Two Boys

Sile Grover lived in Gungawamp an’ farmed it more or less;

For forty year he’d tilled the soil with more or less success.

He lived a quiet, homely life, an’ allus paid his bills,

An' took no interest in affairs beyend his stretch uv hills.

He labored hard, an’ labored long, an’ dug a livin’ out,

An’ met the stormy days uv life with honest heart an’ stout.

No burnin’ flame harassed his soul, ambitions none hed he,

He lived the highest type uv life, rare, sweet simplicity.

He went tur church an’ Sunday school, an’ hed a class uv boys,

An’ counted keepin’ well the day ermong his simple joys.

An' when he come tur die his end wuz peaceful ez could be,

His work well done, his life well spent, from sin an’ sorrer free.

He lived the highest type uv life, the great an’ holy plan,

An' when he died he died at peace with God, himself an’ man.

Tom Jason left his father’s farm at sixteen years uv age

Tur dash his name with boyish haste ercrost the city’s page;

The country wuz too slow fur him, an’ tho’ he worshipped Sile,

He couldn’t live in Gungawamp, it hed no dash an’ style.

He found a place an’ went tur work, an’ rose ez bright boys do,

An' j’ined the firm at twenty-one, a hustler threw an’ threw.

No scheme wuz big enough fur him tur handle any time,

No hour wuz late enough tur work if he could gain a dime;

No sum wuz big enough tur save, an’ so each year tur come,

He tried with all his might an’ main tur double every sum.

Ambitious, full uv youthful fire, he entered pollertics,

An' snatched a moment now an’ then fur clubs an’ social cliques.

A busy man, Tom Jason wuz, a hustler threw an’ threw,

Forever strivin’ after gain, forever in a stew;

An' tho’ he wuz successful, ez the world looks on success,

At thirty years his health broke down frum overwork an’ stress.

Deprived uv his great hope in life, he sank in rapid pace,

An’ died still cryin’ out fur gold tur save him frum disgrace.

Two stuns p’int straight tur heaven’s blue in Gungawamp’s church yard,

One over in the corner, an’ one on the boulevard;

One is a stylish monument, a grand-like thing to see,

An' one a three-foot, modest slab, without no fillergree.

One is Tom Jason’s monument, an’ one Sile Grover’s stun,

Two boys close friends fur thirteen years, whose lives so diff’runt run.

One representin’ dash an’ style, an’ stress an’ worriment,

The other peace an’ good ol’ age, a humble life content.

Oct. 17, 1898