The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1885-01-17
The Old Farm Barn.
earest gifts to all that live,

The dearest gifts to all that live,
Are the quiet joys our memories give.
The future we know not but safe is the past;
And the first we loved we love to the last.
The image undimmed, we hold it more dear,
AS the days disappoint us from year to year.
The joy long gone, though never so small,
Compared with joys present. is worth them all.
What we thought would be substance, arrived
tits shade,
And too late is learned the mistake we have made
So it comes my heart has rainy day
In the old farm barn, with the children at play.
The naples look on with bright eyes in their leaves
The clear drops drip from the swallow built caves
The chickens find SHELTER the csterns fill
There's buster whirr from the wheels of the mill
The pond is all dimples from shore to shore,
And the miller smiles back from his place in the
door;
Slow mists from the mountains come drifting
down,
The houses show fainter afar in the town,
The gust sweeps up, dies away again,
Then, loud and fast, the rap-tap of the rain.
For all yonder sun It's my hearts rainy day
In the old farm barn, with the children at play.
The oxen chew slowly, with sleepy eyes,
The sheep huddle up into half their size,
The dazed calves stare at the grim, dingy wall,
Old Nano, looks soberly out from her stall,
Tiger Puss crouches close to the mouses hole,
0Tedt OseSdT RHhWS DOluIy IL DOue lHit nc Slole-
Over all is the roof and the dance of the rain,
Not sorrowing thought, not touch of pain;
The old farm barn is so dusk and still
The very spiders sleep on its window-sll.
'Tis the hush, the browse of the rainy day,
And I'm leaping again from the beam to the hay.
Up, chunky George, of the woodchuck race
Hist, witty Ben, with the chipmunk facet
This way, broad Bill, with the trousers wide!
Come, stumbling Tom, with the big toe tied
The scramble is made up the shaky stairs;
Hatess and breathess we stand in pairs.
Bawling Bob gives the word, and down we 60
From the cobwebbed beam to the NOW below.
The sport is forbidden that doubles the zest;
More risks than the damage to breeches or vest.
Aha! he's no coward gets sprout to day
For bliss of the leap from the beam to the hay
But stay brave boys Are these all there were?
That other-how shall mention her?
The beautiful one, so gentle, shy,
With blue of distance sulfusing her eye;
The golden haired girl that always came
And stood in our midst like shape of flame.
Is that she, there, by the cradle now,
With sunken cheek and the bloodless brow?
Is it her voice in the still night heard;
Her voice once blithe as the voice of bird?
Can she have so changed since yesterday,
When she laughed as we leaped from the beam to
the hay?
O., the way of the world, its worry and strife
The wrestle, the battle that men call "life.'
The smiling and weeping, the up and down
Of the sons and daughters of country and town
On all, at times, may the noon sun shine,
May warm to your heart, may warm to mine.
But question if ever hue will be-
smile of land, glance of the sea-
AS dear Us the mist when the fresh showers fell
On the old homespot we loved so well.
No, the heart will 60 back to the rainy day
To the old farm barn and the children at play.
~. Y. Independent.