A Ballad of the Rail

National Advocate Saturday 6 February 1909 p. 2.
I sat in a suburban train,
There was no seat to spare,
Hermetical seemed each pain,
And rank the foggy air.

A dear old man with kindly face,
With gentle voice and meek,
Moved over from his corner place
And thus began to speak.

' My friends, I trust that none,' he said,
' My hardihood will chide,
If I to save an aching hesd,
This window open wide.'

His gentle manner seemed to plead,
All granted what he asked,
And soon in the refreshing breeze,
That dear old person basked.

' Fresh air,' he said, ' is life to man,
The heritage of each,'
And this conviction he began
With friendliness to. preach.

' The need for purer air,' he moved,
'Is no eccentric whim ;'
Wide open windows he approved,
They meant so much to him.

' Sound health,' he said, ' will be your crown,
Your babes be strong and bright,
If you will only let your windows down,
Especially at night.

Till each alighting said they meant
To follow his advice,
And turned to thank him as they went,
He seemed so kind and nice.

I was the last to rise to go,
And wishing him good-day,
Remarked ' One thing I'd like to know
Are you a doctor, pray ?'

At that he shook the frosty rime
That crowned his honored head,
And bowing courteously
' I am a burglar, sir,' he said.

—Jessie Pope.

No comments: