’Twas he who watched by the poor men’s biers
with a care no money buys;
’Twas he who sat by the fretful sick, and ne’er
could rash complaint
Disturb the placid soul and smile of the gnarled
old village saint.
And all came straight from out his heart, for
when one spoke of pay,
He simply smiled a wistful smile and said:
“That ain’t my way.”