Chapter 9

SIGNS OF THE TIMES

Air a-gittin' cool an' coolah, Frost a-comin' in de night, Hicka' nuts an' wa'nuts fallin', Possum keepin' out o' sight. Tu'key struttin' in de ba'nya'd, Nary step so proud ez his; Keep on struttin', Mistah Tu'key, Yo' do' know whut time it is.

Cidah press commence a-squeakin' Eatin' apples sto'ed away, Chillun swa'min' 'roun' lak ho'nets, Huntin' aigs ermung de hay. Mistah Tu'key keep on gobblin' At de geese a-flyin' souf, Oomph! dat bird do' know whut's comin'; Ef he did he 'd shet his mouf.

Pumpkin gittin' good an' yallah Mek me open up my eyes; Seems lak it's a-lookin' at me Jes' a-la'in' dah sayin' "Pies." Tu'key gobbler gwine 'roun' blowin', Gwine 'roun' gibbin' sass an' slack; Keep on talkin', Mistah Tu'key, You ain't seed no almanac.

Fa'mer walkin' th'oo de ba'nya'd Seein' how things is comin' on, Sees ef all de fowls is fatt'nin'-- Good times comin' sho 's you bo'n. Hyeahs dat tu'key gobbler braggin', Den his face break in a smile-- Nebbah min', you sassy rascal, He 's gwine nab you atter while.

Choppin' suet in de kitchen, Stonin' raisins in de hall, Beef a-cookin' fu' de mince meat, Spices groun'--I smell 'em all. Look hyeah, Tu'key, stop dat gobblin', You ain' luned de sense ob feah, You ol' fool, yo' naik 's in dangah, Do' you know Thanksgibbin 's hyeah?

WHY FADES A DREAM?

Why fades a dream? An iridescent ray Flecked in between the tryst Of night and day. Why fades a dream?-- Of consciousness the shade Wrought out by lack of light and made Upon life's stream. Why fades a dream?

That thought may thrive, So fades the fleshless dream; Lest men should learn to trust The things that seem. So fades a dream, That living thought may grow And like a waxing star-beam glow Upon life's stream-- So fades a dream.

THE SPARROW

A little bird, with plumage brown, Beside my window flutters down, A moment chirps its little strain, Ten taps upon my window-pane, And chirps again, and hops along, To call my notice to its song; But I work on, nor heed its lay, Till, in neglect, it flies away.

So birds of peace and hope and love Come fluttering earthward from above, To settle on life's window-sills, And ease our load of earthly ills; But we, in traffic's rush and din Too deep engaged to let them in, With deadened heart and sense plod on, Nor know our loss till they are gone.

SPEAKIN' O' CHRISTMAS

Breezes blowin' middlin' brisk, Snow-flakes thro' the air a-whisk, Fallin' kind o' soft an' light, Not enough to make things white, But jest sorter siftin' down So 's to cover up the brown Of the dark world's rugged ways 'N' make things look like holidays. Not smoothed over, but jest specked, Sorter strainin' fur effect, An' not quite a-gittin' through What it started in to do. Mercy sakes! it does seem queer Christmas day is 'most nigh here. Somehow it don't seem to me Christmas like it used to be,-- Christmas with its ice an' snow, Christmas of the long ago. You could feel its stir an' hum Weeks an' weeks before it come; Somethin' in the atmosphere Told you when the day was near, Did n't need no almanacs; That was one o' Nature's fac's. Every cottage decked out gay-- Cedar wreaths an' holly spray-- An' the stores, how they were drest, Tinsel tell you could n't rest; Every winder fixed up pat, Candy canes, an' things like that; Noah's arks, an' guns, an' dolls, An' all kinds o' fol-de-rols. Then with frosty bells a-chime, Slidin' down the hills o' time, Right amidst the fun an' din Christmas come a-bustlin' in, Raised his cheery voice to call Out a welcome to us all; Hale and hearty, strong an' bluff, That was Christmas, sure enough. Snow knee-deep an' coastin' fine, Frozen mill-ponds all ashine, Seemin' jest to lay in wait, Beggin' you to come an' skate. An' you 'd git your gal an' go Stumpin' cheerily thro' the snow, Feelin' pleased an' skeert an' warm 'Cause she had a-holt yore arm. Why, when Christmas come in, we Spent the whole glad day in glee, Havin' fun an' feastin' high An' some courtin' on the sly. Bustin' in some neighbor's door An' then suddenly, before He could give his voice a lift, Yellin' at him, "Christmas gift." Now sich things are never heard, "Merry Christmas" is the word. But it's only change o' name, An' means givin' jest the same. There 's too many new-styled ways Now about the holidays. I 'd jest like once more to see Christmas like it used to be!

LONESOME

Mother 's gone a-visitin' to spend a month er two, An', oh, the house is lonesome ez a nest whose birds has flew To other trees to build ag'in; the rooms seem jest so bare That the echoes run like sperrits from the kitchen to the stair. The shetters flap more lazy-like 'n what they used to do, Sence mother 's gone a-visitin' to spend a month er two.

We 've killed the fattest chicken an' we've cooked her to a turn; We 've made the richest gravy, but I jest don't give a durn Fur nothin' 'at I drink er eat, er nothin' 'at I see. The food ain't got the pleasant taste it used to have to me. They 's somep'n' stickin' in my throat ez tight ez hardened glue, Sence mother's gone a-visitin' to spend a month er two.

The hollyhocks air jest ez pink, they 're double ones at that, An' I wuz prouder of 'em than a baby of a cat. But now I don't go near 'em, though they nod an' blush at me, Fur they 's somep'n' seems to gall me in their keerless sort o' glee An' all their fren'ly noddin' an' their blushin' seems to say: "You 're purty lonesome, John, old boy, sence mother 's gone away."

The neighbors ain't so fren'ly ez it seems they 'd ort to be; They seem to be a-lookin' kinder sideways like at me, A-kinder feared they 'd tech me off ez ef I wuz a match, An' all because 'at mother 's gone an' I 'm a-keepin' batch! I 'm shore I don't do nothin' worse 'n what I used to do 'Fore mother went a-visitin' to spend a month er two.

The sparrers ac's more fearsome like an' won't hop quite so near, The cricket's chirp is sadder, an' the sky ain't ha'f so clear; When ev'nin' comes, I set an' smoke tell my eyes begin to swim, An' things aroun' commence to look all blurred an' faint an' dim. Well, I guess I 'll have to own up 'at I 'm feelin' purty blue Sence mother's gone a-visitin' to spend a month er two.

GROWIN' GRAY

Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray, An' it beats ole Ned to see the way 'At the crow's feet's a-getherin' aroun' yore eyes; Tho' it ought n't to cause me no su'prise, Fur there 's many a sun 'at you 've seen rise An' many a one you 've seen go down Sence yore step was light an' yore hair was brown, An' storms an' snows have had their way-- Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray.

Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray, An' the youthful pranks 'at you used to play Are dreams of a far past long ago That lie in a heart where the fires burn low-- That has lost the flame though it kept the glow, An' spite of drivin' snow an' storm, Beats bravely on forever warm. December holds the place of May-- Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray.

Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray-- Who cares what the carpin' youngsters say? For, after all, when the tale is told, Love proves if a man is young or old! Old age can't make the heart grow cold When it does the will of an honest mind; When it beats with love fur all mankind; Then the night but leads to a fairer day-- Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray!

TO THE MEMORY OF MARY YOUNG

God has his plans, and what if we With our sight be too blind to see Their full fruition; cannot he, Who made it, solve the mystery? One whom we loved has fall'n asleep, Not died; although her calm be deep, Some new, unknown, and strange surprise In Heaven holds enrapt her eyes.

And can you blame her that her gaze Is turned away from earthly ways, When to her eyes God's light and love Have giv'n the view of things above? A gentle spirit sweetly good, The pearl of precious womanhood; Who heard the voice of duty clear, And found her mission soon and near.

She loved all nature, flowers fair, The warmth of sun, the kiss of air, The birds that filled the sky with song, The stream that laughed its way along. Her home to her was shrine and throne, But one love held her not alone; She sought out poverty and grief, Who touched her robe and found relief.

So sped she in her Master's work, Too busy and too brave to shirk, When through the silence, dusk and dim, God called her and she fled to him. We wonder at the early call, And tears of sorrow can but fall For her o'er whom we spread the pall; But faith, sweet faith, is over all.

The house is dust, the voice is dumb, But through undying years to come, The spark that glowed within her soul Shall light our footsteps to the goal. She went her way; but oh, she trod The path that led her straight to God. Such lives as this put death to scorn; They lose our day to find God's morn.

WHEN MALINDY SINGS

G'way an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy-- Put dat music book away; What's de use to keep on tryin'? Ef you practise twell you 're gray, You cain't sta't no notes a-flyin' Lak de ones dat rants and rings F'om de kitchen to be big woods When Malindy sings.

You ain't got de nachel o'gans Fu' to make de soun' come right, You ain't got de tu'ns an' twistin's Fu' to make it sweet an' light. Tell you one thing now, Miss Lucy, An' I 'm tellin' you fu' true, When hit comes to raal right singin', 'T ain't no easy thing to do.

Easy 'nough fu' folks to hollah, Lookin' at de lines an' dots, When dey ain't no one kin sence it, An' de chune comes in, in spots; But fu' real melojous music, Dat jes' strikes yo' hea't and clings, Jes' you stan' an' listen wif me When Malindy sings.

Ain't you nevah hyeahd Malindy? Blessed soul, tek up de cross! Look hyeah, ain't you jokin', honey? Well, you don't know whut you los'. Y' ought to hyeah dat gal a-wa'blin', Robins, la'ks, an' all dem things, Heish dey moufs an' hides dey faces When Malindy sings.

Fiddlin' man jes' stop his fiddlin', Lay his fiddle on de she'f; Mockin'-bird quit tryin' to whistle, 'Cause he jes' so shamed hisse'f. Folks a-playin' on de banjo Draps dey fingahs on de strings-- Bless yo' soul--fu'gits to move em, When Malindy sings.

She jes' spreads huh mouf and hollahs, "Come to Jesus," twell you hyeah Sinnahs' tremblin' steps and voices, Timid-lak a-drawin' neah; Den she tu'ns to "Rock of Ages," Simply to de cross she clings, An' you fin' yo' teahs a-drappin' When Malindy sings.

Who dat says dat humble praises Wif de Master nevah counts? Heish yo' mouf, I hyeah dat music, Ez hit rises up an' mounts-- Floatin' by de hills an' valleys, Way above dis buryin' sod, Ez hit makes its way in glory To de very gates of God!

Oh, hit's sweetah dan de music Of an edicated band; An' hit's dearah dan de battle's Song o' triumph in de lan'. It seems holier dan evenin' When de solemn chu'ch bell rings, Ez I sit an' ca'mly listen While Malindy sings.

Towsah, stop dat ba'kin', hyeah me! Mandy, mek dat chile keep still; Don't you hyeah de echoes callin' F'om de valley to de hill? Let me listen, I can hyeah it, Th'oo de bresh of angels' wings, Sof an' sweet, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," Ez Malindy sings.

THE PARTY

Dey had a gread big pahty down to Tom's de othah night; Was I dah? You bet! I nevah in my life see sich a sight; All de folks f'om fou' plantations was invited, an' dey come, Dey come troopin' thick ez chillun when dey hyeahs a fife an' drum. Evahbody dressed deir fines'--Heish yo' mouf an' git away, Ain't seen no sich fancy dressin' sence las' quah'tly meetin' day; Gals all dressed in silks an' satins, not a wrinkle ner a crease, Eyes a-battin', teeth a-shinin', haih breshed back ez slick ez grease; Sku'ts all tucked an' puffed an' ruffled, evah blessed seam an' stitch; Ef you 'd seen 'em wif deir mistus, could n't swahed to which was which. Men all dressed up in Prince Alberts, swaller-tails 'u'd tek yo' bref! I cain't tell you nothin' 'bout it, y' ought to seen it fu' yo'se'f. Who was dah? Now who you askin'? How you 'spect I gwine to know? You mus' think I stood an' counted evahbody at de do.' Ole man Babah's house-boy Isaac, brung dat gal, Malindy Jane, Huh a-hangin' to his elbow, him a-struttin' wif a cane; My, but Hahvey Jones was jealous! seemed to stick him lak a tho'n; But he laughed with Viney Cahteh, tryin' ha'd to not let on, But a pusson would 'a' noticed f'om de d'rection of his look, Dat he was watchin' ev'ry step dat Ike an' Lindy took. Ike he foun' a cheer an' asked huh: "Won't you set down?" wif a smile, An' she answe'd up a-bowin', "Oh, I reckon 't ain't wuth while." Dat was jes' fu' Style, I reckon, 'cause she sot down jes' de same, An' she stayed dah 'twell he fetched huh fu' to jine some so't o' game; Den I hyeahd huh sayin' propah, ez she riz to go away, "Oh, you raly mus' excuse me, fu' I hardly keers to play." But I seen huh in a minute wif de othahs on de flo', An' dah wasn't any one o' dem a-playin' any mo'; Comin' down de flo' a-bowin' an' a-swayin' an' a-swingin', Puttin' on huh high-toned mannahs all de time dat she was singin': "Oh, swing Johnny up an' down, swing him all aroun', Swing Johnny up an' down, swing him all aroun', Oh, swing Johnny up an' down, swing him all aroun' Fa' you well, my dahlin'." Had to laff at ole man Johnson, he 's a caution now, you bet-- Hittin' clost onto a hunderd, but he 's spry an' nimble yet; He 'lowed how a-so't o' gigglin', "I ain't ole, I 'll let you see, D'ain't no use in gittin' feeble, now you youngstahs jes' watch me," An' he grabbed ole Aunt Marier--weighs th'ee hunderd mo' er less, An' he spun huh 'roun' de cabin swingin' Johnny lak de res'. Evahbody laffed an' hollahed: "Go it! Swing huh, Uncle Jim!" An' he swung huh too, I reckon, lak a youngstah, who but him. Dat was bettah 'n young Scott Thomas, tryin' to be so awful smaht. You know when dey gits to singin' an' dey comes to dat ere paht: "In some lady's new brick house, In some lady's gyahden. Ef you don't let me out, I will jump out, So fa' you well, my dahlin'." Den dey 's got a circle 'roun' you, an' you's got to break de line; Well, dat dahky was so anxious, lak to bust hisse'f a-tryin'; Kep' on blund'rin' 'roun' an' foolin' 'twell he giv' one gread big jump, Broke de line, an lit head-fo'most in de fiah-place right plump; Hit 'ad fiah in it, mind you; well, I thought my soul I 'd bust, Tried my best to keep f'om laffin', but hit seemed like die I must! Y' ought to seen dat man a-scramblin' f'om de ashes an' de grime. Did it bu'n him! Sich a question, why he did n't give it time; Th'ow'd dem ashes and dem cindahs evah which-a-way I guess, An' you nevah did, I reckon, clap yo' eyes on sich a mess; Fu' he sholy made a picter an' a funny one to boot, Wif his clothes all full o' ashes an' his face all full o' soot. Well, hit laked to stopped de pahty, an' I reckon lak ez not Dat it would ef Tom's wife, Mandy, had n't happened on de spot, To invite us out to suppah--well, we scrambled to de table, An' I 'd lak to tell you 'bout it--what we had--but I ain't able, Mention jes' a few things, dough I know I had n't orter, Fu' I know 't will staht a hank'rin' an' yo' mouf 'll 'mence to worter. We had wheat bread white ez cotton an' a egg pone jes like gol', Hog jole, bilin' hot an' steamin' roasted shoat an' ham sliced cold-- Look out! What's de mattah wif you? Don't be fallin' on de flo'; Ef it 's go'n' to 'fect you dat way, I won't tell you nothin' mo'. Dah now--well, we had hot chittlin's--now you 's tryin' ag'in to fall, Cain't you stan' to hyeah about it? S'pose you'd been an' seed it all; Seed dem gread big sweet pertaters, layin' by de possum's side, Seed dat coon in all his gravy, reckon den you 'd up and died! Mandy 'lowed "you all mus' 'scuse me, d' wa'n't much upon my she'ves, But I's done my bes' to suit you, so set down an' he'p yo'se'ves." Tom, he 'lowed: "I don't b'lieve in 'pologisin' an' perfessin', Let 'em tek it lak dey ketch it. Eldah Thompson, ask de blessin'." Wish you 'd seed dat colo'ed preachah cleah his th'oat an' bow his head; One eye shet, an' one eye open,--dis is evah wud he said: "Lawd, look down in tendah mussy on sich generous hea'ts ez dese; Make us truly thankful, amen. Pass dat possum, ef you please!" Well, we eat and drunk ouah po'tion, 'twell dah was n't nothin' lef, An' we felt jes' like new sausage, we was mos' nigh stuffed to def! Tom, he knowed how we 'd be feelin', so he had de fiddlah 'roun', An' he made us cleah de cabin fu' to dance dat suppah down. Jim, de fiddlah, chuned his fiddle, put some rosum on his bow, Set a pine box on de table, mounted it an' let huh go! He's a fiddlah, now I tell you, an' he made dat fiddle ring, 'Twell de ol'est an' de lamest had to give deir feet a fling. Jigs, cotillions, reels an' breakdowns, cordrills an' a waltz er two; Bless yo' soul, dat music winged 'em an' dem people lak to flew. Cripple Joe, de old rheumatic, danced dat flo' f'om side to middle, Th'owed away his crutch an' hopped it; what's rheumatics 'ginst a fiddle? Eldah Thompson got so tickled dat he lak to los' his grace, Had to tek bofe feet an' hol' dem so 's to keep 'em in deir place. An' de Christuns an' de sinnahs got so mixed up on dat flo', Dat I don't see how dey 'd pahted ef de trump had chanced to blow. Well, we danced dat way an' capahed in de mos' redic'lous way, 'Twell de roostahs in de bahnyard cleahed deir th'oats an' crowed fu' day. Y' ought to been dah, fu' I tell you evahthing was rich an' prime, An' dey ain't no use in talkin', we jes had one scrumptious time!

LYRICS OF THE HEARTHSIDE

LOVE'S APOTHEOSIS

Love me. I care not what the circling years To me may do. If, but in spite of time and tears, You prove but true.

Love me--albeit grief shall dim mine eyes, And tears bedew, I shall not e'en complain, for then my skies Shall still be blue.

Love me, and though the winter snow shall pile, And leave me chill, Thy passion's warmth shall make for me, meanwhile, A sun-kissed hill.

And when the days have lengthened into years, And I grow old, Oh, spite of pains and griefs and cares and fears, Grow thou not cold.

Then hand and hand we shall pass up the hill, I say not down; That twain go up, of love, who 've loved their fill,-- To gain love's crown.

Love me, and let my life take up thine own, As sun the dew. Come, sit, my queen, for in my heart a throne Awaits for you!

THE PARADOX

I am the mother of sorrows, I am the ender of grief; I am the bud and the blossom, I am the late-falling leaf.

I am thy priest and thy poet, I am thy serf and thy king; I cure the tears of the heartsick, When I come near they shall sing.

White are my hands as the snowdrop; Swart are my fingers as clay; Dark is my frown as the midnight, Fair is my brow as the day.

Battle and war are my minions, Doing my will as divine; I am the calmer of passions, Peace is a nursling of mine.

Speak to me gently or curse me, Seek me or fly from my sight; I am thy fool in the morning, Thou art my slave in the night.

Down to the grave will I take thee, Out from the noise of the strife; Then shalt thou see me and know me-- Death, then, no longer, but life.

Then shalt thou sing at my coming. Kiss me with passionate breath, Clasp me and smile to have thought me Aught save the foeman of Death.

Come to me, brother, when weary, Come when thy lonely heart swells; I 'll guide thy footsteps and lead thee Down where the Dream Woman dwells.

OVER THE HILLS

Over the hills and the valleys of dreaming Slowly I take my way. Life is the night with its dream-visions teeming, Death is the waking at day.

Down thro' the dales and the bowers of loving, Singing, I roam afar. Daytime or night-time, I constantly roving,-- Dearest one, thou art my star.

WITH THE LARK

Night is for sorrow and dawn is for joy, Chasing the troubles that fret and annoy; Darkness for sighing and daylight for song,-- Cheery and chaste the strain, heartfelt and strong. All the night through, though I moan in the dark, I wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

Deep in the midnight the rain whips the leaves, Softly and sadly the wood-spirit grieves. But when the first hue of dawn tints the sky, I shall shake out my wings like the birds and be dry; And though, like the rain-drops, I grieved through the dark, I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

On the high hills of heaven, some morning to be, Where the rain shall not grieve thro' the leaves of the tree, There my heart will be glad for the pain I have known, For my hand will be clasped in the hand of mine own; And though life has been hard and death's pathway been dark, I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

IN SUMMER

Oh, summer has clothed the earth In a cloak from the loom of the sun! And a mantle, too, of the skies' soft blue, And a belt where the rivers run.

And now for the kiss of the wind, And the touch of the air's soft hands, With the rest from strife and the heat of life, With the freedom of lakes and lands.

I envy the farmer's boy Who sings as he follows the plow; While the shining green of the young blades lean To the breezes that cool his brow.

He sings to the dewy morn, No thought of another's ear; But the song he sings is a chant for kings And the whole wide world to hear.

He sings of the joys of life, Of the pleasures of work and rest, From an o'erfull heart, without aim or art; 'T is a song of the merriest.

O ye who toil in the town, And ye who moil in the mart, Hear the artless song, and your faith made strong Shall renew your joy of heart.

Oh, poor were the worth of the world If never a song were heard,-- If the sting of grief had no relief, And never a heart were stirred.

So, long as the streams run down, And as long as the robins trill, Let us taunt old Care with a merry air, And sing in the face of ill.

THE MYSTIC SEA

The smell of the sea in my nostrils, The sound of the sea in mine ears; The touch of the spray on my burning face, Like the mist of reluctant tears.

The blue of the sky above me, The green of the waves beneath; The sun flashing down on a gray-white sail Like a scimitar from its sheath.

And ever the breaking billows, And ever the rocks' disdain; And ever a thrill in mine inmost heart That my reason cannot explain.

So I say to my heart, "Be silent, The mystery of time is here; Death's way will be plain when we fathom the main, And the secret of life be clear."

A SAILOR'S SONG

Oh for the breath of the briny deep, And the tug of the bellying sail, With the sea-gull's cry across the sky And a passing boatman's hail. For, be she fierce or be she gay, The sea is a famous friend alway.