There last, not least, the raging beast
Descried his form at length,
And deemed it was another bull
Coming to try his strength.
He plunged to meet his threatening foe,
But fought himself, alas!
While all around in fragments flew
The shattered looking glass!
"What will come next?" the deacon cries;
"This is too much for one day:
My rifle's loaded, and I'll try
To stop this noise on Sunday."
With trembling hand he seized the gun,
With wary step descended;
He aimed, he fired, he killed the bull,
And thus the battle ended.
To yonder house we turn again,
And to the quiet throng
The preacher now has said, Amen!
Now ends the choral song.
And friendly speech and courtesies
And shake of hands go round,
And each inquires the other's health,
All as in duty bound.
"How is your spouse?" the parson said;
"I see he's not at meeting."
"This morning, sir," the wife replied,
"His heart was strangely beating.
"I hope you'll call and see him soon"
"That I shall gladly do."
"Ride down with us--the carriage waits;
There's room enough for you.
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