THE PETITION
H! pause awhile, kind gentleman,
Nor turn thy face away;
There is a boon that I must ask,
A pray'r that I would pray.
Thou hast a gentle wife at home?
A son—perchance like me—
And children fair with golden hair
To cling around thy knee?
Then by their love I pray thee,
And by their merry tone;
By home, and all its tender joys,
Which I have never known,—
By all the smiles that hail thee now;
By ev'ry former sigh;
By ev'ry pang that thou hast felt
When lone, perchance, as I,—
By youth and all its blossoms bright,
By manhood's ripen'd fruits,
By Faith and Hope and Charity—
Yer'll let me clean yer boots!
