Classic Poem

Sing a song of Ninepence
A pocket full of air,
A conscience full of agony,
A soul full of despair.

For a cause so clear and high
Misers might fork out;
Only that I quite forgot
What it was about.
Was it for a fire-engine?
A church? A Cricket club?
A mission to the Sandwich Isles?
A model pump — or pub?

Is there in some stately fane
Earnest Christians build,
Yawning yet the horrid gap
Ninepence might have filled?
Do the dusky heathen cry
O'er the southern brine,
" Ninepence more and we are saved,
" All the ninety-nine " .

Ah, for all I know, it fed
Newcastle's need of coal,
A wedding-present for the Pope,
An ice-box for the Pole.

Only when your face I see
Visions tower like fate,
Joan as stern as Joan of Arc,
Love as dread as hate.

Soften that relentless brow
Pitying this weak pen,
Smile again; and all will be
As right as ninepence then.