Classic Poem

Did ye ever pass a youngster 'et 'd been an' stubbed his toe,
An' was cryin' by the roadside sort o' quiet like an' slow;
A-holdin' of his dusty foot, all hard an' brown an' bare,
An' tryin' to keep fr'm his eyes th' tears that's gatherin' there?
Ye hear him sort o' sobbin' like, an' snufflin' of his nose,
Ye stop an' pat his head an' some way try t' ease his woes;
Ye treat him sort o' kind like, an' th' fust thing that y' know,
He's up an' off an' smilin' — clean forgot he stubbed his toe.

'Long th' road o' human life ye see a fellow travelin' slow,
An' like as not ye'll find he's some poor chap that's stubbed his toe.
He was makin' swimmin' headway, but he bumped into a stone,
An' his friends kep' hurryin' onward an' they left him here alone.
He ain't sobbin' er ain't snifflin' — he's too old for tears an' cries,
But he's grievin' jes' as earnest, ef it only comes in sighs;
An' it does a heap o' good, sometimes, to go a little slow,
To say a word o' comfort to th' man that's stubbed his toe.
Ye're never sure yerself, an' th' ain't no earthly way t' know
Jes' when it's goin' t' come yer time t' trip an' stub yer toe;
Today ye're smilin', happy, in th' bright sun's heat an' glow,
Tomorrow ye're a' shiverin' as ye're trudgin' through th' snow.
Jes' when ye think ye got th' world th' fastest in yer grip
Is th' very time, ye'll find, et ye're th' likeliest t' slip;
'N' it's mighty comfortin' t' have some fellow stop, I know,
An' speak t' ye an' kind o' help ye when ye've stubbed yer toe.