For a finish give us roasting,
   Those who're by cremation vext
All oppose the Scriptural posting -
   Ash to ashes says the text.
We will calmly face the cooking
   That may come when life is run,
And will take our chance of looking
   Rather dark when overdone.


If cremation were to-morrow
   Quite a custom in the land
'Twould remove a world of sorrow
   From a sad, dyspetic band,
For the vilest cooks and slovens
   Killing us with dishes dread
Might attend cremating ovens -
   Cook us after death instead.


Public burners for cremation
   Must to us come soon or late -
Kilns where our defunct relations
   May be roasted while we wait;
Or, if waiting make us weary,
   We may send our smallest son
With the most respectful query - 
   "Please, is Aunt Maria done?"


Burying is past its season,
   More repulsive, too, by far
Than the cause for which we reason -
   Than the little china jar.
Who would lie and moulder slowly
   In the sodden earth away,
If he might be powdered wholly
   Down to dust within the day?


Soon we'll have our dead relations
   Ranged along a cupboard shelf,
All according to their stations
   In their natty urns of delf,
Or upon the parlour table
   Stood about in fetching ways,
With a verse beneath each label,
   Setting forth their noble traits.


In the former case be wary
   That your wicked little son
Does not eat up sister Mary,
   Thinking her ground cinnamon.
Timid folks may rest contented
   In their old, religious trust,
Gabriel's trump as represented
   Certain is to raise the dust.

"E.D."
The Bulletin, 11 January 1890, p32