Heart Songs. Jean Blewett

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СКАЧАТЬ kerslide—

      An’ see that glazy piece of ice

       A-spannin’ that old crick,

       An’ know I couldn’t stop this side

       If ’twas to save my neck—

      Now don’t you get excited, Jim, ’cause I’m a-talkin’ so,

       That would be awful foolish—Gosh! just hear that north wind blow.

Ammiel’s Gift

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      THE City, girded by the mountain strong,

       Still held the gold of sunset on its breast,

       When Ammiel, whose steps had journeyed long,

       Stood at the gate with weariness opprest.

       One came and stood beside him, called him son,

       Asked him the reason of his heavy air,

       And why it was that, now the day was done,

       He entered not into the city fair?

      Answered he, “Master, I did come to find

       A man called Jesus; it is said He steals

       The darkness from the eyeballs of the blind,

       The fever from the veins—Ay, even heals

       That wasting thing called sickness of the heart.

       His voice they say doth make the lame to leap,

       The evil, tearing spirits to depart.”

      From Nain there comes a tale

       Doth make me weep,

       Of one a widow walking by the bier

       Of her dead son, and walking there alone,

       And murmuring, so that all who chose might hear,

       “A widow and he was my only one!”

       This Jesus, meeting her did not pass by,

       But stopped beside the mourner for a space,

       A wondrous light they say shone in His eye,

       A wondrous tenderness upon His face;

       And He did speak unto the dead, “Young man,

       I say arise”—these tears of mine will start—

       The youth arose, straight to his mother ran,

       Who wept for joy and clasped him to her heart.

      Within me, Master,

       Such a longing grew

       To look on Him, perchance to speak His name,

       I started while the world was wet with dew,

       A gift for Him—Ah, I have been to blame,

       For when a beggar held a lean hand out for aid,

       I laid in it, being moved, a goodly share

       Of this same gift, and then a little maid

       Lisped she was hungry, in her eyes a prayer,

       I gave her all the fruit I plucked for Him, His oil I gave to one who moaned with pain, His jar of wine to one whose sight waxed dim— O, Master, I have journeyed here in vain!

      Within the city Jesus walks the street,

       Or bides with friends, or in the temple stands,

       But shamed am I the Nazarene to meet,

       Seeing I bring to Him but empty hands.

      The sun had long since sunk behind the hills—

       The purple glory and the gleams of light

       Had faded from the sky, the dusk that stills

       A busy world was deep’ning into night.

      “Son, look on me,” the sweetness of the tone

       Made Ammiel’s heart begin to thrill and glow,

       “Full well,” he said, “I know there is but One

       With simple words like these could move me so.”

       “Son, look on me,” and lifting up his eyes

       He looked on Jesu’s face, and knew ’twas He,

       Knelt down and kissed His feet, and would not rise

       Because of love and deep humility.

      Up in the deep blue of the skies above

       Were kindled all the watchfires of the night

       The voice of Jesus, deep and filled with love,

       Said, “Come, bide with me till the morning’s light.

       At dawn my beggar asked not alms in vain,

       Since dawn, have I been debtor unto thee,

       All day thy gifts within my heart have lain,

       Fruit, oil, and wine, come through my poor to me.”

Robin

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      THERE’S not a leaf on the vine where you swing

       And the wind is chill and the sky is grey,

       But all undaunted you flutter and sing,

       “Ho, the first of May! Ho, the first of May!”

       There’s never a hint of yesterday’s frost,

       Of the hunger and cold and waiting long,

       Never a plaint over what you have lost

       Thrown into the notes of your happy song;

       The gladness is pressed in your bosom red,

       And the gloss is laid on your little head.

       I thank you for singing, robin to-day,

       For flaunting before me, jolly and bold,

       Chirping, “Ho! Ho! do you know it is May,

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