John Littlewit, friends, was a _credulous_ man.
In the good time long ago,
Ere men had gone wild o'er the latter-day dream
Of turning the world upside down with steam,
Or of chaining the lightning down to a wire,
And making it talk with its tongue of fire.
He was perfectly sure that the world stood still,
And the sun and moon went round;--
He believed in fairies, and goblins ill,
And witches that rode over vale and hill
On wicked broom-sticks, studying still
Mischief and craft profound.
"What a fool was John Littlewit!" somebody cries;--
Nay, friend, not so fast, if you please!
A humble man was John Littlewit--
A gentle, loving man;
He clothed the needy, the hungry fed,
Pitied the erring, the faltering led,
Joyed with the joyous, wept with the sad,
Made the heart of the widow and orphan glad,
And never left for the lowliest one
An act of kindness and love undone;--
And when he died, we may well believe
God's blessed angels bore
John Littlewit's peaceful soul away
To the beautiful Heaven for which we pray,
Where the tree of knowledge blooms for aye,
And ignorance plagues no more.
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