Flower Pieces and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Twas nigh the hour of evening pray'r;
The Sexton climb'd his turret-stair,
Wearily, being very old.
The wind of Spring blew fresh and cold,
Wakening there Æolian thrills,
And carrying fragrance from the hills.

Through a carven cleft he lean'd,
Eyeing the landscape newly green'd;
The large sun, slowly moving down,
Flush'd the chimneys of the town,—
The same where he was first alive
Eighty years ago and five.

Babe he sees himself, and boy;
Youth, astir with hope and joy;
Wife and wedded love he sees;
Children's children round his knees;
Friends departing one by one;
The graveyard in the setting sun.

He seats him in a stony niche;
The bell-rope sways within his reach;
High in the rafters of the roof
The metal warder hangs aloof;
All the townsfolk wait to hear
That voice they know this many a year.

150

It is past the ringing hour;
There is silence in the tower;
Save that on a pinnacle
A robin sits, and sings full well.
Hush—at length for prayer they toll
God receive the parted soul!