An' we must give 'im wholesome food
An' lead 'is thoughts to somethin' good
An' never let 'im fret.
But 'e ain't frettin', seems to me;
More—puzzled, fur as I can see.
The clouds above the hills was tore
Apart, until, some'ow.
It seemed like some big, shinin' gate.
Said 'e, "Why, lad, I tell yeh straight,
I feel like startin' now.
An' walkin' on, an' on, an' thro',
Dead game an'—Ain't it so to you?
"I've seen enough uv pain," 'e said,
"An' cursin', killin' 'ordes.
I ain't the man to smooge with God
To get to 'Eaven on the nod,
Or 'owl 'ymns for rewards.
But this believin'? Why—Oh, 'Struth!
This never 'it me in me youth.
"They talk uv love 'twixt men," said 'e.
"That sounds dead crook to you.
But lately I 'ave come to see." . . .
"'Old on," I said; "it seems to me
There's love uv women too.
