Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1875-04-08
POETRY
RY BENJAMIN f. TAYLOR.

he Psalm-BOOk iIfhe Garret.
BY BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR.
A earret grows human thing
With lonely oriental eyes,
To whom confiding fingers bring
The world in yesterdays disguise.
All richer far than noontide blaze
The soft grey silence of the air,
As if long wears of ended days
Had gathered all their twilight there.
The heart can see so clear and far
In such place with such light
God counts His heavens star by star,
And rains them down unclouded night'
Where rafters set their cobwebb'd feet
Upon the rugged oaken ledge,
I found flock Of singers sweet,
Like snow-bound sparrowsin hedge.
In silk of spiders spinning hid,
A long and narrow Psalm-book lay;
Iwrote name upon the lid,
Then brushed the idle dust away.
All. dotted tribe with ebon heads
That climb the slender fence along!
As black as ink, as thick as weeds,
Ye little africans of sound.
Who wrote upon this page Forget
Me Not?" These cruel leaves of old
Have crushed to death violet
See here its specter's paliid gold.
A penciled whisper during prayer
is that poor dim and girlish word,
But ah, 1 linger longest where
1t opens of its own accord. =
[baske(
These spotted leavesl How they onc'
Beneath the glance of girlhood's eyes,
And parted to the gaze unasked,
As spread the wings Of butterflies.
The book falls open where it will
Broad on the page runs Silver Street.
That shining way to lions Hill
Where base and treble used to meet
I shake the leaves. They part at Mear-s
Again they strike the good old tune;
The village church is builded here;
The twilight turns to afternoon.
Old house of Puritanic wood, Lex
Thro' whose unpainted windows stream
On seats as primitive and rude
As Jacobs pillow when he dreamed.
The white and undiluted day.
Thy naked aisle no roses grace
That blossomed at the shuttle's play;
Nor saints distempered bless the place.
Like feudnl castles, front to front,
In timbered oak of Saxon Thor,
Tobrave the siege and bear the brunt
OF Bunyans endless Holy War,
hear the reverend Elder say,
"Hymn fifty-first, long meter, sing"
I hear-the Psalm-books' f1uttered play
Like fiocks of sparrows taking wing.
Armed with fork to pitch the tune,
hear the Deacon call ''Dundee?"
And mount as brisk as Bonny Doom
His '.fa, sol, la, and scent the key.
He ''trees" the note for sister Gray;
The old Scotch warbling strains begin
The base of Bashan leads the way;
And all the girls fall sweetly in.
How swells the hymn of heavenly love,
As rise the tides in Funday's Bay!
Till all the air below, above,
Is sweet with song and oaraway!
A fugue let loose cheers up the place
With base aid tenor, alto, air;
Il y, II
And something sweet is everywhere,
Asif some warbling brood should build
OF bits of tunes a singing nest,
Each bringing that with which it thrilled
And weaving it with all the rest
The congregation rise and stand:
Old Hundreds rolling thunder comes
In heavy surges, slow and grand,
As beats the surf its solemn drums.
Now come the times when China's wall
Is blended with the faint perfume
OF whispering Grape and cloudy veil,
That fold within their rustling gloom
Some wounded human mourning dove,
And fall around some stricken one
With nothing left alive to love
,Belowth nnregarded sun.
And now they sing star in sight,
The blessed Star of Bethlehem;
And now the air is royal bright
With Coronaiion's diadem.
They show me spots of dimpled sod,
They say the girls of old are there
Oh, no, they swell the choirs of God;
The dear old Songs are everywhere:
= -SCRIBNER for April.