.



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