There are cynics who say with invidious zest That a crumpet's a thing that will never digest; But I happen to _know_ that a crumpet is prime For digestion, if only you give it its time. Or if, by a chance, it should _not_ quite agree, Why, who would begrudge a physician his fee For plying his trade upon crumpets and tea?
To toast crumpets quite _à la mode_, I require A proper long fork and a proper quick fire; And when they are browned, without further ado, I put on the butter, that soaks through and through. And meantime Teresa, directed by Leigh, Compounds and pours out a rich brew for us three; And so we sit down to our crumpets--and tea.
A hand-organ grinds in the street a weird bit,-- Confound those Italians! I wish they would quit Interrupting our feast with their dolorous airs, Suggestive of climbing the heavenly stairs. (It's thoughts of the future, as all will agree, That we fain would dismiss from our bosoms when we Sit down to discussion of crumpets and tea!)
The Sabbath-day luncheon whereof I now speak Quite answers its purpose the rest of the week; Yet with the next Sabbath I wait for the bell Announcing the man who has crumpets to sell; Then I scuttle downstairs in a frenzy of glee, And purchase for sixpence enough for us three, Who hunger and hanker for crumpets and tea.
But soon--ah! too soon--I must bid a farewell To joys that succeed to the sound of that bell, Must hie me away from the dank, foggy shore That's filled me with colic and--yearnings for more! Then the cruel, the heartless, the conscienceless sea Shall bear me afar from Teresa and Leigh And the other twin friendships of crumpets and tea.
Yet often, ay, ever, before my wan eyes That Sabbath-day luncheon of old shall arise. My stomach, perhaps, shall improve by the change, Since crumpets it seems to prefer at long range; But, oh, how my palate will hanker to be In London again with Teresa and Leigh, Enjoying the rapture of crumpets and tea!
THROUGH all my life the poor shall find In me a constant friend; And on the meek of every kind My mercy shall attend.
The dumb shall never call on me In vain for kindly aid; And in my hands the blind shall see A bounteous alms displayed.
In all their walks the lame shall know And feel my goodness near; And on the deaf will I bestow My gentlest words of cheer.