HONEST little Peter Grey Keeps at work the livelong day, For his mother is as poor as a mouse; Now running up and down Doing errands in the town, And now doing chores about the house. The boys along the street Often call him Hungry Pete, Because that his face is so pale; And ask, by way of jest, If his ragged coat and vest And his old-fashioned hat are for sale. But little Peter Grey Never any shape nor way Doth evil for evil return; He is finer than his clothes, And no matter where he goes There is some one the fact to discern. You might think a sneer, mayhap, Just a feather in your cap, If you saw him being pushed to the wall; But my proudly-foolish friend, You might find out in the end You had sneered at your betters, after all. He is climbing up his way On life's ladder day by day; And you who, to laugh at him, stop On the lower rounds, will wake, If I do not much mistake, To find him sitting snug at the top. |