BUSH BALLADS AND RHYMES 



Is it well that he keeps well out of my way ? 



If we met, he and I — we alone — we two — 

 Would I give him one moment's grace to pray? 



Not I, for the sake of the soul he slew. 



A life like a shuttlecock may be toss'd 

 With the hand of fate for a battledore ; 



But it matters much, for your sweet soul lost, 

 As much as a million souls and more. 



And I know that if, here or there, alone, 

 I found him, fairly and face to face, 



Having slain his body, I would slay my own, 

 That my soul to Satan his soul might chase. 



He hardens his heart in the public way — 

 Who am I ? I am but a nameless churl ; 



But God will put all things straight someday — 

 Till then may your sleep be a sound one, 

 girl! 



