Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 65

It is Christmas day in the workhouse, And the cold bare walls are bright With garlands of green and holly, And the place is a pleasant sight: For with clean-washed hands and faces, In a long and hungry line The paupers sit at the tables, For this is the hour they dine.

And the guardians and their ladies, Although the wind is east, Have come in their furs and wrappers To watch their charges feast; To smile and be condescending, Put pudding on pauper plates, To be hosts at the workhouse banquet They've paid for--with the rates.

Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's"; So long as they fill their stomachs, What matter whence it comes?

But one of the old men mutters, And pushes his plate aside: "Great G.o.d!" he cries; "but it chokes me; For this is the day _she_ died."

The guardians gazed in horror, The master's face went white: "Did a pauper refuse their pudding?"

"Could their ears believe aright?"

Then the ladies clutched their husbands Thinking the man would die, Struck by a bolt, or something, By the outraged One on high.

But the pauper sat for a moment, Then rose 'mid a silence grim, For the others had ceased to chatter, And trembled in every limb.

He looked at the guardians' ladies, Then, eyeing their lords, he said: "I eat not the food of villains Whose hands are foul and red,

"Whose victims cry for vengeance From their dark unhallowed graves."

"He's drunk!" said the workhouse master, "Or else he's mad, and raves."

"Not drunk or mad," cried the pauper, "But only a hunted beast, Who, torn by the hounds and mangled, Declines the vulture's feast.

"I care not a curse for the guardians, And I won't be dragged away.

Just let me have the fit out, It's only on Christmas day That the black past comes to goad me, And prey on my burning brain, I'll tell you the rest in a whisper,-- I swear I won't shout again,

"Keep your hands off me, curse you!

Hear me right out to the end, You come here to see how paupers The season of Christmas spend.

You come here to watch us feeding, As they watch the captured beast, Hear why a penniless pauper Spits on your palfry feast.

"Do you think I will take your bounty, And let you smile and think You're doing a n.o.ble action With the parish's meat and drink?

Where is my wife, you traitors-- The poor old wife you slew?

Yes, by the G.o.d above us, My Nance was killed by you!

"Last winter my wife lay dying, Starved in a filthy den; I had never been to the parish,-- I came to the parish then.

I swallowed my pride in coming, For, ere the ruin came.

I held up my head as a trader, And I bore a spotless name.

"I came to the parish, craving Bread for a starving wife, Bread for the woman who'd loved me Through fifty years of life; And what do you think they told me, Mocking my awful grief?

That 'the House' was open to us, But they wouldn't give 'out relief.'

"I slunk to the filthy alley-- 'Twas a cold, raw Christmas eve-- And the bakers' shops were open, Tempting a man to thieve: But I clenched my fists together, Holding my head awry, So I came to her empty-handed And mournfully told her why.

"Then I told her 'the House' was open; She had heard of the ways of _that_, For her bloodless cheeks went crimson, And up in her rags she sat, Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John, We've never had one apart; I think I can bear the hunger,-- The other would break my heart.'

"All through that eve I watched her, Holding her hand in mine, Praying the Lord, and weeping Till my lips were salt as brine.

I asked her once if she hungered, And as she answered 'No,'

The moon shone in at the window Set in a wreath of snow.

"Then the room was bathed in glory, And I saw in my darling's eyes The far-away look of wonder That comes when the spirit flies; And her lips were parched and parted, And her reason came and went, For she raved of our home in Devon Where our happiest years were spent.

"And the accents, long forgotten, Came back to the tongue once more, For she talked like the country la.s.sie I woo'd by the Devon sh.o.r.e.

Then she rose to her feet and trembled, And fell on the rags and moaned, And, 'Give me a crust--I'm famished-- For the love of G.o.d!' she groaned.

"I rushed from the room like a madman, And flew to the workhouse gate, Crying 'Food for a dying woman?'

And the answer came, 'Too late.'

They drove me away with curses; Then I fought with a dog in the street, And tore from the mongrel's clutches A crust he was trying to eat.

"Back, through the filthy by-lanes!

Back, through the trampled slush!

Up to the crazy garret, Wrapped in an awful hush.

My heart sank down at the threshold, And I paused with a sudden thrill, For there in the silv'ry moonlight My Nance lay, cold and still.

"Up to the blackened ceiling The sunken eyes were cast-- I knew on those lips all bloodless My name had been the last: She'd called for her absent husband-- O G.o.d! had I but known!-- Had called in vain, and in anguish Had died in that den--_alone_.

"Yes, there, in a land of plenty, Lay a loving woman dead, Cruelly starved and murdered For a loaf of the parish bread.

At yonder gate, last Christmas, I craved for a human life.

You, who would feast us paupers, _What of my murdered wife!_

"There, get ye gone to you dinners; Don't mind me in the least; Think of the happy paupers Eating your Christmas feast; And when you recount their blessings In your snug, parochial way, Say what you did for _me_, too, Only last Christmas Day."

_George R. Sims._

Our Presidents--A Memory Rhyme

First on the list is Washington, Virginia's proudest name; John Adams next, the Federalist, from Ma.s.sachusetts came; Three sons of old Virginia into the White House go-- 'Twas Jefferson, and Madison, and then came James Monroe.

Ma.s.sachusetts for one term sent Adams called John Q., And Tennessee a Democrat, brave Jackson staunch and true.

Martin Van Buren of New York, and Harrison we see, And Tyler of Virginia, and Polk of Tennessee.

Louisiana Taylor sent; New York Millard Fillmore; New Hampshire gave us Franklin Pierce; when his term was o'er The keystone state Buchanan sent. War thunders shook the realm Abe Lincoln wore a martyr's crown, and Johnson took the helm.

Then U.S. Grant of Illinois who ruled with sword and pen; And Hayes, and Garfield who was shot, two n.o.ble Buckeye men.

Chester Arthur from New York, and Grover Cleveland came; Ben Harrison served just four years, then Cleveland ruled again.

McKinley--shot at Buffalo--the nation plunged in grief, And "Teddy" Roosevelt of New York served seven years as chief.

Taft of Ohio followed him. Then Woodrow Wilson came-- New Jersey's learned Democrat; war set the world aflame;

And when the tide of strife and hate its baneful course had run, The country went Republican and Warren Harding won.

No duty would he shirk,--he died while on a western trip; Coolidge of Ma.s.sachusetts then a.s.sumed the leadership.

_Isabel Ambler Gilman._

Annie and Willie's Prayer