Him church and school and town and country mourn.”
Here the poor cripple takes his seat,
And bathes his hands, his joints, his feet;
But all his labor’s worse than vain:
It rather aggravates his pain.
With troubled mind he grasps his staff,
Turns from the good man’s grave, and creeps
On to the next, where lowly sleeps
One honored by no epitaph.
Scarce had he touched the nameless stone,