The Verse-Book Of A Homely Woman | Page 7

with towzled
hair
(And lumpy gruel!), clatters up the stair.
Homesick
I shut my eyes to rest 'em, just a bit
ago it seems,
An' back among the Cotswolds I were
wanderin' in me dreams.
I saw the old grey homestead, with the
rickyard set around,
An' catched the lowin' of the herd, a
pleasant, homelike sound.
Then on I went a-singin', through the
pastures where the sheep
Was lyin' underneath the elms, a-tryin' for
to sleep.
An' where the stream was tricklin' by, half
stifled by the grass,
Heaped over thick with buttercups, I saw

the corncrake pass.
For 'twas Summer, Summer, SUMMER!
An' the blue forget-me-nots
Wiped out this dusty city and the smoky
chimbley pots.
I clean forgot My Lady's gown, the
dazzlin' sights I've seen;
I was back among the Cotswolds, where
me heart has always been.
Then through the sixteen-acre on I went,
a stiffish climb,
Right to the bridge, where all our sheep
comes up at shearin' time.
There was the wild briar roses hangin'
down so pink an' sweet,
A-droppin' o' their fragrance on the clover
at my feet
An' here me heart stopped beatin', for
down by Gatcombe's Wood
My lad was workin' with his team, as
only
my lad could!
"COME BACK!" was what the tricklin' brook
an' breezes seemed to say.
"'TIS LONESOME ON THE
COTSWOLDS NOW THAT
MARY DREW'S AWAY."
An' back again I'm goin' (for me wages
has been paid,
An' they're lookin' through the papers for
another kitchen maid).
Back to the old grey homestead, an' the

uplands cool an' green,
To my lad among the Cotswolds, where
me heart has always been!
On Washing Day
"I'm going to gran'ma's for a bit
My mother's got the copper lit;
An'
piles of clothes are on the floor,
An' steam comes out the wash-house
door;
An' Mrs. Griggs has come, an' she
Is just as cross as she can
be.
She's had her lunch, and ate a lot;
I saw her squeeze the
coffee-pot.
An' when I helped her make the starch,
She said: 'Now,
Miss, you just quick
march!
What? Touch them soap-suds if you
durst;
I'll see you in the blue-bag first!'
An' mother dried my frock,
an' said:
'Come back in time to go to bed.'
I'm off to gran'ma's, for,
you see,
At home, they can't put up with me.
"But down at gran'ma's 'tis so nice.
If gran'ma's making currant-cake,

She'll let me put the ginger spice,
An' grease the tin, an' watch it
bake;
An' then she says she thinks it fun
To taste the edges when it's
done.
"That's gran'ma's house. Why, hip,
hooray!
My gran'ma's got a washing day;
For gran'pa's shirts are on
the line,
An' stockings, too -- six, seven, eight, nine!
She'll let me
help her. Yes, she'll tie
Her apron round to keep me dry;
An' on her
little stool I'll stand
Up to the wash-tub. 'Twill be grand!
There's no
cross Mrs. Griggs to say,
'Young Miss is always in the way.'
An' me
and gran'ma will have tea
At dinner-time -- just her an' me --
An'
eggs, I 'spect, an' treacle rice.
My goodness! Won't it all be nice?
"Gran'ma, I'm come to spend the day,
'Cause mother finds me in the

way.
Gran'ma, I'll peg the hankies out;
Gran'ma, I'll stir the starch
about;
Gran'ma, I'm come, because, you see,
At home, they can't
put up with me."
When Baby Strayed
When Baby strayed, it seemed to
me,
Sun, moon and stars waned suddenly.
At once, with frenzied haste, my feet
Ran up and down the busy
street.
If ever in my life I prayed,
It was the evening Baby strayed.
And yet my great concern was this
(Not dread of losing Baby's kiss,
And Baby's soft small hand in mine,
And Baby's comradeship
divine),
'Twas BABY'S terror, BABY'S fears!
Whose hand but mine could
dry her
tears?
I without Baby? In my need
I were a piteous soul indeed.
But piteous far, beyond all other,
A little child without a mother.
And God, in mercy, graciously
Gave my lost darling back to me.
O high and lofty One!
THOU couldst have lived to all eternity

Apart from ME!
In majesty, upon that emerald throne.
Thou, with
Thy morning stars,
Thy dawns, with golden bars,
And all the music
of the heavenly train.
Possessing all things, what hadst Thou to
gain
By seeking me?
What was I? . . . and, what am I? . . .

less than nought.
And yet Thy mercy sought.
Yea, Thou hast set my
feet
Upon the way of holiness, and sweet
It is, to seek Thee daily,
unafraid . . .
But (this I learnt the night that Baby
strayed)
Here was Thy chief, Thy great concern
for me:
My desolate estate, apart from Thee!
If Only ----
If only dinner cooked itself,
And groceries grew upon the shelf;
If
children did as they were told,
And never had a cough or cold;
And
washed their hands, and wiped their
boots,
And never tore their Sunday suits,
But always tidied up the
floor,
Nor once forgot to shut the door.
If John remembered not to throw
His papers on the ground. And oh!

If he would put his pipes away,
And shake the ashes on the tray

Instead of on the floor