Second-Class Constable Alston
I watched him as his cheek grew pale,
He that once was strong and hale;
The red had faded all away,
And left it ashen, dull and gray.
One Monday night he came to me,
Rested his head upon my knee:
“O Mac, me feel so sick,” he said,
“I t’ink me poor boy soon wi’ dead.”
I did my best to calm his fears,
He opened up his breast in tears;
I’ll ne’er forget the sight I saw,
His body strewn with bumps—all raw.
That night we listened to his moans,
The hot fever was in his bones;
He tossed and tossed about until,
All his strength spent, he lay down still.
Many a weary weary day
In the hospital he lay,
Till one morn torture turned to peace,
For death had brought him his release.
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