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PAGE 2

The Old-Home Folks
by [?]

But Alex was affectionate beyond
The average child, and was extremely fond
Of the paternal relatives of his
Of whom he once made estimate like this:–
I’m only got two brothers,–but my Pa
He’s got most brothers’n you ever saw!–
He’s got seben brothers!–Yes, an’ they’re all my
Seben Uncles!–Uncle John, an’ Jim,–an’ I’
Got Uncle George, an’ Uncle Andy, too,
An’ Uncle Frank, an’ Uncle Joe.–An’ you
Know Uncle Mart.–An’, all but him, they’re great
Big mens!–An’ nen s Aunt Sarah–she makes eight!–
I’m got eight uncles!–‘cept Aunt Sarah can’t
Be ist my uncle ’cause she’s ist my aunt!”

Then, next to Alex–and the last indeed
Of these five little ones of whom you read–
Was baby Lizzie, with her velvet lisp,–
As though her Elfin lips had caught some wisp
Of floss between them as they strove with speech,
Which ever seemed just in yet out of reach–
Though what her lips missed, her dark eyes could say
With looks that made her meaning clear as day.

And, knowing now the children, you must know
The father and the mother they loved so:–
The father was a swarthy man, black-eyed,
Black-haired, and high of forehead; and, beside
The slender little mother, seemed in truth
A very king of men–since, from his youth,
To his hale manhood now–(worthy as then,–
A lawyer and a leading citizen
Of the proud little town and county-seat–
His hopes his neighbors’, and their fealty sweet)–
He had known outdoor labor–rain and shine–
Bleak Winter, and bland Summer–foul and fine.
So Nature had ennobled him and set
Her symbol on him like a coronet:
His lifted brow, and frank, reliant face.–
Superior of stature as of grace,
Even the children by the spell were wrought
Up to heroics of their simple thought,
And saw him, trim of build, and lithe and straight
And tall, almost, as at the pasture-gate
The towering ironweed the scythe had spared
For their sakes, when The Hired Man declared
It would grow on till it became a tree,
With cocoanuts and monkeys in–maybe!

Yet, though the children, in their pride and awe
And admiration of the father, saw
A being so exalted–even more
Like adoration was the love they bore
The gentle mother.–Her mild, plaintive face
Was purely fair, and haloed with a grace
And sweetness luminous when joy made glad
Her features with a smile; or saintly sad
As twilight, fell the sympathetic gloom
Of any childish grief, or as a room
Were darkened suddenly, the curtain drawn
Across the window and the sunshine gone.
Her brow, below her fair hair’s glimmering strands,
Seemed meetest resting-place for blessing hands
Or holiest touches of soft finger-tips
And little roseleaf-cheeks and dewy lips.

Though heavy household tasks were pitiless,
No little waist or coat or checkered dress
But knew her needle’s deftness; and no skill
Matched hers in shaping pleat or flounce or frill;
Or fashioning, in complicate design,
All rich embroideries of leaf and vine,
With tiniest twining tendril,–bud and bloom
And fruit, so like, one’s fancy caught perfume
And dainty touch and taste of them, to see
Their semblance wrought in such rare verity.

Shrined in her sanctity of home and love,
And love’s fond service and reward thereof,
Restore her thus, O blessed Memory!–
Throned in her rocking-chair, and on her knee
Her sewing–her workbasket on the floor
Beside her,–Springtime through the open door
Balmily stealing in and all about
The room; the bees’ dim hum, and the far shout
And laughter of the children at their play,
And neighbor-children from across the way
Calling in gleeful challenge–save alone
One boy whose voice sends back no answering tone–
The boy, prone on the floor, above a book
Of pictures, with a rapt, ecstatic look–
Even as the mother’s, by the selfsame spell,
Is lifted, with a light ineffable–
As though her senses caught no mortal cry,
But heard, instead, some poem going by.

 
The Child-heart is so strange a little thing--
So mild--so timorously shy and small.--
When grown-up hearts throb, it goes scampering
Behind the wall, nor dares peer out at all!--
It is the veriest mouse
That hides in any house--
So wild a little thing is any Child-heart!