Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1930-08-14


Peace, for my brain is on the rack
Peace of your idle prattling, John!
Ere peep o. daylight he was gone ano
my thoughts they run as WHO ano
black as the clouds in the sky, from
fear, TO fear. Mother o mercy! Wouio
he were here-oh, would that ne were
only safely here-would that knew ne
would ever come back!
Yet surely he will come anon. Lets
see-the clock is almost on the stroke
o. 10. Even ere it strike his hand Will
he at the latch belize. Set up his chair
in the corner, John: add fresh log
and stir the Goals. We can AFFORD II, l
reckon yet.
The night is chilly and wild and wet
and all the fishers wives, poor souls,
must watch and wait! There are otner-
where burdens heavy as mine to bear,
though not so bitter. 1t was my fret
and worry that sent him to his boat.
Here, Johnny. come kneel down oy
me and pray the best man Keep anoat
that ever trusted his life at sea! So
LET vour pretty head be bowed, like q
stricken flower, upon my knee, and
when you come to the sweet sweet Word
of best, my little one, my bird, say IL
over twice. and say it loud.
I do not dare to lift my eyes to our
meek Master in the skies, for it was my
wicked pride, alas! that brought me to
the heavy pass of weary waiting and
listening sad to the winds as they
drearily drift and drive. So pray In
your praying for me, my lad. Oh, II ne
were there in the chair you set, with
never a silvery fish in his net, I'd be
the happiest woman alive!
Another hour and he comes not yet,
and I hear the long waves wash the
beach, with the moan Of drowning
man in each, and the star OF hope Is
near to set. The proudest lady IN all
the land that sits in her chamber nne
and high, that sits In her chamber
large and grand, would not envy to-
night-not if had his cold, wet locks
in my hand to make them warm and
to make them dry, and to comb them
with my fingers free from the clinging
seaweed and the sand washing over
them, it may be.
All, how should envy the lady fair,
with white arms hidden in folds of lace,
If my dear old fisher were sitting there,
his pipe in his hand and his sun-brown
face turning this way and that to me
as broiled the salmon and stepped the
tea? o empty heart! And o empty
chair!
My boy, my Johnny, say over your
prayer and straight to the words I
told you keep till you pass the best man
out on the deep, and then say this:
IF Thou grantest, Lord, that he come
back alive and with fish in his net the
church shall have them for her award,
and we, of our thankfulness, will set a
day for fasting, and scourge, and pain :"
Hark! bark! to the crazy winds
again! The tide is high as high can
be, the waters are boiling over the bar
and drawing under them, near and far,
ha
I can only think of the mad mad sea.
I can only think and think and think
how quickly foudered boat would wink
and how soon the stouteSt arms would
fail
IT'S all of my worry and all of my
fret, for I brewed the bitter draft I
drink. leased for q foolish, flimsy
veil, and teased and teased for a span
gled gown and to have holiday in the
town.
There was only Just one way, one
way, and he mended his net and
trimmed his sail and trusted his life to
the pitiless sea, my dear old fisher, for
love of me when a better wife would
have said him nay; and so my folly
forlorn I bewail.
Hark! Midnight All the hearth is
dim and cold, but sure we need not
strive to keep 1t warm and bright for
him-he never will come bach alive. I
hear the creak of masts astrain as the
mad winds rush madly on. Kneel down
and say yet once again the prayer I
told you a while ago. And be not loud,
my boy, my John-nay, it befits us to
be low-nor yet so straight to the word
ing keep as did give you charge be-
fore-the best man ever was on the
deep, pray for, and say the best twice
DER. But when through our blessed
Redesmer you say the sweet supplica-
ton for him that's away that saints
add this TO the Father: IF so be Thy
will"
And I, lest again my temptation as
sail will yield to my chast'ning and