 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
SOMEBODY'S PET—NOBODY'S PET.
This is Somebody's Pet—she has all that she asks,
While her life is made sunny and sweet
By the kindness that turns into pleasures her tasks,
And the riches that lie at her feet;
For society smiles on her, fences her round
With protection it offers but few,
And they daily remove the rude stones from the ground
That she treads on, and sweep it anew;
Yea, the thorns are cut down, if they venture too near,
And her pathways with blossoms are set,
Every weed is destroyed, every shadow of fear—
She is Somebody's Pet.
While her life is made sunny and sweet
By the kindness that turns into pleasures her tasks,
And the riches that lie at her feet;
For society smiles on her, fences her round
With protection it offers but few,
And they daily remove the rude stones from the ground
That she treads on, and sweep it anew;
Yea, the thorns are cut down, if they venture too near,
And her pathways with blossoms are set,
Every weed is destroyed, every shadow of fear—
She is Somebody's Pet.
384
This is Nobody's Pet—she has little she needs,
Just a cup of cold water, the crust
Of stale bread that is mouldy, and often she feeds
(Fighting hard) with the dogs in the dust;
For society frowns on her, eyes her askance,
Shuts her out from its pity and love,
And while framing her sorrows a pretty romance,
Would not touch her afar with a glove;
She may tramp on the pavement from morning to night,
Half the night too, a morsel to get,
But no table for her will be welcome and bright—
She is Nobody's Pet.
Just a cup of cold water, the crust
Of stale bread that is mouldy, and often she feeds
(Fighting hard) with the dogs in the dust;
For society frowns on her, eyes her askance,
Shuts her out from its pity and love,
And while framing her sorrows a pretty romance,
Would not touch her afar with a glove;
She may tramp on the pavement from morning to night,
Half the night too, a morsel to get,
But no table for her will be welcome and bright—
She is Nobody's Pet.
This is Somebody's Pet—she goes daintily drest,
Now in velvet, and now in warm furs,
And no winter would dare one small toe to molest,
She is covered so well that she purrs;
Cuddled up in her wraps she may laugh at the frost,
That can only give wings to her way,
As she dances decked out quite regardless of cost,
Like a kitten whose life is all play;
And grand meals of the best and whatever she will,
Are her portion—she has not to fret,
For they care for her tenderly, shield her from ill—
She is Somebody's Pet.
Now in velvet, and now in warm furs,
And no winter would dare one small toe to molest,
She is covered so well that she purrs;
Cuddled up in her wraps she may laugh at the frost,
That can only give wings to her way,
As she dances decked out quite regardless of cost,
Like a kitten whose life is all play;
And grand meals of the best and whatever she will,
Are her portion—she has not to fret,
For they care for her tenderly, shield her from ill—
She is Somebody's Pet.
She is Nobody's Pet—she looks weary and old,
Flap the rags on her threadbare and scant,
Her poor forehead is crumpled and pinched with the cold,
She finds nothing to comfort but cant;
She is hungry and weak, and the world is too strong
For a baby half fed and half clad,
As she faces it fearfully, limping along,
In mute wonder the earth is so bad;
Not a word of compassion, though hundreds pass bye,
Though her cheeks are drawn, withered and wet,
And the tear of the orphan protests in her eye—
She is Nobody's Pet.
Flap the rags on her threadbare and scant,
Her poor forehead is crumpled and pinched with the cold,
She finds nothing to comfort but cant;
She is hungry and weak, and the world is too strong
For a baby half fed and half clad,
As she faces it fearfully, limping along,
In mute wonder the earth is so bad;
Not a word of compassion, though hundreds pass bye,
Though her cheeks are drawn, withered and wet,
And the tear of the orphan protests in her eye—
She is Nobody's Pet.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |