In the Hour of Need

D’YE see that shop at the corner, with the three balls over the door?

A pawnshop? Yes, it is, my lad—just that, and nothing more,

Nothing remarkable in that? You see ’em every day?

No doubt you do. But wait a bit, and let me say my say.

Four months ago my little wife was ill as she could be;

I thought I should have lost her, but you see she is still with me:

I owe her life to him, my lad! To who d’ye ask?—to who?

To the old man at that popshop there!—and mark me, he’s a Jew!

That staggers you, I thought it would. But bear with me a bit;

It won’t take long to let you have the sense and soul of it;

Fanny was ill, and times were bad, and I’d no work to do;

Fanny got worse, and then I took to visiting the Jew.

Fanny got worse, and worse, and worse,—my God; she was so ill;

And the times that were so tight before, my lad, got tighter still;

I pawned my things—such as they were—and I pawned my wife’s things too,

Till nothing was left to pawn—and still I had no work to do!

I was starving—downright starving!—and Fanny was almost dead,

One night as I sat, with tight-clasped hands, beside my poor girl’s bed;

I closed my eyes in a dreamy way—didn’t sleep you understand;—

When I opened ’em I saw the Jew, with a basket in his hand!

He was only a hook-nosed, crook-back Jew, but he seemed an angel then,

For he brought new life to my dying wife, and made her strong again!

If Heaven is full when he dies, I know they’ll make room for the Jew!…

There! that’s the short of it, my lad,—and every word is true!