A little book of tribune verse A number of hitherto uncollected poems, grave and gay |
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LIVING AND DYING. |
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 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
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LIVING AND DYING.
Joe Smith was eke a goodly man
As ever lived on earth,
The world admired and loudly praised
His truly pious worth;
His life was full of charity
And free from sinful pride
But scarce had lived to thirty-four,
When one calm eventide
A mule kicked him quite playfully,
And Smith soon after died.
As ever lived on earth,
The world admired and loudly praised
His truly pious worth;
His life was full of charity
And free from sinful pride
But scarce had lived to thirty-four,
When one calm eventide
A mule kicked him quite playfully,
And Smith soon after died.
John Brown, a knave of deepest hue,
Dwelt in the selfsame town,
A grosser, meaner, viler scamp
There never lived than Brown;
He cussed, he swore, he smoked, he chewed,
He even keno played,
And down in Texas years ago
They say a man he slayed;
Yet he lived on contentedly
And lots of money made.
Till finally, a grey haired man,
John Brown lay down to die.
Dwelt in the selfsame town,
A grosser, meaner, viler scamp
There never lived than Brown;
He cussed, he swore, he smoked, he chewed,
He even keno played,
And down in Texas years ago
They say a man he slayed;
Yet he lived on contentedly
And lots of money made.
Till finally, a grey haired man,
John Brown lay down to die.
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His wife and children gathered 'round,
A preacher lingered nigh,
The only token of his death
A quiet, gentle sigh.
We'd like to live as did old Smith,
Revered by all the town,
But when it comes to dying, we'd
Prefer to die like Brown.
A preacher lingered nigh,
The only token of his death
A quiet, gentle sigh.
We'd like to live as did old Smith,
Revered by all the town,
But when it comes to dying, we'd
Prefer to die like Brown.
November 26th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |