How very hard the loss is;
That both my legs should have to walk,
The Surgery at Cr-ss’s.
And that my arms,—the tender arms,
That now in death do part us;
Should both of them be taken down,
To dwell at Doctor C-rt-r’s.
As for my eyes,—the lovely eyes,
That once beam’d from their sockets;
You’ll find them both at Mr. H-ll’s,