Classic Poem

No heaven for brutes, " you fancy that is clear;
Then let us make a heaven for them here!
If immortality is thus denied
To any beast beyond the Stygian tide,
Then all the more incumbent doth it seem
To make their earthly life a happy dream.
To be a horse is not to even know
One is " a horse, " but just to daily grow
From frisky colthood to the proud estate
Of the tall steed that bears his master's weight.
To be a horse may either be to bear
Curses and loads and blows with meekest air;
Or it may be to feel a happy sense
Of serving gladly man's intelligence,
Eager, all times, to serve his owner's end,
And feel that godlike man is even his friend.
No, the poor animal may never trace
His line, as we our prehistoric race,
But, ah, how well he weighs our every tone,
Checked by a whisper, startled by a moan.
None like our patient, plodding servant knows
So well the difference 'twixt caress and blows.
The meaning of a cold or cozy stall
Is misery or comfort, that is all.
Not every mouth is suited with its bit,
Not all the food that's thrown to beasts is fit.
If Pegasus were galled or starved in ration
He'd bear no bards to mounts of inspiration.
Kick Rover out of doors, neglect to bone him,
He'll fawn on strangers, growl at those who own him.

No brutes in heaven? Well, then, so let it be,
The human animal must need agree,
Though wondering at the love that takes his soul,
All marred with sin, to the eternal goal,
And yet denies the patient slave in reins
Chance to disport on those Elysian plains.
Mayhap the rest is best for weary horses,
Mayhap among those far celestial forces
And high delights we shall not miss a pet,
Nor ever eye for a lost steed be wet.
But if it be the seers may be mistaken,
If noble quadrupeds in heaven may waken;
If, too, like Balaam's beast, their speech regained,
They tell when we have petted them or pained,
We'll not regret the days we gave their fill
Of goodly oats, or helped them up a hill!

Resting with higher Power if shall survive
The beasts He made in beauteous forms alive,
I yet declare that if I do not change,
I still should seek them on that higher range
Of Life Revived; should feel my eyes o'erfill
At whinnied greeting from some heavenly hill:
Or some lost collie, faithful to the end,
Wagging a welcome to his earthly friend.