Page:A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.).djvu/134



, gaze on the Champion! look at him now, With that pale sunken cheek, and the damp on his brow; Compare what he was with what now meets your view— It'll show what "old age" and long illness can do. Where now is the "giant-like" power of his arm, That fill'd all the men of his day with alarm? Where, where is the muscle that gave that arm strength To make the huge measure his length? All, all are departed; the spirit alone Survives all his physical energies, gone. There, beaten at last, lies the gamest and best That ever the "fistic arena" possessed— Tom Cribb (for 'tis you), there 's a charm in thy name, If true British courage and unsullied fame Be passport to old English sympathy—then Not useless shall prove this appeal from my pen. Neglect shall not chill, nor stem Want ever come, With their withering effect, to the poor "old man's home." Shall we suffer an honest, brave creature like this One essential to need, or one comfort to miss? No! with hands ever open, and hearts prone to feel. All true men their shoulders will put to the wheel.