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James Whitcomb Riley - When The Hearse Comes Back
Work rating: Low

A thing `at`s `bout as tryin` as a healthy man kin meet
Is some poor feller`s funeral a-joggin` `long the street:
The slow hearse and the hosses-- slow enough, to say at least,
Fer to even tax the patience of gentleman deceased!
The low scrunch of the gravel-- and the slow grind of the wheels--,
The slow, slow go of ev`ry woe `at ev`rybody feels!
So I ruther like the contrast when I hear the whip-lash crack
A quickstep fer the hosses,
                       When the
                            Hearse
                                  Comes
                                       Back!

Meet it goin` to`rds the cimet`ry, you`ll want to drap yer eyes--
But ef the plumes don`t fetch you, it`ll ketch you otherwise--
You`ll haf to see the caskit, though you`d ort to look away
And `conomize and save yer sighs fer any other day!
Yer sympathizin` won`t wake up the sleeper from his rest--
Yer tears won`t thaw them hands o` his `at`s froze acrost his breast!
And this is why-- when airth and sky`s a gittin blurred and black--
I like the flash and hurry
                       When the
                            Hearse
                                  Comes
                                       Back!

It`s not `cause I don`t `preciate it ain`t no time fer jokes,
Ner `cause I` got no common human feelin` fer the folks--;
I`ve went to funerals myse`f, and tuk on some, perhaps--
Fer my hearth`s `bout as mal`able as any other chap`s--,
I`ve buried father, mother-- But I`ll haf to jes` git you
To "excuse me," as the feller says--. The p`int I`m drivin` to
Is simply when we`re plum broke down and all knocked out o` whack,
It he`ps to shape us up like,
                       When the
                            Hearse
                                  Comes
                                       Back!

The idy! Wadin round here over shoe-mouth deep in woe,
When they`s a graded `pike o` joy and sunshine don`t you know!
When evening strikes the pastur`, cows`ll pull out fer the bars,
And skittish-like from out the night`ll prance the happy stars.
And so when my time comes to die, and I`ve got ary friend
`At wants expressed my last request-- I`ll mebby, rickommend
To drive slow, ef they haf to, goin` `long the out`ard track,
But I`ll smile and say, "You speed `em
                       When the
                            Hearse
                                  Comes
                                       Back!"
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