OLD GRIMES
By Albert Gorton Greene
Old Grimes is dead, that good old man
We never shall see more:
He used to wear a long black coat
All button'd down before.
His heart was open as the day,
His feelings all were true;
His hair was some inclined to gray—
He wore it in a queue.
Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burn'd;
The large, round head upon his cane
From ivory was turn'd.
Kind words he ever had for all;
He knew no base design:
His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.
He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true;
His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.
Unharm'd, the sin which earth pollutes
He pass'd securely o'er,
And never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years or more.
But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown:
He wore a double-breasted vest—
The stripes ran up and down.
He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert:
He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.