 | The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey |  |
The staff and stay of all the house was gone,
And evil days came darkly hurrying on;
And yet with all the energy of love—
A widowed mother's!—that lone woman strove
(The poor have little leisure for their grief)
To feed her little ones without relief
Of parish pittance. “He would grieve,” she thought,
“To know his wofe and babes so low were brought.
The hand is cold that toiled for us, 'tis true;
But I can still work hard; and Jemmy too
Grows helpful, and he'll earn a trifle soon
T'ward his own keep. The cottage is our own.
And for the garden . . . I can dig there now,
Though not like him indeed. And then our cow—”
But then she stopt and sighed. Alas! she knew
There was a heavy debt, contracted too
To a hard creditor, of whom 'twas known
That he severely reckoned for his own.
“But then,” thought she, “it may not all be true
Folks tell of him; and when I humbly sue
Only for patience—for a longer day,
He will not take my children's bread away.”
Thou hadst to learn sad truth, poor simple one!
How ten times harder than the hard flint stone
That human heart may be whose god is gold.
The prayer was spurned—the widow's cow was sold.
That stroke fell heavy, but it crushed not quite
The noble spirit that still kept in sight
Its faithful purpose. “All's not gone,” she said;
“Their father's words upon his dying bed
Were—‘Phoebe, keep them from the workhouse walls
Whilst thou hast strength. There's not a sparrow falls
But One above takes note thereof; and He
Will not forsake thy little ones and thee.’”
And evil days came darkly hurrying on;
And yet with all the energy of love—
A widowed mother's!—that lone woman strove
(The poor have little leisure for their grief)
To feed her little ones without relief
Of parish pittance. “He would grieve,” she thought,
“To know his wofe and babes so low were brought.
The hand is cold that toiled for us, 'tis true;
But I can still work hard; and Jemmy too
Grows helpful, and he'll earn a trifle soon
T'ward his own keep. The cottage is our own.
And for the garden . . . I can dig there now,
Though not like him indeed. And then our cow—”
But then she stopt and sighed. Alas! she knew
There was a heavy debt, contracted too
To a hard creditor, of whom 'twas known
That he severely reckoned for his own.
“But then,” thought she, “it may not all be true
Folks tell of him; and when I humbly sue
Only for patience—for a longer day,
He will not take my children's bread away.”
Thou hadst to learn sad truth, poor simple one!
How ten times harder than the hard flint stone
That human heart may be whose god is gold.
The prayer was spurned—the widow's cow was sold.
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The noble spirit that still kept in sight
Its faithful purpose. “All's not gone,” she said;
“Their father's words upon his dying bed
Were—‘Phoebe, keep them from the workhouse walls
Whilst thou hast strength. There's not a sparrow falls
But One above takes note thereof; and He
Will not forsake thy little ones and thee.’”
| The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey | |