 | Farm ballads |  |
96
HOW JAMIE CAME HOME.
Come, Mother, set the kettle on,
An' put the ham an' eggs to fry!
Something to eat, old-fashioned-neat—
To please our Jamie's mouth and eye!
For he's our only son, you know;
The rest ha' perished, long ago!
And when he comes to us to-night,
His glad, blue eyes will sparkle bright,
His old, sweet smile will play right free,
His boyhood home once more to see.
An' put the ham an' eggs to fry!
Something to eat, old-fashioned-neat—
To please our Jamie's mouth and eye!
For he's our only son, you know;
The rest ha' perished, long ago!
And when he comes to us to-night,
His glad, blue eyes will sparkle bright,
His old, sweet smile will play right free,
His boyhood home once more to see.
I say for't! 'twas a lucky thing
That Jamie was not maimed or killed!
So many years, with pain an' tears,
With long an' bloody battles filled!
And many a night-time, dark an' drear,
We've lain within our cottage here,
And while the cold storm came an' went
We've thought of Jamie, in his tent;
And offered many a silent prayer,
That God would keep him in his care.
That Jamie was not maimed or killed!
So many years, with pain an' tears,
With long an' bloody battles filled!
And many a night-time, dark an' drear,
We've lain within our cottage here,
And while the cold storm came an' went
We've thought of Jamie, in his tent;
And offered many a silent prayer,
That God would keep him in his care.
I say for't! 'twas a lucky thing
That Jamie was not maimed or killed!
So many years, with hopes an' fears,
With dark, death-laden tidings filled!
And many a morning, full o' fear,
We've knelt around our fireside here,
And while we've thought of bleeding ones,
Of flashing steel and blazing guns,
We've prayed for him we sent out there,
Addressed in God's paternal care.
That Jamie was not maimed or killed!
So many years, with hopes an' fears,
With dark, death-laden tidings filled!
And many a morning, full o' fear,
We've knelt around our fireside here,
And while we've thought of bleeding ones,
Of flashing steel and blazing guns,
97
Addressed in God's paternal care.
Nay, Ada, daughter, come away;
Touch not a thing upon that shelf!
Mother, she knows where each dish goes:
Mother shall lay them all herself!
There's nothing, to the wanderer's taste,
Like food where mother's hand is traced;
There's nothing, to the wanderer's look,
Like food her cunning hand can cook.
Though good the sister's heart and will,
The mother's love is better still.
Touch not a thing upon that shelf!
Mother, she knows where each dish goes:
Mother shall lay them all herself!
There's nothing, to the wanderer's taste,
Like food where mother's hand is traced;
There's nothing, to the wanderer's look,
Like food her cunning hand can cook.
Though good the sister's heart and will,
The mother's love is better still.
Hark! there's his step!—he's coming now!
I thought—yes, there's the sound once more!
Now with glad feet and smiles, we'll greet
The truant, at our open door!
[OMITTED] It is a heavy step and tone;
And more—the lad is not alone!
Perhaps the company extends
To some of his old comrade-friends;
And who they be, or whence they came,
They shall be greeted all the same.
[OMITTED]
I thought—yes, there's the sound once more!
Now with glad feet and smiles, we'll greet
The truant, at our open door!
[OMITTED] It is a heavy step and tone;
And more—the lad is not alone!
Perhaps the company extends
To some of his old comrade-friends;
And who they be, or whence they came,
They shall be greeted all the same.
[OMITTED]
What bear ye on your shoulders, men?
Is it my Jamie, stark and dead?
What did you say? ... Once more, I pray.
I did not gather what you said.
What, drunk?—tell not that lie to me!
What, drunk? O God, it can not be!
It must not be my Jamie dear,
Lying in beast-like slumber here!
[OMITTED] It is—it is—as you have said.
Men, lay him on yon waiting bed.
Is it my Jamie, stark and dead?
What did you say? ... Once more, I pray.
I did not gather what you said.
What, drunk?—tell not that lie to me!
What, drunk? O God, it can not be!
It must not be my Jamie dear,
Lying in beast-like slumber here!
[OMITTED] It is—it is—as you have said.
Men, lay him on yon waiting bed.
98
'Tis Jamie—yes—a bearded man,
But bearing yet some boyhood's trace;
Stained with the ways of reckless days—
Flushed with night-revels—is his face;
Red with the fruits of reckless years;
Robbed of each look that e'er endears;
Robbed of each mark that e'er might make
Us cherish him for his own sake,
Except the heart-distressing one,
That Jamie is our only son!
But bearing yet some boyhood's trace;
Stained with the ways of reckless days—
Flushed with night-revels—is his face;
Red with the fruits of reckless years;
Robbed of each look that e'er endears;
Robbed of each mark that e'er might make
Us cherish him for his own sake,
Except the heart-distressing one,
That Jamie is our only son!
O Mother, take the kettle off,
And put the ham and eggs away!
What was my crime, and when the time,
That I should live to see this day?
For all the sighs I ever drew,
And all the tears I ever knew,
And all the bitter tears I shed
Above our children that are dead,
All care that ever creased my brow,
Are nought to what comes o'er me now!
And put the ham and eggs away!
What was my crime, and when the time,
That I should live to see this day?
For all the sighs I ever drew,
And all the tears I ever knew,
And all the bitter tears I shed
Above our children that are dead,
All care that ever creased my brow,
Are nought to what comes o'er me now!
I would to God that when the three
We lost were hidden from our view,
Jamie had died, and by their side
Had lain, all pure and stainless, too!
I would the sky might bend above
The grave of him we joyed to love,
Rather than that he living came
To bring this home disgrace and shame!
But, Mother—Ada—come this way,
And let us humbly kneel and pray.
We lost were hidden from our view,
Jamie had died, and by their side
Had lain, all pure and stainless, too!
I would the sky might bend above
The grave of him we joyed to love,
Rather than that he living came
To bring this home disgrace and shame!
But, Mother—Ada—come this way,
And let us humbly kneel and pray.
| Farm ballads | |