'Twas early yet, and, as they were proceeding,
On some poor widow they'd arranged to call,
To give her heart the comfort she was needing,
Whose open bible was her hope, her all;
And Dora in her basket bore a shawl,
A gift from Ma to the disabled dame,
Together with some stockings and a ball
Of worsted. To the cottage gate they came,
And, doubtless, reader, you have often done the same.
XXXVII.
They knocked, then pressed the latch and entered. There
Her grandchild sat; oh, she was sweet to see!
Her cheek was bright, and fairer than the fair,
Each tress the sungleam shimmering o'er the sea;
An open bible lay upon her knee,
She had been reading from the volume old
In meek and innocent simplicity,
And tinging all things earthly with the gold
The calmer, holier radiance of that other fold.
XXXVIII.
“I will be with you even unto death.”
“Come unto Me and I will give you rest.”
“I, even I, am He that comforteth.”
What words are these! how beautiful, how blest!
And Granny, as she listened, fondly pressed
Her darling's little hand, did she not bring
Sweet consolation to her agéd breast
When th' sun of life was low—towards evening,
And life's fast fleeting pleasures, all had taken wing?
XXXIX.
But dim were Granny's glasses with a tear
While listening to that voice so soft, so low,
Oh! what upon this weary earth so dear?
Oh! what so cherished as that smile below?
The depth of human fondness who can know?
She dried her tears, imprinting a slow kiss
Upon her beauty's cheek, she loved her so,
Oh! what more tender, more sublime than this?
Beside that hearth there reigned such still, such sacred bliss.
XL.
Our visitors had entered. Granny seemed
Right down delighted that they should have come,
For from her eyes a nameless pleasure beamed,
Which seemed of all delights to be the sum;
She tried to make them cosy interdum,
And to their kind enquiries she replied,
“I'm bonny in my way, I thank you, Mum,
And how's yourselves and those at home beside?”
Then to them several little matters did confide.
XLI.