St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1880-01-16
Failure.

(From the Poems of Charles Quietl
Come, John, sit down by me; it frets my soul
To see you walking up and down the room.
The thud of your slow feet is like the fall
Of clouds into grave. can not bear
To see that head that never stopped before,
Bowed on your breast in fearless agony
1t maddens me- for well know you feel
The deep disgrace of rearing drunken sons
More than the grief of losing.
Oh, the glorious strength
OF manhood. that can find no room for grief
For very pride of heartl Oh, selfish men!
What do you know of woman? In her two-fold
lite
The mother learns a deeper mystery
Of pain and pleasure. In her child she lives,
And suffers, and is happy. She can feel
The joy and grief-thrObs of its little heart
In her responsive breast. The child is but
A little of herself-the good is hers,
And even the very worst her secret heart
Owns for its own and covers with veil of pallia-
ton.
Oh my wayward boy my erring lost one!
Yes-l will be calm
Your voice could always calm me. You can tell
How many years since you have held me thus
So long since you were young9 To me the past
Is but yesterday. 1 could believe
1t was last week we sat talking thus
With our one boy-your pride, my all in all
Growing and tossing up his small, fat hands
In awkward baby grace upon our laps
Have you forgotten, John, that summers night
When were wondering what his life would be
When he grew upl And how you proudly said
hot dox- he
But said loved best to think him still
a little baby, Nesting his small head
Close to my breast and looking up to mine
With pleading eyes for comfort in his pain.
And then you laughed and told me would spoil
The boy with petting. All, John, who spoiled
mOst2
You with your noble sternness, sparing not
Your heart nor his to force him to grow up
Strait-trunked and fruitful, like yourself; or 1,
Twining my love about him like a vine,
To hide his rugged branches with green leavesf
know we both were wrong; but you the most,
For you forgot that to the little shoot
God whispers how to grow; the husbandman
But loosens the hard soil, pulls out the weeds,
And gives its growth free way. You tried to raise
An oak from young thOrn-my woman's eyes
Softened its fibers with too many rains.
We could do better John, if God had pleased
To trust us to bring up another son.
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And shall never see nv boy again7
1 cannot think of never" Shall to-day
Succeed to Yesterday. and Yesterday
Glide backward to last year; the years grow old,
And each in passing leaves n few qrav hairs
And a new qriefmark till nv head is white
Aud INV foca sson,a5 ond roly shall NV strengtb
Oozs ont a grain n dav till nv liqht stem
! Becomes feeble bobble9 Shall still
| Live on and on and nm and die at last
| OF utter uselesspess. and until death
Still yearn and yearn and never see him onceY
| o God, cannot bear it!
|
Leu me goi
LOU oanno' oollior' me WIN scripture 'eA's'
MOI MAKE me say 'na' II Is oe''er So