The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 14

M.A. KENNON.

"G.o.d's dear love is over all."

Dear, the random words you said Once, as we two walked apart, Still keep ringing in my head, Still keep singing in my heart: Like the lone pipe of a bird, Like a tuneful waterfall Far in desert places heard-- "G.o.d's dear love is over all!"

Thro' the ceaseless toil and strife They have taught me to be strong!

Fas.h.i.+oned all my narrow life To the measure of a song!

They have kept me brave and true-- Saved my feet from many a fall, Since, what ever fate may do, G.o.d's dear love is over all!

Lying in your chamber low, Neath the daisies and the dew, Can you hear me? Can you know All the good I owe to you?

You, whose spirit dwells alway Free from earthly taint and thrall!

You who taught me that sweet day G.o.d's dear love is over all!

From your holy, far off Heaven, When the beams of twilight wane, Thro' the jasper gates of even Breathe those trustful words again; They shall aid and cheer me still, What-so-ever fate befall, Since thro' every good and ill G.o.d's dear love is over all!

MEASURING THE BABY.

We measured the riotous baby Against the cottage wall: A lily grew at the threshold, And the boy was just so tall; A royal tiger lily, With spots of purple and gold, And a heart like a jeweled chalice, The fragrant dews to hold.

Without the blue birds whistled, High up in the old roof trees; And to and fro at the window The red rose rocked her bees; And the wee pink fists of the baby Were never a moment still, s.n.a.t.c.hing at s.h.i.+ne and shadow, That danced on the lattice sill!

His eyes were wide as blue-bells, His mouth like a flower unblown, Two little barefeet, like funny white mice, Peept out from his snowy gown; And we thought, with a thrill of rapture.

That yet had a touch of pain-- When June rolls around with her roses We'll measure the boy again!

Ah me! In a darkened chamber, With the suns.h.i.+ne shut away, Thro' tears that fell like a bitter rain We measured the Boy to-day!

And the little bare feet, that were dimpled, And sweet as a budding rose, Lay side by side together, In the hush of a long repose!

Up from the dainty pillow, White as the rising dawn, The fair little face lay smiling With the light of Heaven thereon!

And the dear little hands, like rose leaves Dropt from a rose, lay still, Never to s.n.a.t.c.h at the suns.h.i.+ne, That crept to the shrouded sill!

We measured the sleeping baby With ribbons white as snow, For the s.h.i.+ning rose-wood casket That waited him below; And out of the darkened chamber We crept with a childless moan: To the height of the sinless Angels Our little one had grown!

THE LIGHT OF DREAMS.

Last night I walked in happy dreams, The paths I used to know; I heard a sound of running streams, And saw the violets blow; I breathed a scent of daffodils; And faint and far withdrawn, A light upon the distant hills, Like morning, led me on.

And childish hands clung fast to mine, And little pattering feet Trod with me thro' the still suns.h.i.+ne Of by-ways green and sweet; The flax-flower eyes of tender blue, The locks of palest gold, Were just the eyes and locks I knew And loved, and lost--of old!

By many a green familiar lane Our pathway seemed to run Between long fields of waving grain, And slopes of dew and sun; And still we seemed to breathe alway A scent of daffodils, And that soft light of breaking day Shone on the distant hills.

And out of slumber suddenly I seemed to wake, and know The little feet, that followed me, Were ashes long ago!

And in a burst of rapturous tears I clung to her and said: "Dear Pitty-pat! The lonesome years They told me you were dead!

"O, when the mother drew, of old, About her loving knee The little heads of dusk and gold, I know that we were three!

And then there was an empty chair-- A stillness, strange and new: We could not find you anywhere-- And we were only two!"

She pointed where serenely bright The hills yet glowed afar: "Sweet sister, yon ineffable light Is but the gates ajar!

And evermore, by night and day, We children still are three, Tho' I have gone a little way To open the gates," said she.

Then all in colors faint and fine The morning round me shone, The little hands slipt out of mine, And I was left alone; But still I smelled the daffodils, I heard the running streams; And that far glory on the hills-- Was it the light of dreams?

BEN HAFED'S MEED.

Ben Hafed, when the vernal rain Warmed the chill heart of earth again, Tilled the dull plot of sterile ground, Within the dank and narrow round That compa.s.sed his obscure domain; With earnest zeal, thro' heat and cold, He wrought and turned the sluggish mold, And all in furrows straight and fair He sowed the yellow seed with care, Trusting the harvest--as of old.

Soft fell the rains, the suns shone bright, The long days melted into night, And beautiful, on either hand, Outspread the s.h.i.+ning summer land, And all his neighbor's fields were white.

Long drawn, beneath the genial skies, He saw deep-fruited vineyards rise; On every hill the bladed corn Flashed like the falchions of the morn Before Ben Hafed's wistful eyes.

But in the garden, dull and bare, Where he had wrought with patient care, No cl.u.s.ter purpled on the vine, No blossom made the furrows s.h.i.+ne With hints of harvest anywhere!

Ben Hafed, scorning to complain, Bent to his thankless toil again: "I slight no task I find to do, Dear Lord, and if my sheaves be few, Thou wilt not count my labor vain?"

His neighbors, rich in flocks and lands, Stood by and mocked his empty hands: "Why wage with ceaseless fret and toil The grim warfare that yields no spoil?

Why spend thy zest on barren sands?

The circling seasons come and go, And others garner as they sow; But year by year, in sun and rain, Thou till'st these fields with toil and pain, Where only tares and thistles grow!"

With quiet mien Ben Hafed heard, And answered not by sign or word, Tho' some divine, all-trustful sense Of loss made sweet thro' recompense, In G.o.d's good time, within him stirred.

With no vain protest or lament, Low to the stubborn glebe he bent: "I till the fields Thou gavest me, And leave the harvest, Lord, to thee,"

He said--and plodded on, content.

And ever, with the golden seeds, He sowed an hundred gracious deeds-- Some act of helpful charity, A saving word of cheer, may be, To some poor soul in bitter need!

And life wore on from gold to gray; The world went by, another way: "Tho' long and wearisome my task, Dear Lord, 'tis but a t.i.the I ask, And Thou will grant me that, some day!"

One morn upon his humble bed, They found Ben Hafed lying dead, G.o.d's light upon his worn old face, And G.o.d's ineffable peace and grace Folding him round from feet to head.

And lo! in cloudless suns.h.i.+ne rolled The glebe but late so bare and cold, Between fair rows of tree and vine Rich cl.u.s.tered, sweating oil and wine, Shone all in glorious harvest gold!

And One whose face was strangely bright With loving ruth--whose garments white Were spotless as the lilies sweet That sprang beneath His s.h.i.+ning feet-- Moved slowly thro' those fields of light; "Blest be Ben Hafed's work--thrice blest!"

He said, and gathered to His breast The harvest sown in toil and tears: "Henceforth, thro' Mine eternal years, Thou, faithful servant, cease and rest!"

WINTER BOUND.

If I could live to see beyond the night, The first spring morning break with fiery thrills, And tremble into rose and violet light Along the distant hills!

If I could hear the first wild note that swells The blue bird's silvery throat when spring is here, And all the sweet, wind ruffled lily bells Ring out the joyous matins of the year!

Only to smell the budding lilac blooms The balmy airs from sprouting brake and wold, Rich with the strange ineffable perfumes Of growing gra.s.s and newly furrowed mold!

If I could hear the rus.h.i.+ng waters call In the wild exultation of release, Dear, I might turn my face unto the wall And fall asleep in peace!

MISLED.