Bill and I Went Fishing
Bill and I went fishing. Quit our beds at four,
Got a hasty breakfast and softly closed the door,
Packed the bait and tackle, pushed the boat away,
Took the oars and started—without a word to say.
Lake was smooth as crystal, sun was breaking through
With a blaze of glory—old, but always new;
Bill and I both watched it, grateful for the day,
Spellbound by the beauty—but not a word to say.
Threw the anchor over, started in to fish,
Heard the reels a-clicking, heard the wet lines swish,
Now and then we'd get one big enough to play,
Sport and plenty of it—but not a word to say.
Bill was busy dreaming, I was thinking, too,
Lazy-like and wondering what makes skies so blue;
Puffed our pipes in silence, let our minds just stray
'Round and 'round about us—but not a word to say.
Got back home that evening, happy as could be,
I was proud of William, he was proud of me,
Just the pal for fishing. Here's the common touch—
Said it of each other—"Never talks too much."
Easter
They found the great stone rolled away
And Him whom men had crucified,
With cruel spears had pierced His side
And mocked with jests and gibes that day,
Gone from the darkness and the gloom
Of Death's grim tomb.
Where He had slept in Death's embrace
The linen of His shroud was piled,
And white-robed angels gently smiled
And bade them walk into the place.
"The Lord is risen!" to them they said,
"He is not dead."