FullReads

The Builder
.

“What art thou huilding, building.
So lofty to behold,
With the silver and the gilding
The ivory and the gold.
And porphry columns rising
Like trees in the forest old?

“Why place thy marble basements
So deep in the cold earth’s veins,
And thy towers and window casements
So high o’er the steeple fanes,
And why those ponderous portals
With iron bolts and chains?

“And why those guards and warders
With horn and signal calls,
And far on thy furthest borders
The moats and brazen walls,
Dost fear invading robbers.
Or the foeman in thy halls?”

“I build a house of splendour
Where in the world’s despite,
I may force the hours to render
Their tribute of delight;
A house on the hill-top shining
Far seen like a star at night.

“I dread nor thief, nor foeman;–
My board shall teem with cheer,
When hunger bids, shall no man.
Be scorned or stinted here.
But I raise these gates and turrets
To guard me from a fear.

“To guard me safe-enfolden
Like a seed at the apple-core;
Oh bolts and barriers golden,
Keep well the outer door,
That SORROW may not enter
To sting me as of yore.”

“Oh fool, in thy lordly palace!
Oh fool, with bolts and bars!
Thou’lt find her in thy chalice.
She’ll float in the wild-wind cars!
She’ll glide in the air thou breathest.
She’ll smite thee from the stars!

“She’ll come to thee in the morning
When the light of day streams in,
She’ll sit with thee in the evening,–
Thou fool, and child of sin!–
And whisper at thy pillow.
And claim thee of her kin.

“In spite of all thy building,
And all thy warders stout,
And all thy gold and gilding,
She’ll hedge thee round about:–
Heart-purity, and goodness,
Alone shall keep her out.”

XXI.

The little flock went cheerily forth.
That sunny summer morn,
The poor man, at his humble feast.
Looked out on the growing corn.
And blessed the Providence of Heaven,
And the hour that he was born.
And the rich man owned that wealth alone
Was a boon of little worth,
If it brought not happy peace of mind.
And the glow of innocent mirth,
And the will to cheer and sanctify
The bye-ways of the earth.

XXII.

‘Twas Monday mom at Micklethorpe,
And all its little world
Was up and stirring–out or in,
The mill resumed its click and din,
And the mill-wheel spun and swirl’ d,
And the mill-stream danced in the morning light,
And all its eddies curl’d.

XXIII.

The mealy miller sniffed the breeze,
And boded pleasant weather;
The sturdy blacksmith bared his arm.
And donned his apron-leather;
While the jangling bells of the waggoner’s team
They all kept time together.
The hostler whistled a poaching tune;
And the landlord of the “Crown,”
Ruddy and round, came out to greet
The coach from the distant town–
For the railway spared this nook of hills,
By leagues of park and down.

XXIV.

The gardener’s lad, who pruned the trees
That grew hy the rectory wall,
Sang as he wrought, with wandering thought,
And a heart at peace with all.
Merry the lay, and clear as day;
The parson heard the words
Come in at the open window-sill.
With the twitter of the hirds.
And smiled to himself a quiet smile,
“An honest lad and free,
If he believe in the song he sings–
And a song well sung!” quoth he.