THE first year of their married life
Brings happiness unto the wife.
And yet, surrounding them all rife,
There is a cruel little knife
Stabbing—a problem sure to grow
One little atom all aglow,
With evil to this happy twain,
Shadowing them with evil stain.
The heedless husband busy now,
Absorbed at work, forgets the vow
To make her happy, peace has flown,
          Mary goes it alone.

One Sunday morning Mary said,
"It's time to go to Mass, instead
Of sitting at your desk all day,
Once out of seven let us pray,"
The husband said, "It's quite enough
For you, my dear; go, get your muff
And jacket— quick there, run along,
I don't believe the Devil's prong
Can do me any evil. No,
I work too hard, that's a sure go.
Run to the Chapel, pick my bone,
          Mary, you go alone."

The neighbours passing by the door,
Quickly their own conclusions draw
While listening unto the scrap,
Ain't it enough ter make yer flap?
These words they hear inside the house,
"Oh, go along with you and douse
Yourself, my dear; go, move on, do!
And throw away the rag, don't chew!
You make me tired, do not spar."
There—click, the front door swings ajar.
Poor little creature overthrown—
Mary comes out alone.

One year has flown. Holy church
Don't leave her children in the lurch.
Husband and wife are hand in hand,
Preparing for that great command,
Sacred event—the first baptism,
Bestowing of the holy chrism.
The letter-carrier now knocks,
Hubby remarks, "I'm in a box.
I'll have to write a letter to
Spriggins and Wiggins; do not chew
The rag, but run along, my dear,
The Priest, won't miss me, never fear,
Give him five dollars, he won't moan."
Mary comes out alone.

Month by month and day by day,
Things run along the same old way.
The church sees Mary every week,
Sadly she goes alone. Now wreak
Thy vengeance, Heaven, snap life's thread,
Come to judgment, Oh, ye dead!
Come to judgment, man and wife.
Instantly both depart this life.
They quickly cross the river Styx.
Walking the road of golden bricks,
They find themselves before the gate
Of Heaven. Oh, poor man, too late!—
That open gate—that painful moan—
Mary goes in alone.

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