There is
sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in
store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you
beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to
tear.
Buy a pup and
your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on
the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to
tear.
When the
fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or
fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription
runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own
affair--
But...you've given your heart for a
dog to tear.
When the body
that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is
stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your
every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart for the dog
to tear.
We've sorrow
enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian
clay.
Our loves are not given, but only
lent,
At compound interest of cent per
cent.
Though it is not always the case, I
believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the
more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right
or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a
long--
So why in Heaven (before we are
there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog
to tear?
