The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith ... Revised by the Author: Coll. ed. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
MRS. COVENTRY
Whisht! John; why should you aye complain
Of trade and profits being bad,
And cry about your little gain,
And moan at every loss you've had?
You have more money than you know
What to do with, man. God has blessed
Your labour, and you ought to show
His bounty has not been misplaced.
Of trade and profits being bad,
And cry about your little gain,
And moan at every loss you've had?
You have more money than you know
What to do with, man. God has blessed
Your labour, and you ought to show
His bounty has not been misplaced.
332
Sometimes I almost pity Him,
Sometimes I'm clean ashamed to pray,
Seeing our cup filled to the brim,
And so much goodness thrown away!
It must be hard to bear, I think,
To be replenishing folk's store
With wealth of clothes and meat and drink,
And hear them crying still for more.
Sometimes I'm clean ashamed to pray,
Seeing our cup filled to the brim,
And so much goodness thrown away!
It must be hard to bear, I think,
To be replenishing folk's store
With wealth of clothes and meat and drink,
And hear them crying still for more.
It's easier learning how to win,
Than how to use, wealth as we should:
And though we gain it without sin,
It's sin to have, and do no good
With what we have; and, what is worse,
It eats the heart like rust or rot:
Think, now, if there should be a curse
Wrapt up in every hoarded note.
Than how to use, wealth as we should:
And though we gain it without sin,
It's sin to have, and do no good
With what we have; and, what is worse,
It eats the heart like rust or rot:
Think, now, if there should be a curse
Wrapt up in every hoarded note.
When we were young, John, we were poor,
And yet we were far richer then;
We sent no beggar from the door,
Nor grudged the wage of working men:
We had enough, and some to spare
For them that were worse off than we;
And there was sunshine in the air
Each night when you came home to me.
And yet we were far richer then;
We sent no beggar from the door,
Nor grudged the wage of working men:
We had enough, and some to spare
For them that were worse off than we;
And there was sunshine in the air
Each night when you came home to me.
But now the pocket's buttoned up,
The beggar comes not to our door,
He knows there's neither bite nor sup
For tramps, as used to be before:
Ah well! maybe they're mostly rogues:
There were rogues too when we were young,
Yet none were driven away like dogs;
And even tramps' hearts may be wrung.
The beggar comes not to our door,
He knows there's neither bite nor sup
For tramps, as used to be before:
Ah well! maybe they're mostly rogues:
There were rogues too when we were young,
Yet none were driven away like dogs;
And even tramps' hearts may be wrung.
There's none will speak to you as I
Am free to do, who love you best:
I dare not flatter you, and lie
With a false heart upon your breast.
And, O John, but your wealth has made
A hard bit on that breast for me,
That does not give an easy head,
And is not as it used to be.
Am free to do, who love you best:
I dare not flatter you, and lie
With a false heart upon your breast.
And, O John, but your wealth has made
A hard bit on that breast for me,
That does not give an easy head,
And is not as it used to be.
O ay! you give me all I need,
And more than all I care to get
For gowns and gawds, and meat to feed
Us all, and ne'er to be in debt;
There's plenty on ourselves to spend,
E'en more, I think, than's good for health;
But, think ye, was that God's chief end
In giving you that heap of wealth?
And more than all I care to get
For gowns and gawds, and meat to feed
Us all, and ne'er to be in debt;
There's plenty on ourselves to spend,
E'en more, I think, than's good for health;
But, think ye, was that God's chief end
In giving you that heap of wealth?
I've heard you say it's hard to find
Investments safe—and thought that odd:
But here is one just to your mind,
A good investment, John, with God:
They never lose who lend to Him,
They get good interest, indeed;
And that poor man who broke his limb,
Has five wee, helpless bairns to feed.
Investments safe—and thought that odd:
But here is one just to your mind,
A good investment, John, with God:
They never lose who lend to Him,
They get good interest, indeed;
And that poor man who broke his limb,
Has five wee, helpless bairns to feed.
Nay do not grudge it, man: God loves
A cheerful giver: e'en be glad
That you can help the bonnie doves
Left hungry there at home and sad—
There; take it back; I want to get
A blessing for you, John, from heaven;
But they who grudge to pay their debt
To God, shall find no blessing given.
A cheerful giver: e'en be glad
That you can help the bonnie doves
Left hungry there at home and sad—
There; take it back; I want to get
A blessing for you, John, from heaven;
But they who grudge to pay their debt
To God, shall find no blessing given.
We have no bairns at our fireside;
God would not send His children here
To folk whose hearts are full of pride,
And set on hoarding worldly gear.
They'd only learn, what makes them worse,
To hanker for the gold they see:—
No; this is not a house to nurse
God's little ones, as they should be.
God would not send His children here
To folk whose hearts are full of pride,
And set on hoarding worldly gear.
They'd only learn, what makes them worse,
To hanker for the gold they see:—
No; this is not a house to nurse
God's little ones, as they should be.
And who's to heir it all, since we
Are childless? Is it not a sin
To leave a fruitful legacy
Of quarrels to the next of kin,
When we could gladden many a home,
And brighten many a sunless life,
And lift up for the days to come,
Maybe, some hapless child or wife?
Are childless? Is it not a sin
To leave a fruitful legacy
Of quarrels to the next of kin,
When we could gladden many a home,
And brighten many a sunless life,
And lift up for the days to come,
Maybe, some hapless child or wife?
333
How freely, John, we used to give
To every holy cause and good,
When it was hard enough to live,
For then you would do as you should;
The Kirk was never then forgot,
You never did neglect the poor,
You pitied too the sick man's lot,
And sought his comfort and his cure.
To every holy cause and good,
When it was hard enough to live,
For then you would do as you should;
The Kirk was never then forgot,
You never did neglect the poor,
You pitied too the sick man's lot,
And sought his comfort and his cure.
Yet then your mite was more to you
Than is your five-pound note to-day,
For there was something you must do
Without, to give the mite away;
You wore the old coat for a time,
That some one might get warmth from you;
And I—I thought the old coat sublime,
Because the heart beneath was true.
Than is your five-pound note to-day,
For there was something you must do
Without, to give the mite away;
You wore the old coat for a time,
That some one might get warmth from you;
And I—I thought the old coat sublime,
Because the heart beneath was true.
O John, this big house, and the host
Of lazy servants, full of meat,
And carriages and horses cost
The poor what they have need to eat:
And cost you too; you used to speak
Of books, and made me blythe and gay,
But now it's funds through all the week,
And markets even on Sabbath day.
Of lazy servants, full of meat,
And carriages and horses cost
The poor what they have need to eat:
And cost you too; you used to speak
Of books, and made me blythe and gay,
But now it's funds through all the week,
And markets even on Sabbath day.
And you must buy a fine estate,
And shoot your rabbits and your hares,
And dine and visit with the great,
And sometimes even put on their airs,
And send your poachers to the gaol,
And set your keepers o'er the fish:—
O man, can ye forget how well
Ye liked to catch a dainty dish?
And shoot your rabbits and your hares,
And dine and visit with the great,
And sometimes even put on their airs,
And send your poachers to the gaol,
And set your keepers o'er the fish:—
O man, can ye forget how well
Ye liked to catch a dainty dish?
That's a braw greenhouse; and it's true
I like the bonnie flowers; but yet
You made me happier, John, when you
Brought me the box of mignonette.
The greenhouse speaks to me of gold,
And it may bide, or may depart;
But still I keep the box that told
About the kind and thoughtful heart.
I like the bonnie flowers; but yet
You made me happier, John, when you
Brought me the box of mignonette.
The greenhouse speaks to me of gold,
And it may bide, or may depart;
But still I keep the box that told
About the kind and thoughtful heart.
O man, let 'Change and Market be!
Let others get their turn; and come,
Just think how pleasant 'twere to see
Once more the old sweet kindly home,
To read together in the mirk,
Together mercy to invoke,
To walk together to the Kirk,
And do some good to other folk.
Let others get their turn; and come,
Just think how pleasant 'twere to see
Once more the old sweet kindly home,
To read together in the mirk,
Together mercy to invoke,
To walk together to the Kirk,
And do some good to other folk.
I'm weary of this grand display,
And hearing of the rise and fall
Of prices; would I were away
From ships and yarns and funds and all:
Oh, if the Lord would only take,
And lift our hearts to things above!
Or else some bank, perhaps, would break
And leave us nought but health and love?
And hearing of the rise and fall
Of prices; would I were away
From ships and yarns and funds and all:
Oh, if the Lord would only take,
And lift our hearts to things above!
Or else some bank, perhaps, would break
And leave us nought but health and love?
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |