The Emigrant Mechanic and Other Tales in Verse Part 16

The sad reality comes o'er my mind.

Thou'rt gone indeed, and we are left behind.

Oh for that faith of which thou wast possessed, As thy pure spirit strove to gain her rest.

Oh for that patience which thou didst display Beneath our Father's hand to thy last day.

Methinks that thou art whispering in my ear: "Let G.o.d's sure promises thy spirit cheer; "Remember that our Jesus is the same "To all whose trust is in His precious name.

"A few short days, perchance, or months, or years, "May flee away; yet he will still thy fears "And bear thee up as if on 'eagle's wings,'

"Far, far above the reach of earthly things.

"Remember what thou didst to comfort me; "Thou hast G.o.d's word, the same it is to thee.

"Let fervent prayer ascend to G.o.d above; "He'll deign to listen for He still is love.

"Rouse then, thy courage, let thy faith be strong, "Let Hope, 'an anchor sure,' to thee belong.

"The time's not distant we again shall meet "To part no more. This is a thought most sweet.

"But yet in patience do thy soul possess, "And wait G.o.d's time, and then He will thee bless."

Enough my loved one, I will haste away To do my duties without more delay.

And trust in G.o.d who can fresh strength impart To me to serve him with a perfect heart.

Here, then, kind reader, I must close my lay, As other duties call me now away.

If you've had patience to go with me through My lengthened tale, I bid you warm adieu.

If my small learning has called forth a sneer, Know you from such things I have naught to fear.

For what is written I have this defense: My song at least lacks not for _common-sense_.

WILLIAM AND AMELIA [Footnote: For the benefit of such readers as are not acquainted with the locality of Lake Windermere, I may say it is the largest lake in England, and lies to the north.]

Near the side of Windermere, Down a gentle rising hill, Flowed a murmuring brook so clear Every portion of the year, And no doubt is flowing still.

Hard by stood a small, neat house, Tenanted by peasants poor.

The mother was a loving spouse, One who never was a blowze, But most tidy evermore.

The husband was an honest man Working hard on working days, Deeming it the wisest plan.

Each day's labor he began By pure prayer to G.o.d always.

We shall call them HUMBLEWORTH; They such name deserved quite well.

In that country of the north All would speak their praises forth, With delight their worth would tell.

Three dear children graced their home, Lovely were they in their youth.

When they chanced in woods to roam, Fairies seemed they to become; Full their hearts of love and truth.

AMIE, BESS and little ANN We their names at present call; AMIE'S bloom was richer than Any rose which zephyrs fan.

She had, too, a lovely soul.

BESS was as a lily pale, Graceful as a fawn could be.

She was never very hale, Parents' eyes could see her fail, And they felt anxiety.

Little ANN, a chubby la.s.s, Was the youngest and the pet; Friends all thought naught could surpa.s.s That sweet child in loveliness Which they in their lives had met.

I have said that they were poor.

This was true of worldly things; Yet they had an ample store, They were skilled in Bible lore; And from this sweet comfort springs.

Very close observers might Deem them once of higher rank, They defrauded of their right, But still blest with gospel light, Of rich consolation drank.

Near them lived a proud, rich man, Wide his lands, but small his heart.

Of him a report there ran That he to be rich began Practicing a knavish part.

"GRIPEY" was the name he bore 'Mongst the country people round; They could reckon up a score Of vile actions, if not more, And from these this name they found.

Call I him "SIR FINGERNEED,"

Such a name is more genteel; Had he done one worthy deed I would not withold the meed Of sweet praise I truly feel.

He had but an only son, WILLIAM was his given name; He to love had not begun, Yet at times he liked to run In the woods when AMIE came.

There for her he'd try to find Hazel nuts and berries, too.

Thus he showed his heart was kind-- That he had no churlish mind When such actions he could do.

Time flew past; poor BESSIE lay-- On her humble dying bed.

Parents now beside her pray, AMIE watches her by day-- Moving round with softest tread.

WILLIAM oft some dainty brought To her by his mother sent, And returned with sober thought, Musing as each mortal ought On a death-bed scene intent.

He had heard fair AMIE speak Of a place above the sky, Where dear BESS with spirit meek Would be taken, though so weak, If at present she should die.

Now he reaches that fine place Where he and his parents live.

Marks of sadness on his face Make his father wish to trace What could him such trouble give.

WILLIAM, not inclined to guile, Did the truth at once disclose.

This creates a scornful smile On that rich man's face the while, Then unto his wife he goes,

And in stern and angry mood Asks her why she sent the boy; Did she call that doing good Sending one of gentler blood, Just to watch a cottar die?

He no reasons deigns to hear, Bids the boy not go again.

WILLIAM drops a silent tear While his parent still is near, Yet strict silence does maintain.

BESS has left this earthly scene, Sorrow therefore fills that home.

They have to the churchyard been, And its clods are now between Them and charming BESSIE'S form.

They were not alone in grief, WILLIAM sorrowed much at heart, Knew not yet the saint's belief, And most slowly came relief To remove from him his smart.

Those who seek to curb the mind Of their offspring in their youth, Should show reason why they bind, Clothed in language very kind, Lest they tempt them from the truth.

Soon the youth began to feel Galled by most unjust restraint, And did oft in secret steal To enquire of AMIE'S weal, And to her would make complaint.

Then she told her father all.