EVAGENE BAKER — WHO WAS DYIN’ OF DRED CONSUMTION

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 do n'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!