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Title: Let The Cloth Be White
Author: Will Carleton [
More Titles by Carleton]
Go set the table, Mary, an' let the cloth be white!
The hungry city children are comin' here to-night;
The children from the city, with features pinched an' spare,
Are comin' here to get a breath of God's untainted air.
They come from out the dungeons where they with want were chained;
From places dark an' dismal, by tears of sorrow stained;
From where a thousand shadows are murdering all the light:
Set well the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!
[Illustration: "THE HUNGRY CITY CHILDREN ARE COMING HERE TO-NIGHT."]
They ha' not seen the daisies made for the heart's behoof;
They never heard the rain-drops upon a cottage roof;
They do not know the kisses of zephyr an' of breeze;
They never rambled wild an' free beneath the forest trees.
The food that they ha' eaten was spoiled by others' greeds;
The very air their lungs breathed was full o' poison seeds;
The very air their souls breathed was full o' wrong an' spite:
Go set the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!
The fragrant water-lilies ha' never smiled at them;
They never picked a wild-flower from off its dewy stem;
They never saw a greensward that they could safely pass
Unless they heeded well the sign that says "Keep off the grass."
God bless the men and women of noble brain an' heart,
Who go down in the folk-swamps an' take the children's part--
Those hungry, cheery children that keep us in their debt,
An' never fail to give us more of pleasure than they get!
Set well the table, Mary; let naught be scant or small;
The little ones are coming; have plenty for 'em all.
There's nothing we should furnish except the very best
To those that Jesus looked upon an' called to him an' blessed.
[From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.]
Oh, Home--restful home! theme of praise and of song!
Where the heart has its refuge, unfailing and strong;
Where the cares of the world sign a partial release,
And the soul can lie down to a sweet sleep of peace!
The mine whence we dig out affection's pure gold,
The fire where we warm our poor hearts when they're cold!
The grand, tender chorus, by love's fingers stirred,
Where all the sweet tones of the soul-life are heard!
* * * * *
But he who in thy praises was sweetest and best--
Who wrote that great song full of soothing and rest--
"Through pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it never so humble, there's no place like home"--
He who, in a moment unfettered by art,
Let that heavenly song fly from the nest of his heart,
He wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,
And ne'er till he died had a home of his own!
He wandered the earth at his own dreary will,
And carried his great heavy heart with him still;
He carried his great heavy heart o'er the road,
With no one to give him a lift with his load;
And wherever he went, with his lone, dreary tread,
He found that his sweet song had flown on ahead!
He heard its grand melodies' chimes o'er and o'er,
From great bands that played at the palace's door;
He heard its soft tones through the cottages creep,
From fond mothers singing their babies to sleep;
But he wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,
And ne'er till in Heaven had a home of his own!
* * * * *
Of course--be it said to the poor fellow's shame--
There was no one on earth but himself he could blame.
God meant, when he made this world cheerful and bright,
Then looked it all over and said 'twas all right,
Then stole Adam's rib while he lay fast asleep,
And when he awoke gave it to him to keep--
He meant that this world, as he gazed on it there,
Should blossom with homes, rich and radiant and fair;
That his chain of love-gold, flung from Heaven's glittering dome,
Should be forged into links, and each link be a home!
* * * * *
This Adam and Eve more advantages carried,
Than any young couple that ever was married.
They'd a nice, cozy home, unencumbered and free,
Save a slight reservation on one little tree;
They toiled not and sweat not in tilling their lands:
Their orchards were trimmed by invisible hands;
They were bothered by no tailors' bills over-due;
Their dress-makers' bills were quite moderate, too;
No tax-ghost each year their scared domicile haunted,
To find out how much more they owned than they wanted;
In sooth this young pair more advantages carried
Than any young couple that ever was married!
* * * * *
And if, when Eve spied that large serpent one day,
She had acted the usual feminine way,
And piercingly screamed, and run, reckless and blind,
As if Satan were only two minutes behind,
Then Adam, man-like, had soothed sweetly her fright,
Saying, "What do you fear? 'tisn't poison; 'twon't bite;"
Then, catching a club, he had towered up above it,
And promptly had pounded the devil out of it,
'Twould have saved some hot tears, some hard toil, some disgrace,
And been a great thing for the whole human race.
But they treated him kindly, and gave him his say,
And 'twas not very long ere himself was to pay.
* * * * *
Since then this same Satan, whatever befalls,
Is noted for making his family calls;
Some families--shame on the impudent wretch!--
He stays with at times for a week at a stretch;
And some it would seem as if, pleased with the fare,
He had taken his permanent residence there!
But when to his dear friends these visits he makes,
He doesn't always come in the persons of snakes.
* * * * *
So the Science of Home is the chiefest of all:
To ward off these dangers that ever befall;
To beat back these devils of discord and sin,
That always are striving to steal their way in;
To use all the means God hath placed in our sight,
To keep our homes innocent, happy, and bright;
For a home that rejoices in love's saving leaven,
Comes deliciously nigh to the splendors of Heaven!
* * * * *
Still through the city I wander;
Still do I study and ponder;
But with no loneliness round me;
Severed--the black cords that bound me!
No more my spirit is weary;
I have a home, bright and cheery;
Full of love's sweet, saving leaven:
Home is the daughter of Heaven.
[The end]
Will Carleton's poem: Let The Cloth Be White
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