Th’ angils ai n't all up in Heaven. Not by a long shot. Say, Ther's angils a-livin’ an’ breathin’ Right here in th’ camp to-day.
An’ th’ crown of one, I kin tell ye Is on'y a tangle of hair, But the halo that lingers around it Is brighter than any up There.
One of her laigs goes a-limpin’, Her langwige ai n't grammar of books, An’ she ai n't airned th’ title “A Angil” Along of her beauty of looks;
‘ Nless y’ saw her as I did —— ‘ Nless y’ saw her, like me, Le'p int’ hell-flame f'r t’ rescue Th’ baby of drunken Magee.
Magee in th’ cellar was hootchin’; Th’ gal was a-sloppin’ at chores, Washin’ bottles an’ kegs f'r th’ bar-man, Slingin’ cocktails ahind th’ baize-doors.
Of a suddent a wild cry of “F-i-r-e,” come With a lick o’ th’ flame, left an’ right; The boozers they scooted f'r safety An’ th’ baby was left in th’ fright.
One wild cry above th’ fierce cracklin’ —— A yell of despair in the din: “My BABY! O, GOD, SEND AN ANGEL!” He did. And the Angel went in
While us men stood a-shakin’ an’ shame-faced; The manhood in us not quite dead —— We was drunk — dazed with horror an’ whisky ‘ R we'd foller'd th’ gal where she led
Into that hell-gate of red flame —— Int’ th’ whirl of th’ fire; And we all held our bre'th, knowin’ well it was death Come a-nigher an’ nigher.
But no! What we all saw a-comin’ Was th’ Angil of Life:— at her breast That damn kid of Magee's snug an’ snorin’, As if in th’ cradle at rest.
But th’ gal? Her face out of resemblance T’ anythin’ human, you'd say, She come staggerin’, gaspin’ an’ blinded —— ( Us men turned our faces away );
Then, “Lame Mary!” we busted a-shoutin’, Goin’ mad f'r a minit with joy; Magee, he was dancin’ a hornpipe An’ his Missis was huggin’ th’ Boy.
But the gal as I christen'd “A Angil” We was shoutin’ her name somethin’ wild —— Swings‘ roun’ on her game foot, Says: “Shet up, y’ galoot,
An’ do n't be f'r wakin’ th’ child!” You bet she was game, was th’ Angil:—— Tho’ she was n't f'r playin’ no harps, Sittin’ on a damp cloud a-slingin’ th’ crowd,
A-thumpin’ th’ flats an’ th’ sharps; SHE WAS STRAIGHT ON HER JOB, was th’ angil; Wantin’ nothin’ down here but her share; An’ my biler‘ ud bust if I thought any “Trust”
Side-tracked my Angil up — There!
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