“Help me, O Lord, to bear my lot,
And when with hunger spent,
I’ll think of other boneless ones,
And learn to be content.
Not more than others I deserve,
Whose forms with want are bent;
Oh, give me then, a spirit meek,
That always is content.
“This, my canine brethren, is all that we need—the spirit of meekness, resignation and contentment. Think, my beloved brethren, of all the glorious prospects that lie beyond this vale of tears, when, if we have been very humble and contented, and have not barked at the upper classes, nor scoffed at the well-paid ministers of the fleas’ gospel, we shall trot the streets of the New Canisville where the best food lies around in the greatest profusion, and poor dogs hunger no more, neither thirst any more.”
“And,” said a sceptic dog, “what shall we do for grub on earth until we reach the grubful Canaan?”