University of Virginia Library


17

THE WIFE'S ANSWER.

I've listened, Geordie, to all thou's said, and now that thou's had thy say
I can but tell thee it's far the best of my hearing this many a day;
Though many a look thou's given to me, and many a word thou's said,
I was pleased enough to get and to hear both before and since we were wed.
Thou wast never much of a one for talk, and I reckon there's little need
Of a vast of words between two folks that are always well agreed;
Yet many a talk we've had to ourselves, just sitting here by the fire,
But never a one that's been so much to my heart's content and desire.

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For if thou could'st take a look in my heart, and read from it line by line,
As one reads from out of a printed book, it would be like this talk of thine;
For I've got a word, a word in my heart, that's made it both glad and sore,
And ye'll wonder to hear me talk like this, that's never talked so before.
For though I've gone both to chapel and church, and I've minded what I've heard said,
Yet so many things all the sermon through would come in and out of my head;
It might be the bairns, or it might be thee, or what we're to get to eat,
Or what we're to get to wear, or how I'd to manage to make ends meet,
That I've thought, when I've seen the minister stand and give out a beautiful text,
And tell us we're not to take heed for this life, but to give all our minds to the next;

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It's easier said than it's done for me, what with waur-day work to do,
And so many folks just with waur-day talk dropping in all the Sunday through.
But now my mind's got another turn, and I see all as clear as glass,
And I've given my heart to the chief concern, and how it has come to pass
I'll tell thee now that we've once begun—it was all through our little lass.
For “Mother,” says she, as she and I were going one night up-stairs,
“Amn't I old enough,” she says, “to give up saying my prayers?
For I've been seven such a long time now, I think I'll be eight very soon,
And it's long since I've had a knife and a fork, and given over using a spoon.”
“Why, what dost thou mean by such talk?” I said, and she turns on me her eyes,
And gives me a look quite innocent, and yet as wise as wise;

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“Why, mother,” she says, “there's a lot of things, like saying ‘I will’ and ‘I won't,’
That children are always bid to mind, and that bigger people don't.
“And brothers, when they were as young as me, wore their little frocks instead
Of coats and trousers, and little ones are sent oft soon to bed,
And set to learn our AB abs, and I thought that saying one's prayers
Was just like these, for I never see any grown-up folks say theirs.”
“O bairn,” I said, “have done with thy talk,” for each word was like a knife;
“Of lessons, thou's given thy mother one that'll last her all her life;”
And I knelt down beside her little bed, and all that I could say
Was just “Our Father, Who art in Heaven,” and “Lord, teach me how to pray.”

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“And pardon,” I said, “a sinner's heart, that comes to Thee on her knees,
And pardon her ways that's been blind so long that it's only now she sees;
And pardon,” I said, “a sinner's life, and give her Thy grace to mend,
And be Thou to me, and be Thou to mine, a Saviour and a Friend.”
It's been on my mind to tell thee this, but I thought thou'd think it strange;
Thou's always got thy own ideas, and thou's not one given to change,
And I thought I'd just hold my peace and wait, for it's little a woman can
Do at her best, let her do her best, without the help of her man.
It isn't for me to be leadin' thee, but now that thou's taken a start,
We'll go together, for didn't we say the words “Until death us part?

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It'll never part us now, Geordie, for we're seeking the blessed land,
Thou and me and the canny bairns, and we're seeking it hand in hand!
 

This was really said by a little girl to her mother.