The Miners' Express

This happy old man was so wise and knowing
He knew the worth of his time.
He bristled his ends, and kept them going,
And felt to each moment a stitch was owing,
Until he got round the shoe.
Of every deed his wax was sealing,
The closing was firm and fast.
The prick of his awl never caused a feeling
Of pain to the toe; and his skill in heeling
Was perfect and true to the last.
Whenever you gave him a foot to measure,
With gentle and skillful hand
He took his proportions with looks of pleasure,
If you were giving the costliest treasure,
Or dubbing him lord of the land.
And many a one did he save from getting
A fever, or cold, or cough,
For many a foot did he save from wetting,
When, whether in water or snow 'twas setting,
His shoeing would keep them off.
When he had done with his making and mending,
With hope and a peaceful breast,
Resigning his awl, as his thread was ending,
He passed from his bench to the grave descending—
As high as the king to rest.