Church-going Tim
Yes, quite a saint he was. Although
He never was a likely man
At his own trade; indeed, I know
Many's the day I've pitied Nan.
She had a time of it, his wife,
With all those children and no wage.
As like as not, from Tim. The life
She led! She looked three times her age.
The half he had he 'Id give to tramps
If they were hungry, or it was cold —
Pampering up them idle scamps,
While Nan grew lean and pinched and old.
He'ld let her grumble. Not a word
Or blow from him she ever had—
And yet I've heard her sigh, and heard
Her say she wished as he wur bad.
Atop of all the fever came ;
And Tim went hobbling past on sticks,
Still one felt happier, all the same,
When he'ld gone by to church at six.
Not that I wished to go. Not I!
With Joe so wild, and all those boys —
It takes my day to clean, and try
To settle down the dust and noise.
But still—out of it all, to glance
And see Tim hobbling by, so calm.
As though he heard the angels' chants
And saw their branching crowns of palm.
And when he smiled, he had a look:
One's burden seemed to lose and roll
Like Christian's in the picture-book!
It was a comfort, on the whole.
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