Pore afflicted Evagene!
Whilse the woods is fresh and green,
And the birds on ev'ry hand
Sings in rapture sweet and grand,—
Thou, of all the joyus train,
Art bedridden, and in pain
Sich as only them can cherish
Who, like flowrs, is first to perish!
When the neghbors brought the word
She was down, the folks inferred
It was jest a cold she'd caught,
Dressin' thinner than she'd ort
Fer the frolicks and the fun
Of the dancin' that she'd done
'Fore the Spring was flush er ary
Blossom on the peach er cherry.
But, last Sund'y, her request
Fer the Church's prayers was jest
Rail hart-renderin' to hear!—
Many was the silunt tear
And the tremblin' sigh, to show
She was dear to us below
On this earth—and dearer, even,
When we thought of her a-leavin'!
Sisters prayed, and coted from
Genesis to Kingdom-come
Provin' of her title clear
To the mansions.—"Even her,"
They claimed, "might be saved, someway,
Though she'd danced, and played crowkay,
And wrought on her folks to git her
Fancy shoes that never fit her!"
Us to pray fer Evagene!—
With her hart as puore and clean
As a rose is after rain
When the sun comes out again!—
What's the use to pray for her?
She don't need no prayin' fer!—
Needed, all her life, more playin'
Than she ever needed prayin'!
I jest thought of all she'd been
Sence her mother died, and when
She turned in and done her part—
All her cares on that child-hart!—
Thought of years she'd slaved—and had
Saved the farm—danced and was glad....
Mayby Him who marks the sporry
Will smooth down her wings tomorry!