Oh GOD, teach them to feel how we, When our poor infants droop, Are weakened in our trust in Thee, And how our spirits stoop; For, in Thy rest, so bright and fair, All tears and sorrows sleep: And their young looks, so full of care, Would make Thine Angels weep!
The GOD, who with His finger drew The Judgment coming on, Write, for these men, what must ensue, Ere many years be gone! Oh GOD, whose bow is in the sky, Let them not brave and dare, Until they look (too late) on high, And see an Arrow there!
Oh GOD, remind them! In the bread They break upon the knee, These sacred words may yet be read, 'In memory of Me!' Oh GOD, remind them of His sweet Compassion for the poor, And how He gave them Bread to eat, And went from door to door!
Dickens, like Silas Wegg, would sometimes 'drop into poetry' when writing to intimate friends, as, for example, in a letter to Maclise, the artist, which began with a parody of Byron's lines to Thomas Moore--
'My foot is in the house, My bath is on the sea, And, before I take a souse, Here's a single note to thee.'
A more remarkable instance of his propensity to indulge in parody of this kind is to be found in a letter addressed to Mark Lemon in the spring of 1849. The novelist was then enjoying a holiday with his wife and daughters at Brighton, whence he wrote to Lemon (who had been ill), pressing him to pay them a visit. After commanding him to 'get a clean pocket-handkerchief ready for the close of "Copperfield" No. 3--"simple and quiet, but very natural and touching"--_Evening Bore_,' Dickens invites his friend in lines headed 'New Song,' and signed 'T. Sparkler,' the effusion also bearing the signatures of other members of the family party--Catherine Dickens, Annie Leech, Georgina Hogarth, Mary Dickens, Katie Dickens, and John Leech.
Lemon is a little hipped, And this is Lemon's true position-- He is not pale, he's not white-lipped, Yet wants a little fresh condition. Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon Old Ocean's rising, falling billers, Than on the Houses every one That form the street called Saint Anne's Willers! Oh my Lemon, round and fat, Oh my bright, my right, my tight 'un, Think a little what you're at-- Don't stay at home, but come to Brighton!