[AN OLD HORSE'S APPEAL.]
I'm a poor old gray horse whom somebody owns,
That I'm sadly neglected you will see by my bones;
I wish some one would buy me—I wish I were sold
To a man with a heart, for I'm feeble and old.
Every fifth day of the week I come to the mart,
And stand tethered and tied to my dirty old cart,
While my master in ease at the public-house table,
Denies me shelter, and food, and stable.
I'm possessed of some virtues which in him you'll not find,
I am docile and patient, I am gentle and kind;
My acts are instinctive; his the proof of a mind;
But if I've no reason, his is certainly blind.
I know 'tis his haste to accumulate pelf,
I know 'tis the thought of his miserable self.
I know 'tis his love and grasp after greed
That makes him forget he's a Christian in creed.
I am tied with no shelter for hours together,
No matter the wind, no matter the weather;
You may judge how I suffer, think of my pain,
For I am cold, I am sodden, I'm dripping with rain.
Sometimes in the snow, sometimes in the sleet;
You may see me uncared for, exposed in the street
Without water to drink, without morsel to eat.
I stand close to the hall where the magistrates meet,
I am equally close to the justices' seat;
But because I've no wound on my body or head
I may stand till I'm stunned, I may stand till I'm dead.