The Ballad Of Parliament Hill

He did not wear a uniform, (We haven’t come to that) But he wore a tired expression, Crowned by last season’s hat; And the general air of him bespoke Existence dull and flat.

He walked among men of his kind In a suit of shabby grey, And with that hat upon his head, One couldn’t call him gay; For I never saw a man who looked So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked So sadly at the Hill, Upon that little mount we call The “Bread and Butter Mill”; Where sham genteel and broken sport Swallow the bitter pill.

Ink stains were on his fingers, A desk hump on his back; He seemed to be quite mastered, And all ambition lack. And one could see at once he was A Departmental Hack.

I looked at him and wondered “What mystery here lurks? “Why does he look so tired, “And move with nervous jerks?” When a voice behind me murmured low, “He’s in the Public Works.”

Great Cæsar’s Ghost and Holy Smoke, What tricks had he done then, To bring him unto such a pass, And land him in that Pen; Where Regulation and Routine Suck the soul out of men.

What blow had blind fate struck him, What had his fortune been? To fashion him into a cog Of the State’s grim machine Which grinds and grinds exceeding small, But not so very clean.

It’s fine to walk with Hope ahead, It’s great to work for LOVE; But Hell to turn a daily crank For some one up above, And know that every turn you make Gives some one else a shove.

It’s good to be methodical, And right to be exact; But flat, stale and unprofitable, To line up to an Act, And forced at every turn and move To register the fact.

And so I left the Shabby Clerk His tiresome row to hoe, To sign the book when, he went in, And when he out would go; Making himself a laughing stock To some-- who do not know.

Much wisdom often giveth much pain, but want of wisdom is death. To know thyself is the foundation of wisdom.

* * * * *

It has been said by those of old time, “Blessed are the meek,” but verily I say unto you, cussed are the meek, for they inherit nothing and perpetuate their kind for ever and ever.

* * * * *

The more thou art to thyself the less thou art dependent on others. Much dependence on others maketh thy moves complicated. One move involves another so no move may be considered in itself.