A Ballade of Burial “Saint Praxed’s ever was the Church for peace”

IF down here I chance to die, Solemnly I beg you take All that is left of “I” To the Hills for old sake’s sake, Pack me very thoroughly In the ice that used to slake Pegs I drank when I was dry— This observe for old sake’s sake. To the railway station hie, There a single ticket take For Umballa—goods-train—I Shall not mind delay or shake. I shall rest contentedly Spite of clamor coolies make; Thus in state and dignity Send me up for old sake’s sake. Next the sleepy Babu wake, Book a Kalka van “for four.” Few, I think, will care to make Journeys with me any more As they used to do of yore. I shall need a “special” break— Thing I never took before— Get me one for old sake’s sake. After that—arrangements make. No hotel will take me in, And a bullock’s back would break ’Neath the teak and leaden skin Tonga ropes are frail and thin, Or, did I a back-seat take, In a tonga I might spin,— Do your best for old sake’s sake. After that — your work is done. Recollect a Padre must Mourn the dear departed one— Throw the ashes and the dust. Don’t go down at once. I trust You will find excuse to “snake Three days’ casual on the bust.”— Get your fun for old sake’s sake. I could never stand the Plains. Think of blazing June and May Think of those September rains Yearly till the Judgment Day! I should never rest in peace, I should sweat and lie awake. Rail me then, on my decease, To the Hills for old sake’s sake. background notes