"Over the Hill to the Poor-House, I'm Trudgin' My Weary Way"

I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray--I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've told,As many another woman that's only half as old.

Over the hill to the poor-house--I can't quite make it clear!Over the hill to the poor-house--it seems so horrid queer!Many a step I've taken a-toilin' to and fro,But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go.

What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame?Am I lazy or crazy? am I blind or lame?True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout;But charity ain't no favor, if one can live without.

I am willin' and anxious an' ready any dayTo work for a decent livin', an' pay my honest way;For I can earn my victuals, an' more too, I'll be bound,If any body only is willin' to have me round.

Once I was young an' han'some--I was, upon my soul--Once my cheeks was roses, my eyes as black as coal;And I can't remember, in them days, of hearin' people say,For any kind of a reason, that I was in their way.

'Tain't no use of boastin', or talkin' over free,But many a house an' home was open then to me;Many a han'some offer I had from likely men,And nobody ever hinted that I was a burden then.

And when to John I was married, sure he was good and smart,But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part;For life was all before me, an' I was young an' strong,And I worked the best that I could in tryin' to get along.

And so we worked together: and life was hard, but gay,With now and then a baby for to cheer us on our way;Till we had half a dozen, an' all growed clean an' neat,An' went to school like others, an' had enough to eat.

So we worked for the child'rn, and raised 'em every one;Worked for 'em summer and winter, just as we ought to 've done;Only perhaps we humored 'em, which some good folks condemn,But every couple's child'rn's a heap the best to them.

Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones!--I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my sons;And God he made that rule of love; but when we're old and gray,I've noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the other way.

Strange, another thing: when our boys an' girls was grown,And when, exceptin' Charley, they'd left us there alone;When John he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer seemed to be,The Lord of Hosts he come one day an' took him away from me.

Still I was bound to struggle, an' never to cringe or fall--Still I worked for Charley, for Charley was now my all;And Charley was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown,Till at last he went a-courtin', and brought a wife from town.