Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 14

Over the Hill from the Poor-House

I, who was always counted, they say, Rather a bad stick anyway, Splintered all over with dodges and tricks, Known as "the worst of the Deacon's six"; I, the truant, saucy and bold, The one black sheep in my father's fold, "Once on a time," as the stories say, Went over the hill on a winter's day-- _Over the hill to the poor-house._

Tom could save what twenty could earn; But _givin'_ was somethin' he ne'er would learn; Isaac could half o' the Scriptur's speak-- Committed a hundred verses a week; Never forgot, an' never slipped; But "Honor thy father and mother," he skipped; _So over the hill to the poor-house!_

As for Susan, her heart was kind An' good--what there was of it, mind; Nothin' too big, an' nothin' too nice, Nothin' she wouldn't sacrifice For one she loved; an' that 'ere one Was herself, when all was said an' done; An' Charley an' 'Becca meant well, no doubt, But anyone could pull 'em about; An' all o' our folks ranked well, you see, Save one poor fellow, an' that was me; An' when, one dark an' rainy night, A neighbor's horse went out o' sight, They hitched on me, as the guilty chap That carried one end o' the halter-strap.

An' I think, myself, that view of the case Wasn't altogether out o' place; My mother denied it, as mothers do, But I am inclined to believe 'twas true.

Though for me one thing might be said-- That I, as well as the horse, was led; And the worst of whisky spurred me on, Or else the deed would have never been done.

But the keenest grief I ever felt Was when my mother beside me knelt, An' cried, an' prayed, till I melted down, As I wouldn't for half the horses in town.

I kissed her fondly, then an' there, An' swore henceforth to be honest and square.

I served my sentence--a bitter pill Some fellows should take who never will; And then I decided to go "out West,"

Concludin' 'twould suit my health the best; Where, how I prospered, I never could tell, But Fortune seemed to like me well; An' somehow every vein I struck Was always bubbling over with luck.

An', better than that, I was steady an' true, An' put my good resolutions through.

But I wrote to a trusty old neighbor, an' said, "You tell 'em, old fellow, that I am dead, An' died a Christian; 'twill please 'em more, Than if I had lived the same as before."

But when this neighbor he wrote to me, "Your mother's in the poor-house," says he, I had a resurrection straightway, An' started for her that very day.

And when I arrived where I was grown, I took good care that I shouldn't be known; But I bought the old cottage, through and through, Of someone Charley had sold it to; And held back neither work nor gold To fix it up as it was of old.

The same big fire-place, wide and high, Flung up its cinders toward the sky; The old clock ticked on the corner-shelf-- I wound it an' set it a-goin' myself; An' if everything wasn't just the same, Neither I nor money was to blame; _Then--over the hill to the poor-house!_

One blowin', bl.u.s.terin' winter's day, With a team an' cutter I started away; My fiery nags was as black as coal; (They some'at resembled the horse I stole;) I hitched, an' entered the poor-house door-- A poor old woman was scrubbin' the floor; She rose to her feet in great surprise, And looked, quite startled, into my eyes; I saw the whole of her trouble's trace In the lines that marred her dear old face; "Mother!" I shouted, "your sorrows is done!

You're adopted along o' your horse thief son, _Come over the hill from the poor-house!"_

She didn't faint; she knelt by my side, An' thanked the Lord, till I fairly cried.

An' maybe our ride wasn't pleasant an' gay, An' maybe she wasn't wrapped up that day; An' maybe our cottage wasn't warm an' bright, An' maybe it wasn't a pleasant sight, To see her a-gettin' the evenin's tea, An' frequently stoppin' an' kissin' me; An' maybe we didn't live happy for years, In spite of my brothers' and sisters' sneers, Who often said, as I have heard, That they wouldn't own a prison-bird; (Though they're gettin' over that, I guess, For all of 'em owe me more or less;) But I've learned one thing; an' it cheers a man In always a-doin' the best he can; That whether on the big book, a blot Gets over a fellow's name or not, Whenever he does a deed that's white, It's credited to him fair and right.

An' when you hear the great bugle's notes, An' the Lord divides his sheep and goats, However they may settle my case, Wherever they may fix my place, My good old Christian mother, you'll see, Will be sure to stand right up for me, With _over the hill from the poor-house!_

_Will Carleton._

"'Specially Jim"

I was mighty good-lookin' when I was young, Peart an' black-eyed an' slim, With fellers a-courtin' me Sunday nights, 'Specially Jim.

The likeliest one of 'em all was he, Chipper an' han'som' an' trim, But I tossed up my head an' made fun o' the crowds 'Specially Jim!

I said I hadn't no 'pinion o' men, An' I wouldn't take stock in him!

But they kep' up a-comin' in spite o' my talk, 'Specially Jim!

I got so tired o' havin' 'em roun'

('Specially Jim!) I made up my mind I'd settle down An' take up with him.

So we was married one Sunday in church, 'Twas crowded full to the brim; 'Twas the only way to get rid of 'em all, 'Specially Jim.

O'Grady's Goat

O'Grady lived in Shanty row, The neighbors often said They wished that Tim would move away Or that his goat was dead.

He kept the neighborhood in fear, And the children always vexed; They couldn't tell jist whin or where The goat would pop up next.

Ould Missis Casey stood wan day The dirty clothes to rub Upon the washboard, when she dived Headforemosht o'er the tub; She lit upon her back an' yelled, As she was lying flat: "Go git your goon an' kill the bashte."

O'Grady's goat doon that.

Pat Doolan's woife hung out the wash Upon the line to dry.

She wint to take it in at night, But stopped to have a cry.

The sleeves av two red flannel shirts, That once were worn by Pat, Were chewed off almost to the neck.

O'Grady's goat doon that.

They had a party at McCune's, An' they wor having foon, Whin suddinly there was a crash An' ivrybody roon.

The iseter soup fell on the floor An' nearly drowned the cat; The stove was knocked to smithereens.

O'Grady's goat doon that.

Moike Dyle was coortin' Biddy Shea, Both standin' at the gate, An' they wor just about to kiss Aich oother sly and shwate.

They coom togither loike two rams.

An' mashed their noses flat.

They niver shpake whin they goes by.

O'Grady's goat doon that.

O'Hoolerhan brought home a keg Av dannymite wan day To blow a cistern in his yard An' hid the stuff away.

But suddinly an airthquake coom, O'Hoolerhan, house an' hat, An' ivrything in sight wint up.

O'Grady's goat doon that.

An' there was Dooley's Savhin's Bank, That held the byes' sphare cash.

One day the news came doon the sthreet The bank had gone to smash.

An' ivrybody 'round was dum Wid anger and wid fear, Fer on the dhoor they red the whords, "O'Grady's goat sthruck here."

The folks in Grady's naborhood All live in fear and fright; They think it's certain death to go Around there after night.

An' in their shlape they see a ghost Upon the air afloat, An' wake thimselves by shoutin' out: "Luck out for Grady's goat."

_Will S. Hays._

The Burial of Moses

"And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Bethpeor; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day."