Classic Poem

A VILLAGE church one Sabbath-day,
Many had entered there to pray.
Some knelt along the flagstone floor,
Old men, old women, halt and poor.
Piously in response they said
" Give us this day our daily bread."
Whether they got it, I don't know,
But twice or thrice they pleaded so.
Those words the squire repeated too
Above his cushion'd giltnail'd pew.
Sudden a distant shot he heard,
And up his portly girth was reared.
" Jim! " cried he, " drowsy devil! run ,
Tell keeper . . . by the Lord! . . . a gun!
Zounds! I am always in bad luck . . .
Perhaps there goes my fattest buck!"