Pipes OPan at Zekesbury | Page 8

old, as we pass.
"Do They Miss Me at Home?" Sing it lower--?And softer--and sweet as the breeze?That powdered our path with the snowy?White bloom of the old locus'-trees!?Let the whippoorwills he'p you to sing it,?And the echoes 'way over the hill,?'Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus?Of stars, and our voices is still.
But, oh! "They's a chord in the music?That's missed when her voice is away!"?Though I listen from midnight 'tel morning,?And dawn, 'tel the dusk of the day;?And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards?And on through the heavenly dome,?With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin'?The words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?"
THE LOST PATH.
Alone they walked--their fingers knit together,?And swaying listlessly as might a swing?Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather?Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring.
Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket?Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane,?And from the covert of the hazel-thicket?The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again.
The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases?Along the road-side in the shadows dim,?Went following the blossoms of their faces?As though their sweets must needs be shared with him.
Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle?Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells?Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle?Fell swooningly away in faint farewells.
And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them,?And folded all the landscape from their eyes,?They only know the dusky path before them?Was leading safely on to Paradise.
THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW.
"--And any little tiny kickshaws."--Shakespeare.
O the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me,?'Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on the tree, Wi' denty flavorin's o' spice an' musky rosemarie,?The little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me.
'Tis luscious wi' the stalen tang o' fruits frae ower the sea, An' e'en its fragrance gars we laugh wi' langin' lip an' ee, Till a' its frazen sheen o' white maun melten hinnie be-- Sae weel I luve the kickshaw that Mither sent tae me.
O I luve the tiny kickshaw, an' I smack my lips wi' glee, Aye mickle do I luve the taste o' sic a luxourie,?But maist I luve the luvein' han's that could the giftie gie O' the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me.
HIS MOTHER.
DEAD! my wayward boy--my own--?Not the Law's!_ but _mine--the good?God's free gift to me alone,?Sanctified by motherhood.
"Bad," you say: Well, who is not??"Brutal"--"with a heart of stone"--?And "red-handed."--Ah! the hot?Blood upon your own!
I come not, with downward eyes,?To plead for him shamedly,--?God did not apologize?When He gave the boy to me.
Simply, I make ready now?For His_ verdict.--_You prepare--?You have killed us both--and how?Will you face us There!
KISSING THE ROD.
O heart of mine, we shouldn't
Worry so!?What we've missed of calm we couldn't
Have, you know!?What we've met of stormy pain,?And of sorrow's driving rain,?We can better meet again,
If it blow!
We have erred in that dark hour
We have known,?When our tears fell with the shower,
All alone!--?Were not shine and shadow blent?As the gracious Master meant?--?Let us temper our content
With His own.
For, we know, not every morrow
Can be sad;?So, forgetting all the sorrow
We have had,?Let us fold away our fears,?And put by our foolish tears,?And through all the coming years
Just be glad.
HOW IT HAPPENED.
I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone-- And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way,?And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day!?I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time He settled in the neighborhood, and had n't ary a dime?Er dollar, when he married, far to start housekeepin' on!-- So I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone!
I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done?That all her sisters kep' a gittin' married, one by one,?And her without no chances--and the best girl of the pack-- An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline To not see what a wife they 'd git if they got Evaline!
I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she?Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,--?She 'd come, and leave her housework, far to be'p out little Jane, And talk of her own mother 'at she 'd never see again-- Maybe sometimes cry together--though, far the most part she Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we?Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she 'd put her bonnet on?And say she 'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John!
I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,--and more and more?I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at