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| OVER the hill to the poor-house I ’m trudgin’ my weary way— | |
| I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray— | |
| I, who am smart an’ chipper, for all the years I ’ve told, | |
| As many another woman that ’s only half as old. | |
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| Over the hill to the poor-house—I can’t quite make it clear! | 5 |
| Over the hill to the poor-house—it seems so horrid queer! | |
| Many a step I ’ve taken a-toilin’ to and fro, | |
| But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go. | |
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| What is the use of heapin’ on me a pauper’s shame? | |
| Am I lazy or crazy? am I blind or lame? | 10 |
| True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout; | |
| But charity ain’t no favor, if one can live without. | |
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| I am willin’ and anxious an’ ready any day | |
| To work for a decent livin’, an’ pay my honest way; | |
| For I can earn my victuals, an’ more too, I ’ll be bound, | 15 |
| If anybody only is willin’ to have me round. | |
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| Once I was young an’ han’some—I was, upon my soul— | |
| Once my cheeks was roses, my eyes as black as coal; | |
| And I can’t remember, in them days, of hearin’ people say, | |
| For any kind of a reason, that I was in their way. | 20 |
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| ’T ain’t no use of boastin’, or talkin’ over free, | |
| But many a house an’ home was open then to me; | |
| Many a han’some offer I had from likely men, | |
| And nobody ever hinted that I was a burden then. | |
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| And when to John I was married, sure he was good and smart, | 25 |
| But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part; | |
| For life was all before me, an’ I was young an’ strong, | |
| And I worked the best that I could in tryin’ to get along. | |
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| And so we worked together: and life was hard, but gay, | |
| With now and then a baby for to cheer us on our way; | 30 |
| Till we had half a dozen, an’ all growed clean an’ neat, | |
| An’ went to school like others, an’ had enough to eat. | |
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| So we worked for the child’rn, and raised ’em every one; | |
| Worked for ’em summer and winter, just as we ought to ’ve done; | |
| Only perhaps we humored ’em, which some good folks condemn, | 35 |
| But every couple’s child’rn ’s heap the best to them. | |
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| Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones!— | |
| I ’d have died for my daughters, I ’d have died for my sons; | |
| And God he made that rule of love; but when we ’re old and gray, | |
| I ’ve noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the other way. | 40 |
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| Strange, another thing: when our boys an’ girls was grown, | |
| And when, exceptin’ Charley, they ’d left us there alone; | |
| When John he nearer an’ nearer come, an’ dearer seemed to be, | |
| The Lord of Hosts he come one day an’ took him away from me. | |
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| Still I was bound to struggle, an’ never to cringe or fall— | 45 |
| Still I worked for Charley, for Charley was now my all; | |
| And Charley was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown, | |
| Till at last he went a-courtin’, and brought a wife from town. | |
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| She was somewhat dressy, an’ hadn’t a pleasant smile— | |
| She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o’ style; | 50 |
| But if I ever tried to be friends, I did with her, I know; | |
| But she was hard and proud, an’ I couldn’t make it go. | |
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| She had an edication, an’ that was good for her; | |
| But when she twitted me on mine, ’t was carryin’ things too fur; | |
| An’ I told her once, ’fore company (an’ it almost made her sick), | 55 |
| That I never swallowed a grammar, or ’et a ’rithmetic. | |
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| So ’t was only a few days before the thing was done— | |
| They was a family of themselves, and I another one; | |
| And a very little cottage one family will do, | |
| But I never have seen a house that was big enough for two. | 60 |
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| An’ I could never speak to suit her, never could please her eye, | |
| An’ it made me independent, an’ then I didn’t try; | |
| But I was terribly staggered, an’ felt it like a blow, | |
| When Charley turned ag’in me, an’ told me I could go. | |
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| I went to live with Susan, but Susan’s house was small, | 65 |
| And she was always a-hintin’ how snug it was for us all; | |
| And what with her husband’s sisters, and what with child’rn three, | |
| ’T was easy to discover that there wasn’t room for me. | |
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| An’ then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I ’ve got, | |
| For Thomas’s buildings ’d cover the half of an acre lot; | 70 |
| But all the child’rn was on me—I couldn’t stand their sauce— | |
| And Thomas said I needn’t think I was comin’ there to boss. | |
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| An’ then I wrote to Rebecca, my girl who lives out West, | |
| And to Isaac, not far from her—some twenty miles at best; | |
| And one of ’em said ’t was too warm there for any one so old, | 75 |
| And t’ other had an opinion the climate was too cold. | |
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| So they have shirked and slighted me, an’ shifted me about— | |
| So they have well-nigh soured me, an’ wore my old heart out; | |
| But still I ’ve borne up pretty well, an’ wasn’t much put down, | |
| Till Charley went to the poor-master, an’ put me on the town. | 80 |
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| Over the hill to the poor-house—my child’rn dear, good by! | |
| Many a night I ’ve watched you when only God was nigh; | |
| And God ’ll judge between us; but I will al’ays pray | |
| That you shall never suffer the half I do to-day. | |
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