Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE GRAVE DIGGER, by PATRICK MACGILL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE GRAVE DIGGER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A grim old man with a weazened visage
Last Line: Chuckles the sexton, digging graves.
Subject(s): Cemeteries; Death; Graves; Labor & Laborers; Graveyards; Dead, The; Tombs; Tombstones; Work; Workers


I spoke to a man once; asking what he thought of going back to the land and

having small holdings. "Very good," he said, "in fact the solution of all ills."

Afterwards I learned that he was a grave-digger.
— From "Gleanings from a Navvy's Scrap-Book."

If some people rose from the dead and read their epitaphs they would think

they had got into the wrong graves!
— MOLESKIN JOE.

A GRIM old man with a weazened visage —
What does he dream of toiling there?
Rest should be meet for a man of his age,
Old and weary — but who may care?
There, when the dawn's bright pennon waves,
There, when the fleeting eve fails dimly,
Aloof and alone he labours grimly,
Earning a living, digging graves.

So much a grave, and a soul's in Heaven:
So much a grave, and a soul's in Hell:
For old-world death makes matters even,
The sexton profits, and all is well.
All is well — but the lover raves,
And tears are wet on the downcast lashes.
"Dust to dust, and ashes to ashes,"
Ponders the sexton, digging graves.

Some go into the House of Pleasure,
Some go into the House of Gloom;
The miser hoards up his garnered treasure,
The treasure the rust and moth consume.
Alas! for the wealth the miser saves,
In the House of Pain or the House of Passion.
"He'll need it not in the House I fashion" —
Chuckles the sexton, digging graves.

All are his tenants, lord and lady,
Villain and harlot of low degree,
Simpering saint, and sinner shady,
Every manner of companie,
Their homes with brainless skulls he paves,
Lily white as alabaster.
"Even the brainless know I'm master,"
Muses the sexton, digging graves.

But there he labours, the cynic sexton,
For all men toil and the sexton must;
Waiting betimes for the silent next one,
Next — not last, to the House of dust.
This is the Home of squires and slaves,
Still from the hall, and stiff from the hovel.
"I'll house them alike with my pick and shovel,"
Chuckles the sexton, digging graves.





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