io6 By Stream and Sea. 



That rising tear, with pain forbid to flow, 



Better than words, no more assuage our woe ; 



That hand outstretched from small but well-earned store 



Yield succour to the destitute no more. 



Yet art thou not all lost ; through many an age 



With sterling sense and humour shall thy page 



Win many an English bosom, pleased to see 



That old and happier vein revived in thee. 



This for our earth : and if with friends we share 



Our joys in heaven, we hope to meet thee there. " 



Thome, in his tour of the Lea, was copying this inscription, 

 when a couple of working men walked across the church- 

 yard and read the lines with grave deliberation. 



"A very fair bit of poetry that," said one of them. 



" Yes," the other answered, " I'm blest if it isn't as good 

 a bit as any in the churchyard rather too long, though." 



