Part 5 (1/2)
The old-fas.h.i.+oned Bible-- The dust-covered Bible-- The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read.
The blessed old volume! The face bent above it-- As now I recall it--is gravely severe, Though the reverent eye that droops downward to love it Makes grander the text through the lens of a tear, And, as down his features it trickles and glistens, The cough of the deacon is stilled, and his head Like a haloed patriarch's leans as he listens To hear the old Bible my grandfather read.
The old-fas.h.i.+oned Bible-- The dust-covered Bible-- The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read.
Ah! who shall look backward with scorn and derision And scoff the old book though it uselessly lies In the dust of the past, while this newer revision Lisps on of a hope and a home in the skies?
Shall the voice of the Master be stifled and riven?
Shall we hear but a t.i.the of the words He has said, When so long He has, listening, leaned out of Heaven To hear the old Bible my grandfather read?
The old-fas.h.i.+oned Bible-- The dust-covered Bible-- The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read.
UNCOMFORTED
Lelloine! Lelloine! Don't you hear me calling?
Calling through the night for you, and calling through the day; Calling when the dawn is here, and when the dusk is falling-- Calling for my Lelloine the angels lured away!
Lelloine! I call and listen, starting from my pillow-- In the hush of midnight, Lelloine! I cry, And o'er the rainy window-pane I hear the weeping willow Trail its dripping leaves like baby-fingers in reply.
Lelloine, I miss the glimmer of your glossy tresses, I miss the dainty velvet palms that nestled in my own; And all my mother-soul went out in answerless caresses, And a storm of tears and kisses when you left me here alone.
I have prayed, O Lelloine, but Heaven will not hear me, I can not gain one sign from Him who leads you by the hand; And O it seems that ne'er again His mercy will come near me-- That He will never see my need, nor ever understand.
Won't you listen, Lelloine?--just a little leaning O'er the walls of Paradise--lean and hear my prayer, And interpret death to Him in all its awful meaning, And tell Him you are lonely without your mother there.
WHAT THEY SAID
Whispering to themselves apart, They who knew her said of her, ”Dying of a broken heart-- Death her only comforter-- For the man she loved is dead-- She will follow soon!” they said.
Beautiful? Ah! brush the dust From Raphael's fairest face, And restore it, as it must First have smiled back from its place On his easel as he leant Wrapt in awe and wonderment!
Why, to kiss the very hem Of the mourning-weeds she wore, Like the winds that rustled them, I had gone the round world o'er; And to touch her hand I swear All things dareless I would dare!
But unto themselves apart, Whispering, they said of her, ”Dying of a broken heart-- Death her only comforter-- For the man she loved is dead-- She will follow soon!” they said.
So I mutely turned away, Turned with sorrow and despair, Yearning still from day to day For that woman dying there, Till at last, by longing led, I returned to find her--dead?
”Dead?”--I know that word would tell Rhyming there--but in this case ”Wed” rhymes equally as well In the very selfsame place-- And, in fact, the latter word Is the one she had preferred.