28
JIM'S WHIP
The evening air was damp with dew:
Just as the clock struck ten
His horse came riderless—I knew
What was the matter then ...
Why should the Lord have singled out
My Jim from other men?
I took the horse and found him where
He lay beneath the sky,
With blood all clotted in his hair.
I felt too dazed to cry:
I held him to me as I prayed
To God that I might die.
But sometimes now I seem to hear—
Just when the air grows chill—
A single whip-crack, sharp and clear,
Re-echo from the hill.
That's Jim! to let me know he's near
And thinking of me still.
