 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
JOHN CARMAN
I
John Carman of Carmeltown
Worked hard through the livelong day;
He drove his awl and he snapt his thread
And he had but little to say.
Worked hard through the livelong day;
He drove his awl and he snapt his thread
And he had but little to say.
He had but little to say
Except to a neighbor's child;
Three summers old she was, and her eyes
Had a look that was deep and wild.
Except to a neighbor's child;
Three summers old she was, and her eyes
Had a look that was deep and wild.
Her hair was heavy and brown
Like clouds in a starry night.
She came and sat by the cobbler's bench
And his soul was filled with delight.
Like clouds in a starry night.
She came and sat by the cobbler's bench
And his soul was filled with delight.
No kith nor kin had he
And he never went gadding about;
A strange, shy man, the people said;
They could not make him out.
And he never went gadding about;
A strange, shy man, the people said;
They could not make him out.
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And some of them shook their heads
And would never tell what they'd heard.
But he drove his awl and snapt his thread—
And he always kept his word;
And would never tell what they'd heard.
But he drove his awl and snapt his thread—
And he always kept his word;
And the little child that knew him
Better than all the rest,
She threw her arms around his neck
And went to sleep on his breast.
Better than all the rest,
She threw her arms around his neck
And went to sleep on his breast.
One day in that dreadful summer
When children died by the score,
John Carman glanced from his work and saw
Her mother there at the door.
When children died by the score,
John Carman glanced from his work and saw
Her mother there at the door.
He knew by the look on her face—
And his own turned deathly white;
He rose from his bench and followed her out
And watched by the child that night.
And his own turned deathly white;
He rose from his bench and followed her out
And watched by the child that night.
He tended her day and night;
He watched by her night and day.
He saw the cruel pain in her eyes;
He saw her lips turn gray.
He watched by her night and day.
He saw the cruel pain in her eyes;
He saw her lips turn gray.
II
The day that the child was buried
John Carman went back to his last,
And the neighbors said that for weeks and weeks
Not a word his clencht lips past.
John Carman went back to his last,
And the neighbors said that for weeks and weeks
Not a word his clencht lips past.
“He takes it hard,” they gossiped,
“Poor man, he's lacking in wit”;
“I'll drop in to-day,” said Deacon Gray,
“And comfort him up a bit.”
“Poor man, he's lacking in wit”;
“I'll drop in to-day,” said Deacon Gray,
“And comfort him up a bit.”
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So Deacon Gray dropt in
With a kind and neighborly air,
And before he left he knelt on the floor
And wrestled with God in prayer.
With a kind and neighborly air,
And before he left he knelt on the floor
And wrestled with God in prayer.
And he said: “O Lord, Thou hast stricken
This soul in its babyhood;
In Thy own way, we beseech and pray,
Bring forth from evil good.”
This soul in its babyhood;
In Thy own way, we beseech and pray,
Bring forth from evil good.”
III
That night the fire-bells rang
And the flames shot up to the sky,
And into the street as pale as a sheet
The town-folk flock and cry.
And the flames shot up to the sky,
And into the street as pale as a sheet
The town-folk flock and cry.
The bells ring loud and long,
The flames leap high and higher,
The rattling engines come too late—
The old First Church is on fire!
The flames leap high and higher,
The rattling engines come too late—
The old First Church is on fire!
And lo and behold in the crimson glare
They see John Carman stand—
A look of mirth on his iron lips
And a blazing torch in his hand.
They see John Carman stand—
A look of mirth on his iron lips
And a blazing torch in his hand.
“You say it was He who killed her”
(His voice had a fearful sound):
“I'd have you know, who love Him so,
I've burned His house to the ground.”
(His voice had a fearful sound):
“I'd have you know, who love Him so,
I've burned His house to the ground.”
John Carman died in prison,
In the madman's cell, they say;
And from his crime, that I've told in rhyme,
Heaven cleanse his soul, I pray.
In the madman's cell, they say;
And from his crime, that I've told in rhyme,
Heaven cleanse his soul, I pray.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |