THE WAXEN LILY. . l6l
Well, we slapped an we fought at the fire, with a will, But the sneakin red flame in the grass wasn t still, An kept creepin along like a snake. By and by Mary dropped her burnt shawl with a terrible cry : Fur there, right between the old shanty and me, There was winrows of blazes, so we couldn t see Cabin, chimbley, or haystack or little brown door An we never did see em, to speak of, no more. You ve laid little children, maybe, in the dust, And you thought then the Master had treated you
wust ;
But you haven t had trouble like Mary an me ; You haven t got always a pictur to see Of a poor little shaver, with tears in his eyes, Lookin up kind o scart to the fire-reddened skies. That is trouble, I take it, fur Mary an me Worse trouble than ever you re likely to see.
��THE WAXEN LILY.
IT came to pass, in the Hexagon (The monarchy of the honey-bee), There arose a murmur of discontent Rebellion against authority.
For Wax, who builded the storehouse walls, In his anger spake : " For love or fee
I ll serve no longer these baser needs, Building up caskets unceasingly. 14 * L
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