The Hangman

Into our town the Hangman came

Smelling of gold and blood and flame

And he paced our bricks with a diffident air

And built his frame on the courthouse square

The scaffold stood by the courthouse side

Only as wide as the door was wide

A frame as tall or a little more

Than the capping sill of the courthouse door

And we wondered, we had the time

Who the criminal, what the crime

The Hangman judged with the yellow twist

Of knotted hemp in his busy fist

And innocent though we were with dread

We passed those eyes of buckshot lead

Till one cried, "Hangman, who is he

For whom you raise the gallows tree?"

A twinkle grew in the buckshot eye

He gave us a riddle instead of reply

"He who served me the best," said he

"Shall earn the rope on the gallows tree"

The next day's sun looked mildly down

On roof and street in our quiet town

Stark and black in the morning air

The gallows tree on the courthouse square