A SORROW.
The White Rat died last night.
We found him cold and stiff;
We wrapped him warm and tight.
In my best handkerchief.
Jimmy marched on before,
Bearing the poor dead Rat;
Alice deep mourning wore,
I had papa’s silk hat.
Jimmy the sermon preached,
Alice and I just cried.
That was a noble speech,
Worthy the Rat that died.
We made him a tiny grave.
Down in the shadow dim
Where the willow hedge-rows wave
We solemnly buried him.
Jimmy and Alice and I
Went sadly back to our play.
But there’s a cloud in the sky,
And a shade on the Shining Way.
