236 EVEN MEASURE.
Whose beams shall reach you far away, Shall lure your soul returning.
Tell her you love her dearly still, For fear some sad to-morrow
Shall bear away the list ning soul, And leave you lost in sorrow.
And then, through bitter, falling tears, And sighs you may not smother,
You will remember, when too late, You did not write to mother.
" T^HIS very fine gentleman what does he mean, 1 With his loitering feet and his little white
Watching me gearing these pulleys and bands, And greasin the wheels of this rattlin machine?
��Hark ! Labor is prayer. Eh ! what does he know Of the one or the other? I guess they are few Them prayers and that preachin . Sich talkin
won t do. It s all very well for a man to talk so
" Who has holidays plenty, and money to spend, Not grimy like me from my head to my foot, Not choking with file-dust and cinders and soot,
With never a day when the battle will end.