I’m sometimes in heaven, and sometimes on earth;
I am not an angel, but a thing of no worth, —
More worthless a thing there surely can’t be,
Yet the wealth of the world would never buy me
I’m a puzzle indeed, for I’m often defiant,
Yet weak as a babe, but strong as a giant;
So horrible, too — so black am I found,
Yet lovelier than snow ere it falls to the ground;
I’m often in sorrow, and shed many tears,
And yet I am happy — a stranger to fears;
I died, and behold, I am living today,
Was buried, and yet I can never decay;
My life is so frail, a child may it sever,
Yet nothing can touch it forever and ever;
I’m a slave, yet free as a bird on the wing;
I’m poor, yet rich as the wealthiest king;
I’m a stranger unknown that hasn’t a home,
And yet I have mansions, — then why should roam?
No parent am I — I’m with cares unencumber’d―
But my sons and my daughters can never be numbered;
Pray tell me my name, my character, station,
Where I lived, where I died, and my rich habitation;
My goodness and badness I’d have you rehearse,—
Remember, I ask you for chapter and verse.