City Ballads Part 19

[Ill.u.s.tration: "ONLY A BOX, SECURE AND STRONG, ROUGH AND WOODEN, AND SIX FEET LONG."]

Only its owner, just inside, Cold, and livid, and gla.s.sy-eyed; Little to him if the train be late!

Nothing has he to do but wait.

Only an open grave, somewhere, Heady to close when he gets there; Turfs and gra.s.ses and flowerets sweet, Ready to press him 'neath their feet.

Only a band of friends at home, Waiting to see the traveller come; Naught he will tell of distant lands; He cannot even press their hands.

He has no stories weird and bright, He has no gifts for a child's delight; He did not come with anything; He had not even himself to bring.

Yet they will softly him await, And he will move about in state; They will give him, when he appears, Love, and pity, and tender tears.

Only a box, secure and strong, Rough and wooden, and six feet long; Angels guide that soulless breast Into a long and peaceful rest!

HOME.

[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]

JULY 1, 18--.

Back to the old, old homestead!--isn't it queer!

But stranger things than that have happened here: The old farm, after giving oil by stream, (Until the world itself would almost seem About to lose its progress smooth and true, And creak upon its axis, first we knew), Closed business in the twinkling of an eye, And every blessed well we had went dry!

Then all the oil-springs that my neighbors had The example followed--be it good or bad; And the whole region round here, high and low, So full of wealth a few short months ago-- And men, to get their circ.u.mstances oiled-- Is now poor farm-land, pretty nearly spoiled!

The little town a mile away from here, Where we sold eggs and b.u.t.ter many a year, (And feared the neighbors' hens might over-lay, And glut the market some sad Sat.u.r.day), From a few grown-up folks, a small child-crop, A church, post-office, store, and blacksmith shop, This village grew to be, within a year, A town of fifteen thousand people clear.

It had its banks, its street-cars, and its gas, And other wonders cities bring to pa.s.s;

Its house-yards sold for twice as much, I know, As my old farm was worth three years ago.

But the town did not grow on brain or soil, But floated on a hidden sea of oil, Which ebbed away, one evening, on the sly, And left "the city" stranded high and dry.

And now the place is crumbling to the gaze-- A modern ruin in these modern days: No banks, no street-cars, no hotels in town-- The mansions have been burned or taken down.

It shows how soon all greatness is unmade When once it gets upon the down-hill grade!

So we've come back to take our former farm, Fix it up somehow, coax back its old charm, And live here--by the city noise unstirred-- To cogitate on what we've seen and heard While living in a bustle and a brawl That sometimes hardly let us think at all.

The old house was kept whole in every part (I had that put in writing on the start), And though the farm seems very much as though An earthquake had lived here a year or so, We mean to try and make it seem, some week, More as it did before it sprung a leak.

First thing I said, when home began to fit, And thus afford us time to breathe a bit: "We've been out to the city, now, my dear, Let's bring a small part of the city here.

I'm going, on this very day, to send For several children such as need a friend, And have them come out here and get some air, With room to turn around, and some to spare."

I wrote some men and women in the city, Who give poor children help, as well as pity, "Send out as many as you can afford!

And every one shall have a month's clean board, And carry back, from out our plenteous store, Enough to keep himself a fortnight more."

The first night that we sat expecting them, I did what some whole families would condemn-- I moulded up my feelings into rhyme, In something less than fifteen minutes' time, Then voiced it to whoever would come near; I'll put the imposition right in here:

[Ill.u.s.tration: "AND CARRY BACK, FROM OUT OUR PLENTEOUS STORE, ENOUGH TO KEEP HIMSELF A FORTNIGHT MORE."]

[LET THE CLOTH BE WHITE.]

Go set the table, Mary, an' let the cloth be white!

The hungry city children are comin' here to-night; The children from the city, with features pinched an' spare, Are comin' here to get a breath of G.o.d's untainted air.

They come from out the dungeons where they with want were chained; From places dark an' dismal, by tears of sorrow stained; From where a thousand shadows are murdering all the light: Set well the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE HUNGRY CITY CHILDREN ARE COMING HERE TO-NIGHT."]

They ha' not seen the daisies made for the heart's behoof; They never heard the rain-drops upon a cottage roof; They do not know the kisses of zephyr an' of breeze; They never rambled wild an' free beneath the forest trees.

The food that they ha' eaten was spoiled by others' greeds; The very air their lungs breathed was full o' poison seeds; The very air their souls breathed was full o' wrong an' spite: Go set the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!

The fragrant water-lilies ha' never smiled at them; They never picked a wild-flower from off its dewy stem; They never saw a greensward that they could safely pa.s.s Unless they heeded well the sign that says "Keep off the gra.s.s."

G.o.d bless the men and women of n.o.ble brain an' heart, Who go down in the folk-swamps an' take the children's part-- Those hungry, cheery children that keep us in their debt, An' never fail to give us more of pleasure than they get!

Set well the table, Mary; let naught be scant or small; The little ones are coming; have plenty for 'em all.

There's nothing we should furnish except the very best To those that Jesus looked upon an' called to him an' blessed.

[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]

Oh, Home--restful home! theme of praise and of song!

Where the heart has its refuge, unfailing and strong; Where the cares of the world sign a partial release, And the soul can lie down to a sweet sleep of peace!

The mine whence we dig out affection's pure gold, The fire where we warm our poor hearts when they're cold!

The grand, tender chorus, by love's fingers stirred, Where all the sweet tones of the soul-life are heard!

But he who in thy praises was sweetest and best-- Who wrote that great song full of soothing and rest-- "Through pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it never so humble, there's no place like home"-- He who, in a moment unfettered by art, Let that heavenly song fly from the nest of his heart, He wandered the earth, all forgot and alone, And ne'er till he died had a home of his own!

He wandered the earth at his own dreary will, And carried his great heavy heart with him still; He carried his great heavy heart o'er the road, With no one to give him a lift with his load; And wherever he went, with his lone, dreary tread, He found that his sweet song had flown on ahead!

He heard its grand melodies' chimes o'er and o'er, From great bands that played at the palace's door; He heard its soft tones through the cottages creep, From fond mothers singing their babies to sleep; But he wandered the earth, all forgot and alone, And ne'er till in Heaven had a home of his own!

Of course--be it said to the poor fellow's shame-- There was no one on earth but himself he could blame.

G.o.d meant, when he made this world cheerful and bright, Then looked it all over and said 'twas all right, Then stole Adam's rib while he lay fast asleep, And when he awoke gave it to him to keep-- He meant that this world, as he gazed on it there, Should blossom with homes, rich and radiant and fair; That his chain of love-gold, flung from Heaven's glittering dome, Should be forged into links, and each link be a home!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HE HEARD ITS SOFT TONES THROUGH THE COTTAGES CREEP, FROM FOND MOTHERS SINGING THEIR BABIES TO SLEEP."]

This Adam and Eve more advantages carried, Than any _young_ couple that ever was married.

They'd a nice, cozy home, unenc.u.mbered and free, Save a slight reservation on one little tree; They toiled not and sweat not in tilling their lands: Their orchards were trimmed by invisible hands; They were bothered by no tailors' bills over-due; Their dress-makers' bills were quite moderate, too; No tax-ghost each year their scared domicile haunted, To find out how much more they owned than they wanted; In sooth this young pair more advantages carried Than any _young_ couple that ever was married!