The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1880-03-03
SELLING THE FARM.
BY BETH DAY.


THE following poem. after the style OF VIII
Carietons farm ballads, Is one Of the best pieces
OF the kind that has yet been written.-Ed Infer
Ocean.
Well, why don't you say 1t, husband: know
what you want to say;
You want to talk about selling the farm, for the
mortgage we cannot pay.
i khoo that we cannot pay for IT, have thought
fit DER and oer;
For the wheat has failed. on the corner lot, where
wheat never failed before.
And everything here's. gone backward since WI
lie went of to sea,
To pay the mortgage and save the farm, the home
stead, for you and me.
knor 1t was best to give it; it was right that the
debts be paid,
The debts that thoughtlIss willie, in the hours
OF his weakness, made;
And Win would have paid 1t fairly, you know it
as well as l,
1.-THE ship had not gone down that night when
no other ship was nigh.
But, somehow, didn't quit hoping. and ever I've
tried too pray
(But know If our VIII was alive on earth he'd
surely been here to-day.
thought that the mercIful Father would some
how, care for the lad,
Because he was trying to better the past, and be-
cause he was all we had.
But now am well nigh hopeless, since hope for
my boy has fed,
For selling the farm means giving him up. and
knowing for sure he's dead.
Oh. Thomas, how cen we leave it, the home we
have always known:
We won it away from the forest, and made it so
much our own.
First day We kept house together was the day that
you brought Inc here;
And no ether place in the wide, wide world VIII
ever be half so dear.
ofcourse you remember it, lThomas--I need not
ask you, know,
For this is the month, and this is the day-it was
twenty-six years ago.
And don't you remember it, Thomas, the winter
the barn was made:
How were so proud and happy, for all cur
debts were paid
The crops were good that summer, and every thing
worked Ike n charm,
And We felt so rich and contented to think We had
paid fJr.the farm.
And now to think we must leave It, .whes here
was hoping to die,
1t seems asst was breaking my heart, but the
fount Of my tears is dry.
There's a man up there in the village that's want
ing 10 buy. you say;
Well, Thomas, he'll have to have it, but why Goes
he come to-day:
Bat there. it is wrong to greye You, Tor yeu have
enough TO bear.
And in all Of our petty troubles you always have
borne your share
am but a sorry helpmeet since have so childish
grown.
There, there 20 on to the village, let ne have it
cut alone.
Poor Thomas he's growing feeble, he steps 50
weary and slow,
There is not much in his looks to-day like twenty
six years ago;
But know that his heart is youthful, as It was
when we first were wed.
and his love is as strong as ever for me, and for
Willie, our boy that's dead.
Oh, Willie, my baby Willie, never shall see him
more;
never ieotsteps as he comes through
the open door.
"HOw are you dear little mother?'' we're always
the words he'd say;
Ii seems as il would give the world 10 hear 1t
again to-day.
/ knew when my boy was coming, Fbe It ever so
early or late;
He was always a-whistling Home, Sweet Home, +"
as he opened the garden gate.
And many and many a moment, since the night
that the ship went down,
Have started up at a whistle like his, out there
on the road from town;
And In many night OF sorrow, in the silence.
early and late,
Have held my breath al foOtstep that seemed
tspause at the gate.
I hope that he cannot see Us, wherever HE soul
may be;
Ii would grieye him % know the irsEble that's
come to father and NE.
Out there Is the tree he planted the day he wa
twelve years old
The sunlight is giinting through It, and turning
its leaves TO gold;
And oflen when Il was lonely and no one.near at
hand,
have talked to it hours together-as If It could
understand
And sometimes l used to fancy, whenever / spoke
ofmy boy,
Ii Was waving its leaves together. like elappln
its hands for JOY.
1t may be the man that viii own it, that's coming
to buy to-day,
VIII be chopping it down, or digging Il up and
burning 1; out Of the way.
And there are the pansies yonder. and the roses
he helped to tend
Why. every bush on the dear old place is as dear
as tried old friend.
and now we must 20 and leave thern-bu; there
they have come from town;
haven't had time to smooth my hair, or even 70
change my gown.
can see them both quite plainly. although it Is
getting late
And the strangers a vhistling r"Home- Sweet
Home" as he comes up from the gate.
ri 90 out into the kitchen now. sor don't want
10 look on his face.
What right has he to be wlss;ling fsai, unless he
has bought'the place
Why, can that be Thomas coming he usu ally
steps SO slow;
There's something come INTO his footsteps Ike
tveuty-siK years ago.
There's something tina; sounds Ii Ike glaiDess. and
the mAr tha; he used TO he
Before our Willie weot out from home 10 die On
the stormy sea-
What Thomas, Why are yuu smiling aDd hold |
ing my hands 30 tight
md why don't yoa tell ne quickly-mus; We go |
from the farm tonight
What's that: You bring me ;idings, and It'd ings
OF wonderful i9y;-
I canno, be very pious, unless It is news Of ny |
boy.
Jh. Thomas. You cannot mean IT. Here. lei rne |
look in yeur face.
Vow, tell ne again il is Willie that's wanting TO
bay the place.