IV MARE STREET, N.E.
Reading edition
In Mare Street, Hackney, Sunday nights, My Jim he’d search for souls to save: Beneath one of them showman’s lights He’d stand up white and brave. “And who’s for Jesus now?” he’d call, “And who’s for Love that’s strong? Repent, believe: there’s Heaven for all That turns and flees from wrong....” I wish no harm to my poor Jim, But God strike Lizzie dead! ’Twas cruel of her to lead the hymn, With me laid ill, in bed. They’re gone—last month—to Leytonstone; Jim runs a chapel there; And I’m left hungering here alone, While she joins him in pray’r.