One night poor Jim had not a sou,
  Mike had enough for his own bed;
Take it: I'll walk the streets to-night,'
  Said Mike, 'and you lie down instead.'

So Mike walked out, but ne'er came back;
  We know not whether he is drowned,
Or used his hands unlawfully;
  Is sick, or in some prison bound.

Now Jim was dying fast, and he
  Took to the workhouse his old bones;
To earn some water, bread, and sleep,
  They made that dying man break stones,

He swooned upon his heavy task:
  They carried him to a black coach,
And tearless strangers took him out -
  A corpse! at the infirmary's porch.

Since Jesus came with mercy and love,
  'Tis nineteen hundred years and five:
They made that dying man break stones,
  In faith that Christ is still alive.