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 don'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!