“There!” said the Deacon, “naow she'll dew!”

Do! I tell you, I rather guess

She was a wonder, and nothing less!

Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,

Deacon and deaconess dropped away,

Children and grandchildren—where were they?

But there stood the stout old one-hoss-shay

As fresh as on Lisbon-earth-quake-day!

Eighteen hundred;—it came and found

The Deacon's Masterpiece strong and sound.