Job Work

"Write me a rhyme of the present time".         And the poet took his pen     And wrote such lines as the miser minds         Hide in the hearts of men.     He grew enthused, as the poets used         When their fingers kissed the strings     Of some sweet lyre, and caught the fire         True inspiration brings,     And sang the song of a nation's wrong -         Of the patriot's galling chain,     And the glad release that the angel, Peace,         Has given him again.     He sang the lay of religion's sway,         Where a hundred creeds clasp hands     And shout in glee such a symphony         That the whole world understands.     He struck the key of monopoly,         And sang of her swift decay,     And traveled the track of the railway back         With a blithesome roundelay -     Of the tranquil bliss of a true love kiss;         And painted the picture, too,     Of the wedded life, and the patient wife,         And the husband fond and true;     And sang the joy that a noble boy         Brings to a father's soul,     Who lets the wine as a mocker shine         Stagnated in the bowl.     And he stabbed his pen in the ink again,         And wrote with a writhing frown,     "This is the end."    "And now, my friend,         You may print it - upside down!"