Wit and Humor of America, The Vol 07
BY EUGENE FIELD
Bowed was the old man's snow-white head,
A troubled look was on his face,
"Why come you, sir," I gently said,
"Unto this solemn burial place?"
"I come to weep a while for one
Whom in her life I held most dear,
Alas, her sands were quickly run,
And now she lies a sleeping here."
"Oh, tell me of your precious wife,
For she was very dear, I know,
It must have been a blissful life
You led with her you treasure so?"
"My wife is mouldering in the ground,
In yonder house she's spinning now,
And lo! this moment may be found
A driving home the family cow;
"And see, she's standing at the stile,
And leans from out the window wide,
And loiters on the sward a while,
Her forty babies by her side."
"Old man, you must be mad!" I cried,
"Or else you do but jest with me;
How is it that your wife has died
And yet can here and living be?
"How is it while she drives the cow
She's hanging out her window wide,
And loiters, as you said just now,
With forty babies by her side?"
The old man raised his snowy head,
"I have a sainted wife in Heaven;
I am a Mormon, sir," he said,
"My sainted wife on earth are seven."
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