CARAWAY.
PAST the lavender-bed and the parsley,
Close to the wall where the sweet-brier
blows,
Green grows the caraway Grandma planted,
Though scarce one lover to-day it knows.
When dear old Grandma her "meetin' bun-
nit"
Had carefully tied, on the Sabbath Day,
She always put in her best-gown pocket
A generous handful of caraway.
For the dear old soul would grow a-weary
To sit so long in the cushionless pew;
And oft the parson's doctrinal sermon
Would trouble her tender feelings too
And when she had heard so much "election"
That her heart for the others began to bleed,
[Original]
She sensed the better God's love behind it
By eating a bit of her "meetin' seed."
Solemn and mild upraised to the parson
Was her dear old face on the Sabbath Day;
She drank the sweet there was in the sermon
—The bitter she flavored with caraway.
Though caraway is not fair to look at,
Though you may not fancy its taste indeed,
Yet still it shall grow there down in the garden
Because it was Grandma's "meetin' seed."