Poems (Whitney)/The grave-digger

by Anne Whitney

THE GRAVE-DIGGER.

As pleasant a man as you would see,
 Native or foreign, to vouch I dare;
His laugh was hoarse but full of glee,
 Indifferent when or where.

But most in graves the old man kept
 His singular jubilee;
He roared at what most others wept;
 His life was a funeral glee.

He had no rival in his trade:
 He knew, one after another,
All the village would need his axe and spade,
 And troubled himself no further.

His love and duty were never at strife—
 His charity looked to all;
He seemed to think his lease on life
 Long as death held carnival.

He reasoned, "Well, 'tis nature's creed
 And man's chief want—is burial."
The friend of the world in its sorest need,
 Could the world then spare him well?