Thus does posterity their deeds commend,
And takes their graves to make a railroad here,
For fear their usefulness with life should end.
No farther seek fresh merits to impose,
Let the poor battered stones sink in the sod,
Where rich and poor in trembling earth repose,
To wait, ’mid engine shrieks, the trump of God.
From The Yorkshireman’s Comic Annual. 1885
——:o:——
Newall’s Buildings.