For all that he needs for his years of toil are years of unbroken rest.
"And who has mothered this kinless one? Why should we want to know
As we hide his face from the eyes of men and his flesh from the hooded crow?
Had he a sweetheart to wait for him, with a kiss for his toil-worn face?
It doesn't matter, for here or there another can fill his place.
"Is there a prayer to be prayed for him? Or is there a bell to toll?
We'll do the best for the body that's dead, and God can deal with the soul.
We'll bury him decently out of sight, and he who can may pray.
For maybe our turn will come to-morrow though his has come to-day.
"And maybe Bill had hopes of his own and a sort of vague desire