Spirit of Jefferson. [volume] (Charles Town, Va. [W. Va.]) 1844-1948, 1885-04-07
PoETIGAL
Selling the Farm.

Selling the Farm.
Well, why don't you say it husbanda know
what you want to say;
You-w want to talk about selling the farmfiij tor
he mortgage we cannot pay.
know that we canfi6tt pay 1t. I have thought
oft Ger and DER
For the wheat has failed on the corner lot,
where wheat never failed before.
And everything here's gone backward since
Willie went off to sea,
To pay the mortgage and save the farm, the
homestead, for you and me.
1know it was best to give it; it was right that
the debts be paid,
The debts that our thoughtless Willie, in the
hours of his weakness, made;
And WIN would have pGid it fairly, you know
1t as well as I,
If the ship had not gone down that night when
no other ship was nigh.
But, somehow, I didn't quit hoping, and ever
I've tried to pray
(But know If our Win was aliyeo on earth, he'd
surely been here to-dny)
thought that the merciful Father, would
somehow care for the lad.
Because he was trying to better tho past, and
because he was all we had.
But now am well nigh hopeless, since hope
for my boy has fled,
For selling the farm means giving him up, and
knowing for sure he's dead
Oh! Thomas, how can we leave it, the home
we have always known2
We won 1T away from tho forest, and made 1T
SO much our own.
First day we kept h6asc together was the day
that you broughtrne here;
And no other place in the wide, wide world
will ever be half SO dear.
OF course you remember IT, Th5nias-T need
not ask You, know,
For this is the month, and this is the day-it
was twsnty-six years ago.
Aud don't you remember it, Thomas, the win
ter the barn was made2
How we were SO proud and happy, for all our
debts were paid
The crops were good that summer, and every
thing worked like a charm,
And we felt so rich and contented to think we
had paid for the farm.
And now to think we must leave It, when here
was hoping to die,
1t seems as If twas breaking my heart, butt
fount of my tears is dry.
There's man up there In the village that's
wanting to buy, you say,
Well, Thomas, hen have to hayO It, but why
does he come to-day?
But there, it is wrong to grieve you, for you
have enough to bear,
And In all of our petty troubles you always
have borne your share,
am but sorry helpmate since have so
childish growH;
There, there, go on to the village, let me have
1t out alone.
Poor Thomas, he's growing feeble, he steps SO
weary and slow,
There is not much in his looks to-day like
twenty-six years ago.
But know that his heart is youthful, Us 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. 3
Oh, Willie, my baby Willie, never shall sec
him more;
never shall hear his footsteps, as he comes
through the open door.
'' How are you, dear little mother?" were al
ways the words he'd say,
1t seems as if would give the world to hear
it again to-day.
1 knew when my boy was coming, be it ever
SO early or late,
He was always whistling Home, Sweet
Home, us he opened the garden gate.
And many and many moment, since the night
that the ship went down,
HaveI 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 at footstep. that
seemed to pause at the gate.
hope that he cannot see us, wherever his soul
may be;
1t would grieve him to know the trouble, that's
come to father and me.
Out there is the tree he planted, the day he was
twelve years old
The sunlight is glinting through It, and turning
it's leaves to geld;
Aud often when was lonely, and no one near
at hand;
1 have talked to it hours togcthcr-as If 1T
could understand
And sometimes used to fancy, whenever
spoke of my boy,
Itwas wavingtts leaves together, like clapping
its hands for joy.
Itmay be the man that will own it, that's COM
ing TO buy to-day,
WILDE choPpiugit down, or digging 1t up, and
burning it ont of the way.
And there are the pansies yondcr, 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 go and leave them-but
there! they have come from town;
haVn't had time to smooth my hair, or even
to change my gown.
can see them both plainly, although 1t is get
ting late,
And the strangers whistling Home, Sweet
Home, as he comes up from the gate.
I'll go out into the kitchen now, for I don't
want to look ON his face,
What right has he to be whistling that, unless
he has bought the place.
Why, can that be Thomas eomlng' he usually
steps so slow;
There's something coming into his footstep
ike tweuty-six years ago.
There's something that sounds like gladneas,
andthe man he used to be
Before our Willie went out from home to die
on the stormy sea.
What, Thomas! Why are you smiling, and
holding my hands so tIght7
What's that2 You bring me tidiDgs, and
tidings of wonderful joys"
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