Page 3 Advertisements Column 1

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1881, 4 March 1880, Page 3

POETRY. A WORD OF SYMPATHY. Dr. C. O. Cox, of the Board of Health, has, during his official visit to the Centennial, had his attention drawn, like many others, to the overcrowded condition of the street omnibuses and cabs, and has given vent to his sympathy for the overtasked horses in the following lines : THE CAR HORSE, Of iron grey hue, he was bony and tall, A large stately animal past his prime, With a sudden start at the driver’s call, _ To show what a horse he had been in his prime. He was raised, ’tis said, in the Buck-eye State, Where in quiet he spent his colthood days, And knew, as he grew, no harder fate, Than to pull thro’ the village a one-horse chaise. O the afternoons in the clover red ! For long ere the noonday his wort was done— In the winter what steed had a warmer bed. What daintier suppers beneath the sun ? And he felt his oats, for a prouder step And a nimbler pace ne’er graced the ground; And old and young when they saw him said, He cannot be beat in the country round. But horses, like men, will wear out at last, His joints grew stiff and his gait was slow ; And angry curses came thick and fast, And the lash was applied to make him go. A stranger came one day from the east, And talked with the owner across the bars, He whittled a stick and he bought the beast, And book’d him forthwith for the evening cars. Thus he passed from the scene of his early days, With a depth of sadness no words could tell, And turning once more on the fields to gaze, He whinnied his comrades a last farewell. He was brought to the city of brotherly love, To help thro’ the famous Centennial show, By toiling all day where the street cars move, Weighed down by crowds surging to and fro. Awhile he bore up, for his pride was stirr’d, And with ears erect ho floundered along, Still starting to life at the driver’s word, As he helped to drag through the unfailing throng. Till at last worn out, and shattered and lame, Ha limp’d in the harness, grown faint and sore. And every new step on the car that came, Only added fresh pangs to the pain he bore. Is there no human sympathy under the sun ? Alas, in the crowd not a throb awoke, Till the horse went down, his last labor done, And they found the old crippled limb was broke. Then was uttered of kindly words, no lack, They once might have saved, ’twas now too late» , .I. Strong arms dragged the form from the crowded track, To a spot where a bullet sealed up his fate. We know far away of a region blest By sorrow unclouded, undimmed by a tear, Where the weary and stricken may look for rest, When care and privation are over here. Is it folly to picture some quiet spot, In the realms of bliss, whore goed horses go, Where work and privation on earth forgot. They at last find the justice denied below Philadelphia, Pa.