A GRAVEYARD LYRIC.

Globe, Volume III, Issue 284, 10 May 1875, Page 2

A GRAVEYARD LYRIC.

Pale Death, with Fever hand in hand, has paused at many a door, Where sad hearts ache o’er silent voids that can be fill’d no more ; And the burly, bumptious Sexton, sings merrily as he digs—- “ Sleep sound ye dead Dissenters, and don’t disturb my pigs.”

“Pile up the sods yet higher, Bill, I shan’t dig any deeper, “ Three feet is all I can afford, till labour comes down cheaper; “And of the poor dumb animals, I’m thinking while I work, “ Too much exertion rooting spoils the goodness of the pork.” in.

The sexton’s singing slightly shook the public’s state of calm; The Board of Health experienced first an Esculapian qualm; But judged it best to let affairs in statu remain, For if the dead folks felt aggrieved, why didn’t they complain ? TIXV.

Cremation’s ardent advocates express’d themselves disgusted, That people should be eaten raw, instead of being roasted ; And moribund Dissenting folks, who sought their last repose, Were careful to draw up their legs, when turning up their toes.

Good reader, though my words are chaff, I do not court your laughter, I only try to catch your eye for what is coming after ? Nor seek to show, as some have shown, a spectacle of shame, Then left the tale half told, and let the guiltless bear the blame.

Nor hold I up to public scorn the caitiff wretch obscure, Whose brutal practice flouts our dead with trampling things impure; For brutes on two legs, or on four, their

instincts must pursue, But, grandees of the Graveyard Board, I want a word with you, A r n. When those whom creeds in life divide meet; friendly in the grave, Whence comes this sudden novel wish division still to crave; But if poor bigotry must sleep unsocial in the dust, Say is it not as volunteers you hold your sacred trust ? vm. Is it counted aristocratic to figure on occasions, As the influential leaders of your sorry small persuasions ? So tea-fight plaudits may be yours according to your needs, True honour marks the earnest man, whose promise points to deeds. IX. But since sectarian rivalry has brought upon the scene An opposition grave-shop, where graves should ne’er have been, Is this some economic, dodge to undersell the others, That thus for gain ye desecrate the deathrest of our brothers? x. Although on consecrated ground I set but little store, I recognise a sanctity which you seem to ignore; Nor think that dust which bore so late the human form divine, Should suffer shameless outrage from your sexton and his swine. XI. I have seen the mourner shuddering o’er the pig-polluted soil, Keplace the oft-uprooted turf with unavailing toil; While the tears of Nature’s tribute fell (oh, Heaven, avert thine eye !) To mingle with the vilest filth and garbage of the sty. XII. Not as Homan, Scot, or Wesleyan, I call on you thus strongly, Nor e’en as common Christians, lest I should describe you wrongly; But in name of that humanity which one must blush to share With from cold-blooded carelessness, I pray you to forbear. XIII. Forbear from further negligence ; arouse at duty’s call, And show that honorary Boards are something after all; Redeem our wrong’d community from this inhuman blot, Do your duty for the future,—and the past shall be forgot. XIV. Alas, ’tis vain ! the Board prefer their useless heads to hide; Let some one else, if possible, the infamy abide; And the surly-burley sexton don’t care a single fig, For poems are the sort of stuff that do not hurt a pig.