Pittsford
Area Schools
9304
Hamilton
Pittsford,
MI 49271
517-523-3481
"Over the Hill to the Poor-house"
by Will Carleton
Over the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin'
my weary way---
I, am 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 day
To work 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 gray,
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.
She was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a
pleasant smile--
She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o'
style;
But if ever I tried to be friends, I did with
her, I know;
But she was hard and proud, an' I couldn't
make it go.
She had an edication, an' that was good for
her;
But when she twitted me on mine, `twas
carryin' things too fur;
An' I told her once, `fore company (an' it
almost made her sick),
That I never swallowed a grammar, or `et a
`rithmetic.
So `twas only a few days before the thing was
done--
They was a family of themselves, and I
another one;
And a very little cottage one family will do,
But I never have seen a house that was big
enough for two.
An' I never could speak to suit her, never
could please her eye,
An' it made me independent, an' then I didn't
try;
But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it
like a blow,
When Charley turned ag'in me, an' told me I
could go.
I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house
was small,
And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was
for us all;
And what with her husband's sisters, and what
with child'rn three,
`Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room
for me.
An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son
I've got,
For Thomas's buildings'd cover the half of an
acre lot;
But all the child'rn was on me--I couldn't
stand their sauce--
And Thomas said I needn't think I was comin'
there to boss.
An' then I wrote to Rebecca, my girl who
lives out West,
And to Isaac, not far from her--some twenty
miles at best:
And one of `em said `twas too warm there for
any one so old,
And t'other has an opinion the climate was
too cold.
So they have shirked and slighted me, an'
shifted me about--
So they have well-nigh soured me, an' wore my
old heart out:
But still I've borne up pretty well, an'
wasn't much put down.
Till Charley went to the poor-master, an' put
me on the town.
Over the hill to the poor-house--my child'rn
dear, good by!
Many a night I've watched you when only God
was nigh:
And God 'll judge between us; but I will
al'ays pray
That you shall never suffer the half I do
to-day.