Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees in the church yard Bowed down their summits of green, and the grass on the graves 'gan to shiver. But in the children, (I noted it well; I knew it) there ran a Tremor of holy rapture along through their icy-cold members. Decked like an altar before them, there stood the green earth, and above it Heaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen; they saw there gold clouds Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their pinions of purple. Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven in their hearts and their faces, Uprose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely, Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed he Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands full of blessings, Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent tresses. MISCELLANEOUS. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow, You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, And children coming home from school They love to see the flaming forge, And catch the burning sparks that fly He goes on Sunday to the church, He hears the parson pray and preach, And it makes his heart rejoice: It sounds to him like her mother's voice, He needs must think of her once more, And with his hard, rough hand he wipes Toiling, rejoicing,-sorrowing, Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, Each burning deed and thought! |