They find the world a pleasant place
Where all is ecstasy and grace,
Where a light has risen that cannot wane,
Do John and Jane.
III
They see as a palace their cottage-place,
Containing a pearl of the human race,
A hero, maybe, hereafter styled,
Do John and Jane with a baby-child.
IV
They rate the world as a gruesome place,
Where fair looks fade to a skull’s grimace,—
As a pilgrimage they would fain get done—
Do John and Jane with their worthless son.
THE CURATE’S KINDNESS
A WORKHOUSE IRONY
I
I thought they’d be strangers aroun’ me,
But she’s to be there!
Let me jump out o’ waggon and go back and drown me
At Pummery or Ten-Hatches Weir.
II
I thought: “Well, I’ve come to the Union—
The workhouse at last—
After honest hard work all the week, and Communion
O’ Zundays, these fifty years past.