A poem by H Cowlands 1880. Help to identify this man

The following letter originates from Deptford.

It dates 1880 and I believe it was sent to my Great Grandfather John Shipston or his wife Elizabeth Ball. It was in my Grandfathers collection of family letters.
I have searched all known methods of finding its author or anything about him/ Her.
I ask to post this to your readers as a last attempt to gather information on what appears to be a most colourful person. I myself live in Australia and have tried for some time now to find H. Cowlands to no avail. I understand this is an unusual request but would be ever so grateful if any hint in this letter could help me find more on the author.

It is a long and unusually written letter/ poem as you’ll see. Thank you so much, in advance for any help given to understand the town, times and the person.
Regards Harold Shipston.
Queensland Australia.
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H. Cowlands poem. (transcript)

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Monday, April 26th

1880

96 years old

Dear Cousin, I am very glad,

To say, that work is not so bad.

As it was weeks ago

Perhaps now the Elections done

A better time is coming on.

Although it may come slow

I never saw in all my life

Such hot discussion, bitter strife

As in this town of late

A thousand flags there might be seen

From Deptford Broadway to the green

Of every size and shape

The Tories have got in, it’s true

Just for this Borough, but there few

Compared with liberals round

So now we hope, for better times

For more success and fewer crimes

And drink crush’d to the ground

I never want, such men to guide

Who thousands, try to lead aside

By advocating drink

It is, our national disgrace

And men, by it in every place

Are brought to ruin’s brink

But I no further, will discuss

Our politics, though all of us

In someway, are concerned

If, God but rule us we are blessed

He views the proud, and the oppressed

The ignorant, and learned.

Now, of myself a little news

I still continue making shoes

At Deptford, in High Street

Mady is my employer’s name

And he has got, a noted fame

For thousands do him greet.

His shop is full, where’ere I go

His stock is large his prices low

Not many can him beat

There’s Wellington’s likewise high lows

There’s cashmere boots and patent toes

And boots for tender feet

There’s Watertights, and bluchers too

Lace ups and balmorals on view

Slippers, and socks, as well

Look in, no matter where it be

It is astonishing, to see

The hundreds he does sell

For want of something else to do

The other day, I went to view

Blackheath, and Greenwich Park

Here on a hill with great delight

Beauties of nature, came in sight

And warmed my very heart

“Oh,” how sublime, is this thought I 

Whilst gazing at the earth, and sky

And looking, all around

How bright, and cheerful, is the spring

The birds, how happy, on the wing

There notes how sweet they sound

The river Thames, I saw below

With ships a passing, to and fro

Amidst, the Sparkling wave

How many lives, throughout the year

Thought I, do sink and perish here

And find a watery grave

Now, how are all of you at potton

Don’t think, that I, have quite forgotten

My friends, residing there

Also a few, at Gamlingay

Some, sixteen-thousand miles away

Of whom, I little hear

To Lizzy Chapman, give my love

May the have comfort, from above

From whence our blessings flow

And may her Mother daily find

That God is merciful and kind

In darkest shades of woe

To Mrs Seal, remember me

And tell her, Lucy longs to see

Her little girl and boy

And, as the future days, draw nigh

Cheerful, I hope she’ll live and die

Then enter into Joy

And then her Brother George comes next

He is a man, not often vexed

Though always very dark

Easy, and quiet, is his life

I wish his children, and his wife

Success with all my heart

And then remember our dear Mother

I really think, there’s not another

More useful, that can be

Oh, may her last days be her best

Then enter everlasting rest

And sing of victory

Another word, before I’ve done

Tell Minnie, she’s to sure and come

In the bright month of May

With us we wish for her to dwell

As many things we have to tell

So she must not delay

Now Your Dear Mother, Father too

I trust that God will bring them through

And bless their latter days

Then say Oh, “Death where is thy sting

And mount o high, to dwell and sing

A song of endless praise

And now Dear Cousin, I must close

These simple rhymes, but don’t suppose

Dear Ebins not in mind

If tis God’s will I hope that he

May be restored and happy be

And many blessings find

Good Bye dear friend. God bless you all

The weak, the strong, the great, the small

I wish you peace and love

And when your days, on earth are gone

May heaven be your eternal home

To dwell with saints above

H Cowlands

Deptford

Kent