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THE FESTIVAL OF REUNION;
OR, THE GOLDEN WEDDING.
Wake up, wife!—the black cloak of Night begins to fade,
And far in the east The Morning his kitchen fire has made;
And he is heating red-hot his stove of iron-gray,
And stars are winking and blinking before the light o' day.
And far in the east The Morning his kitchen fire has made;
And he is heating red-hot his stove of iron-gray,
And stars are winking and blinking before the light o' day.
Mind you what I was doin', just fifty years agone?—
Brushing my Sunday raiment an' puttin' my best looks on;
Clothin' myself in courage, so none my fright would see;
An' my coward heart within, the while, was pounding to get free!
Brushing my Sunday raiment an' puttin' my best looks on;
Clothin' myself in courage, so none my fright would see;
An' my coward heart within, the while, was pounding to get free!
Ten mile wood an' bramble, and three mile field an' dew,
In the cold smile of morning, I walked, to marry you;
No horse had I but my wishes—no pilot but a star;
But my boyish heart it fancied it heard you from afar!
In the cold smile of morning, I walked, to marry you;
No horse had I but my wishes—no pilot but a star;
But my boyish heart it fancied it heard you from afar!
So through the woods I hurried, an' through the grass an' dew,
An' little I thought o' tiring, the whole of my journey through;
Things ne'er before nor after do so a man rejoice,
As on the day he marries the woman of his choice!
An' little I thought o' tiring, the whole of my journey through;
Things ne'er before nor after do so a man rejoice,
As on the day he marries the woman of his choice!
And then our country wedding—brimful o' grief an' glee,
With every one a-pettin' an' jokin' you an' me;
The good cheer went and came, wife, as it sometimes has done
When clouds have chased each other across the Summer sun.
With every one a-pettin' an' jokin' you an' me;
The good cheer went and came, wife, as it sometimes has done
When clouds have chased each other across the Summer sun.
There was your good old father, dressed up in weddin' shape,
With all the homespun finery that he could rake an' scrape;
And your dear-hearted mother, the sunlight of whose smile
Shone through the showers of tear-drops that stormed her face the while;
With all the homespun finery that he could rake an' scrape;
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Shone through the showers of tear-drops that stormed her face the while;
Also your sisters an' brothers, who hardly seemed to know
How they could scare up courage to let their sister go;
An' cousins an' school-house comrades, dressed up in meetin' trim,
With one of them a-sulkin' because it wasn't him;
How they could scare up courage to let their sister go;
An' cousins an' school-house comrades, dressed up in meetin' trim,
With one of them a-sulkin' because it wasn't him;
An' there was the good old parson, his neck all dressed in white,
A bunch o' texts in his left eye, a hymn-book in his right;
And the parson's virgin daughter, plain an' severely pure,
Who hoped we should be happy, but wasn't exactly sure;
A bunch o' texts in his left eye, a hymn-book in his right;
And the parson's virgin daughter, plain an' severely pure,
Who hoped we should be happy, but wasn't exactly sure;
And there was the victuals, seasoned with kind regards an' love,
And holly-wreaths with breastpins of rubies, up above;
An' there was my heart a-wonderin' as how such things could be,
And there was the world before us, and there was you and me.
And holly-wreaths with breastpins of rubies, up above;
An' there was my heart a-wonderin' as how such things could be,
And there was the world before us, and there was you and me.
Wake up, wife! that gold bird, the Sun, has come in sight,
And on a tree-top perches to take his daily flight!
He is not old and feeble; an' he will sail away,
As he has done so often since fifty years to-day.
And on a tree-top perches to take his daily flight!
He is not old and feeble; an' he will sail away,
As he has done so often since fifty years to-day.
You know there's company coming—our daughters an' our sons:
There's John, and James, and Lucy, an' all their little ones;
And Jennie, she will be here, who in her grave doth lie
(Provided company ever can come from out the sky);
There's John, and James, and Lucy, an' all their little ones;
And Jennie, she will be here, who in her grave doth lie
(Provided company ever can come from out the sky);
And Sam—I am not certain as he will come, or not;
They say he is a black sheep—the wildest of the lot.
Before a son's dishonor, a father's love stands dumb;
But still, somehow or other, I hope that Sam will come!
They say he is a black sheep—the wildest of the lot.
Before a son's dishonor, a father's love stands dumb;
But still, somehow or other, I hope that Sam will come!
The tree bends down its branches to its children from above—
The son is lord of the father, and rules him with his love;
And he will e'er be longed for, though far they be apart,
For the drop of blood he carries, that came from the father's heart.
The son is lord of the father, and rules him with his love;
And he will e'er be longed for, though far they be apart,
For the drop of blood he carries, that came from the father's heart.
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Wake you, wife! the loud sun has roused the sweet Daylight,
And she has dressed herself up in red and yellow and white;
She has dressed herself for us, wife—for our weddin'-day once more—
And my soul to-day is younger than ever it was before!
And she has dressed herself up in red and yellow and white;
She has dressed herself for us, wife—for our weddin'-day once more—
And my soul to-day is younger than ever it was before!
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