Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life :: :: University of Virginia Library

There lay the hamlet, as of old, a print in Nature's book;
There ran the babbling waters of the ever-flowing brook;
And there, amid its neighbor trees, and pointing upward higher,
Stood the old parish meeting-house, and lifted up its spire.

Then passed before the pilgrim's view a vision of his youth,
When led within those sacred walls to hear of God and Truth;—
The pulpit, on its pedestal, with carvings quaint and rare;
The time-stained pews, devoid of paint, and ranged upon the square;
The wasps that would, with spring-time days, mysteriously come,
And flies that had a dusky look and sanctuary hum.

The good old Dominie aloft, with reverential look,
The open volume spread before,—that mighty folio book;
His moralizing sermon, and his matchless gift of prayer,
And sacerdotal robe of silk that graced his sacred air;
The canopy above his head, suspended by a hand,—
A point of wonder to the child, and speculation grand.

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The choir that in the gallery in solemn order stood,
Their venerable leader, half as musical as good;
His wooden pitch-pipe, dark with age, his beating motions queer,
Leading the old-time melodies of Dundee and of Mear;
And when his arm would slowly on through Windham's measures sweep,
The old would very solemn feel, and little sinners weep.

The congregation, old and young, were gathered there again:
The magistrate who kept a store, and shining Sunday cane;
The honest farmer, gray and old,—old-fashioned even then,
Who slept, and woke and stroked his queue, and went to sleep again;
The good-wife with her placid face set in a ruffled frill,
So redolent of piety, and caraway, and dill.

The youngster, awkward in his best, but comfortless, array,
With reddened face, and collar limp, a-sweating out the day;
The maiden blooming as the flower that tastefully she wore;
The pauper and the blackamoor together near the door;
While, unadmonished by the truths within the Gospel lines,
Some ne'er-do-well, in corner pew, was “cutting up his shines.”

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E'en the old dog, that knew full well whenever Sunday came,
And left off secular pursuits, and worriment of game,
To follow, like disciple meek, his goodly master there,
And calmly take his wonted place upon the pulpit stair;
And, ere he slept, would cast about in such a pious way
As said: You see a Christian dog that keeps the Sabbath day.

Where are they now? the pilgrim sighed,—the congregation dear,
That gathered in the former days to worship and to hear?
And, as he spoke, his vision fell where in the hazy light
“God's acre” lay in turfy mounds and monumental white;
No answer broke the stillness of the drowsy, dreamy air,
For answer none was needed well to tell him they were there