forsaken.
153
Is it of wisdom that came too late,
When means were gone, and hearts grew cold?
Or the shame he felt when the Workhouse gate
Closed on the skipper once brave and bold?
Is it of voyages over the seas
He is dreaming now? No, none of these.
When means were gone, and hearts grew cold?
Or the shame he felt when the Workhouse gate
Closed on the skipper once brave and bold?
Is it of voyages over the seas
He is dreaming now? No, none of these.
Is it that grave in the churchyard still,
With its gleaming headstone of marble white,
That has caused those dim old eyes to fill
With the waters of bitterness to-night?
Is it for her those tears are shed?
Again the old man shakes his head.
With its gleaming headstone of marble white,
That has caused those dim old eyes to fill
With the waters of bitterness to-night?
Is it for her those tears are shed?
Again the old man shakes his head.
"I was only a derelict," quoth he,
"Left to the mercy of wind and tide,
Drifting helpless upon life's sea,
With never a friendly hand to guide,
Till driven by the winds of adversity
Into this haven of charity.
"Left to the mercy of wind and tide,
Drifting helpless upon life's sea,
With never a friendly hand to guide,
Till driven by the winds of adversity
Into this haven of charity.
I have erred and strayed as others have done,
Sinned and suffered, repented too late;
And Nemesis, in the form of my son,
Drove me here to the Workhouse gate.
Old, forsaken, to die alone;
'O, Absalom, my son! my son!'"
Sinned and suffered, repented too late;
And Nemesis, in the form of my son,
Drove me here to the Workhouse gate.
Old, forsaken, to die alone;
'O, Absalom, my son! my son!'"
