One Service Breeds Another
One of this person’s white-skinned friends, Bill Hawkins,Who labours at the waterside,Had occasion, at the time of unkind weather,To rescue from the certain peril of drowningOne who had slipped from the edge of a wharf to the dock.
Without reward the flower serves the bee.The mother serves the child with pain and toil.The soldier serves his king without king’s gratitutde.And this person has noted with much private amusement,How, since this one service rendered,Bill Hawkins goes ever from his accustomed pathTo add service to service to the one he rescued;While the rescued one looks ever upon Bill HawkinsWith eyes of no-approval, indeed, with intense disgust.