The moon come pale, the wind come cool,A big pike leapt in Lower Pool,The peacock screamed, the clouds were straking,My cut cheek felt the weather breaking;An orange sunset waned and thinnedForetelling rain and western wind,And while I watched I heard distinctThe metals on the railway clinked.The blood-edged clouds were all in tatters,The sky and earth seemed mad as hatters;They had a death look, wild and odd,Of something dark foretold by God.And seeing it so, I felt so shakenI wouldn't keep the road I'd taken,But wandered back towards the innResolved to brace myself with gin.And as I walked, I said, 'It's strange,There's Death let loose to-night, and Change.'In Cabbage Walk I made a haulOf two big pears from lawyer's wall,And, munching one, I took the laneBack into Market-place again.Lamp-lighter Dick had passed the turningAnd all the Homend lamps were burning,The windows shone, the shops were busy,But that strange Heaven made me dizzy.The sky had all God's warning writIn bloody marks all over it,And over all I thought there wasA ghastly light beside the gas.The Devil's tasks and Devil's ragesWere giving me the Devil's wages.In Market-place it's always light,The big shop windows make it bright;And in the press of people buyingI spied a little fellow cryingBecause his mother'd gone insideAnd left him there, and so he cried.And mother'd beat him when she found him,And mother's whip would curl right round him,And mother'd say he'd done't to crost her,Though there being crowds about he'd lost her.Lord, give to men who are old and rougherThe things that little children suffer,And let keep bright and undefiledThe young years of the little child.I pat his head at edge of streetAnd gi'm my second pear to eat.Right under lamp, I pat his head,'I'll stay till mother come,' I said,And stay I did, and joked and talked,And shoppers wondered as they walked.'There's that Saul Kane, the drunken blaggard,Talking to little Jimmy Jaggard.The drunken blaggard reeks of drink.''Whatever will his mother think?''Wherever has his mother gone?Nip round to Mrs Jaggard's, John,And say her Jimmy's out again,In Market-place, with boozer Kane.''When he come out to-day he staggered.O, Jimmy Jaggard, Jimmy Jaggard.''His mother's gone inside to bargain,Run in and tell her, Polly Margin,And tell her poacher Kane is tipsyAnd selling Jimmy to a gipsy.''Run in to Mrs Jaggard, Ellen,Or else, dear knows, there'll be no tellin',And don't dare leave yer till you've fount her,You'll find her at the linen counter.'I told a tale, to Jim's delight,Of where the tom-cats go by night,And how when moonlight come they wentAmong the chimneys black and bent,From roof to roof, from house to house,With little baskets full of mouseAll red and white, both joint and chopLike meat out of a butcher's shop;Then all along the wall they creepAnd everyone is fast asleep,And honey-hunting moths go by,And by the bread-batch crickets cry;Then on they hurry, never waitingTo lawyer's backyard cellar gratingWhere Jaggard's cat, with clever paw,Unhooks a broke-brick's secret door;Then down into the cellar black,Across the wood slug's slimy track,Into an old cask's quiet hollow,Where they've got seats for what's to follow;Then each tom-cat lights little candles,And O, the stories and the scandals,And O, the songs and Christmas carols,And O, the milk from little barrels.They light a fire fit for roasting(And how good mouse-meat smells when toasting),Then down they sit to merry feastWhile moon goes west and sun comes east.Sometimes they make so merry thereOld lawyer come to head of stairTo 'fend with fist and poker took firmHis parchments channelled by the bookworm,And all his deeds, and all his packsOf withered ink and sealing wax;And there he stands, with candle raised,And listens like a man amazed,Or like a ghost a man stands dumb at,He says, 'Hush! Hush! I'm sure there's summat!'He hears outside the brown owl call,He hears the death-tick tap the wall,The gnawing of the wainscot mouse,The creaking up and down the house,The unhooked window's hinges ranging,The sounds that say the wind is changing.At last he turns, and shakes his head,'It's nothing, I'll go back to bed.'And just then Mrs Jaggard cameTo view and end her Jimmy's shame.She made one rush and gi'm a batAnd shook him like a dog a rat.'I can't turn round but what you're straying.I'll give you tales and gipsy playing.I'll give you wand'ring off like thisAnd listening to whatever 't is,You'll laugh the little side of the can,You'll have the whip for this, my man;And not a bite of meat nor breadYou'll touch before you go to bed.Some day you'll break your mother's heart,After God knows she's done her part,Working her arms off day and nightTrying to keep your collars white.Look at your face, too, in the street.What dirty filth 've you found to eat?Now don't you blubber here, boy, orI'll give you sum't to blubber for.'She snatched him off from where we standAnd knocked the pear-core from his hand,And looked at me, 'You Devil's limb,How dare you talk to Jaggard's Jim;You drunken, poaching, boozing brute, you.If Jaggard was a man he'd shoot you.'She glared all this, but didn't speak,She gasped, white hollows in her cheek;Jimmy was writhing, screaming wild,The shoppers thought I'd killed the child.I had to speak, so I begun.'You'd oughtn't beat your little son;He did no harm, but seeing him thereI talked to him and gi'm a pear;I'm sure the poor child meant no wrong,It's all my fault he stayed so long,He'd not have stayed, mum, I'll be boundIf I'd not chanced to come around.It's all my fault he stayed, not his.I kept him here, that's how it is.''Oh! And how dare you, then?' says she,'How dare you tempt my boy from me?How dare you do't, you drunken swine,Is he your child or is he mine?A drunken sot they've had the beak to,Has got his dirty whores to speak to,His dirty mates with whom he drink,Not little children, one would think.Look on him, there,' she says, 'look on himAnd smell the stinking gin upon him,The lowest sot, the drunk'nest liar,The dirtiest dog in all the shire:Nice friends for any woman's sonAfter ten years, and all she's done.'For I've had eight, and buried five,And only three are left alive.I've given them all we could afford,I've taught them all to fear the Lord.They've had the best we had to give,The only three the Lord let live.'For Minnie whom I loved the worstDied mad in childbed with her first.And John and Mary died of measles,And Rob was drownded at the Teasels.And little Nan, dear little sweet,A cart run over in the street;Her little shift was all one stain,I prayed God put her out of pain.And all the rest are gone or goingThe road to hell, and there's no knowingFor all I've done and all I've made themI'd better not have overlaid them.For Susan went the ways of shameThe time the 'till'ry regiment came,And t'have her child without a fatherI think I'd have her buried rather.And Dicky boozes, God forgimme,And now't's to be the same with Jimmy.And all I've done and all I've boreHas made a drunkard and a whore,A bastard boy who wasn't meant,And Jimmy gwine where Dicky went;For Dick began the self-same wayAnd my old hairs are going gray,And my poor man's a withered knee,And all the burden falls on me.'I've washed eight little children's limbs,I've taught eight little souls their hymns,I've risen sick and lain down pinchedAnd borne it all and never flinched;But to see him, the town's disgrace,With God's commandments broke in's face,Who never worked, not he, nor earned,Nor will do till the seas are burned,Who never did since he was wholeA hand's turn for a human soul,But poached and stole and gone with women,And swilled down gin enough to swim in;To see him only lift one fingerTo make my little Jimmy linger.In spite of all his mother's prayers,And all her ten long years of cares,And all her broken spirit's cryThat drunkard's finger puts them by,And Jimmy turns. And now I seeThat just as Dick was, Jim will be,And all my life will have been vain.I might have spared myself the pain,And done the world a blessed riddanceIf I'd a drowned 'em all like kittens.And he the sot, so strong and proud,Who'd make white shirts of's mother's shroud,He laughs now, it's a joke to him,Though it's the gates of hell to Jim.'I've had my heart burnt out like coal,And drops of blood wrung from soulDay in, day out, in pain and tears,For five and twenty wretched years;And he, he's ate the fat and sweet,And loafed and spat at top of street,And drunk and leched from day till morrow,And never known a moment's sorrow.He come out drunk from th'inn to lookThe day my little Ann was took;He sat there drinking, glad and gay,The night my girl was led astray;He praised my Dick for singing well,The night Dick took the road to hell;And when my corpse goes stiff and blind,Leaving four helpless souls behind,He will be there still, drunk and strong.It do seem hard. It do seem wrong.But "Woe to him by whom the offence,"Says our Lord Jesus' Testaments.Whatever seems, God doth not slumberThough He lets pass times without number.He'll come with trump to call His own,And this world's way'll be overthrown.He'll come with glory and with fireTo cast great darkness on the liar,To burn the drunkard and the treacher,And do His judgment on the lecher,To glorify the spirits' facesOf those whose ways were stony places,Who chose with Ruth the better part;O Lord, I see Thee as Thou art,O God, the fiery four-edged sword,The thunder of the wrath outpoured,The fiery four-faced creatures burning,And all the four-faced wheels all turning,Coming with trump and fiery saint.Jim, take me home, I'm turning faint.'They went, and some cried, 'Good old sod.'She put it to him straight, by God.'Summat she was, or looked, or said,Went home and made me hang my head.I slunk away into the nightKnowing deep down that she was right.I'd often heard religious ranters,And put them down as windy canters,But this old mother made me seeThe harm I done by being me,Being both strong and given to sinI 'tracted weaker vessels in.So back to bar to get more drink,I didn't dare begin to think,And there were drinks and drunken singing,As though this life were dice for flinging;Dice to be flung, and nothing furder,And Christ's blood just another murder.'Come on, drinks round, salue, drink hearty.Now, Jane, the punch-bowl for the party.If any here won't drink with meI'll knock his bloody eyes out. See?Come on, cigars round, rum for mine,Sing us a smutty song, some swine.'But though the drinks and songs went roundThat thought remained, it was not drowned.And when I'd rise to get a lightI'd think, 'What's come to me to-night?'There's always crowds when drinks are standing.The house doors slammed along the landing,The rising wind was gusty yet,And those who came in late were wet;And all my body's nerves were snappin'With sense of summat 'bout to happen,And music seemed to come and goAnd seven lights danced in a row.There used to be a custom then,Miss Bourne, the Friend, went round at tenTo all the pubs in all the placeTo bring the drunkard's soul to grace;Some sulked, of course, and some were stirred,But none gave her a dirty word.A tall pale woman, grey and bent,Folk said of her that she was sent.She wore Friend's clothes, and women smiled,But she'd a heart just like a child.She come to us near closing timeWhen we were at some smutty rhyme,And I was mad and ripe for fun;I wouldn't a minded what I done,So when she come so prim and greyI pound the bar and sing, 'Hooray,Here's Quaker come to bless and kiss us,Come, have a gin and bitters, missus.Or may be Quaker girls so primWould rather start a bloody hymn.Now, Dick, oblige. A hymn, you swine,Pipe up the "Officer of the Line,"A song to make one's belly ache,Or "Nell and Roger at the Wake,"Or that sweet song, the talk in town,"The lady fair and Abel Brown.""O, who's that knocking at the door."Miss Bourne'll play the music score.'The men stood dumb as cattle are,They grinned, but thought I'd gone too far,There come a hush and no one break it,They wondered how Miss Bourne would take it.She up to me with black eyes wide,She looked as though her spirit cried;She took my tumbler from the barBeside where all the matches areAnd poured it out upon the floor dust,Among the fag-ends, spit and sawdust.'Saul Kane,' she said, 'when next you drink,Do me the gentleness to thinkThat every drop of drink accursedMakes Christ within you die of thirst,That every dirty word you sayIs one more flint upon His way,Another thorn about His head,Another mock by where He tread,Another nail, another cross.All that you are is that Christ's loss.'The clock run down and struck a chimeAnd Mrs Si said, 'Closing time.'The wet was pelting on the paneAnd something broke inside my brain,I heard the rain drip from the guttersAnd Silas putting up the shutters,While one by one the drinkers went;I got a glimpse of what it meant,How she and I had stood beforeIn some old town by some old doorWaiting intent while someone knockedBefore the door for ever locked;She was so white that I was scared,A gas-jet, turned the wrong way, flared,And Silas snapped the bars in place.Miss Bourne stood white and searched my face.When Silas done, with ends of tunesHe 'gan a-gathering the spittoons,His wife primmed lips and took the till.Miss Bourne stood still and I stood still,And 'Tick. Slow. Tick. Slow' went the clock.She said, 'He waits until you knock.'She turned at that and went out swift,Si grinned and winked, his missus sniffed.I heard her clang the Lion door,I marked a drink-drop roll to floor;It took up scraps of sawdust, furry,And crinkled on, a half inch, blurry;A drop from my last glass of gin;And someone waiting to come in,A hand upon the door latch gropin'Knocking the man inside to open.I know the very words I said,They bayed like bloodhounds in my head.'The water's going out to seaAnd there's a great moon calling me;But there's a great sun calls the moon,And all God's bells will carol soonFor joy and glory and delightOf someone coming home to-night.'Out into darkness, out to night,My flaring heart gave plenty light,So wild it was there was no knowingWhether the clouds or stars were blowing;Blown chimney pots and folk blown blindAnd puddles glimmering like my mind,And chinking glass from windows banging,And inn signs swung like people hanging,And in my heart the drink unpriced,The burning cataracts of Christ.I did not think, I did not strive,The deep peace burnt my me alive;The bolted door had broken in,I knew that I had done with sin.I knew that Christ had given me birthTo brother all the souls on earth,And every bird and every beastShould share the crumbs broke at the feast.O glory of the lighted mind.How dead I'd been, how dumb, how blind.The station brook, to my new eyes,Was babbling out of Paradise;The waters rushing from the rainWere singing Christ has risen again.I thought all earthly creatures kneltFrom rapture of the joy I felt.The narrow station-wall's brick ledge,The wild hop withering in the hedge,The lights in huntsman's upper storeyWere parts of an eternal glory,Were God's eternal garden flowers.I stood in bliss at this for hours.O glory of the lighted soul.The dawn came up on Bradlow Knoll,The dawn with glittering on the grasses,The dawn which pass and never passes.'It's dawn,' I said, 'and chimney's smoking,And all the blessed fields are soaking.It's dawn, and there's an engine shunting;And hounds, for huntsman's going hunting.It's dawn, and I must wander northAlong the road Christ led me forth.'So up the road I wander slowPast where the snowdrops used to growWith celandines in early springs,When rainbows were triumphant thingsAnd dew so bright and flowers so glad,Eternal joy to lass and lad.And past the lovely brook I paced,The brook whose source I never traced,The brook, the one of two which riseIn my green dream in Paradise,In wells where heavenly buckets clinkTo give God's wandering thirsty drinkBy those clean cots of carven stoneWhere the clear water sings alone.Then down, past that white-blossomed pond,And past the chestnut trees beyond,And past the bridge the fishers knew,Where yellow flag flowers once grew,Where we'd go gathering cops of clover,In sunny June times long since over.O clover-cops half white, half red,O beauty from beyond the dead.O blossom, key to earth and heaven,O souls that Christ has new forgiven.Then down the hill to gipsies' pitchBy where the brook clucks in the ditch.A gipsy's camp was in the copse,Three felted tents, with beehive tops,And round black marks where fires had been,And one old waggon painted green,And three ribbed horses wrenching grass,And three wild boys to watch me pass,And one old woman by the fireHulking a rabbit warm from wire.I loved to see the horses bait.I felt I walked at Heaven's gate,That Heaven's gate was opened wideYet still the gipsies camped outside.The waste souls will prefer the wild,Long after life is meek and mild.Perhaps when man has entered inHis perfect city free from sin,The campers will come past the wallsWith old lame horses full of galls,And waggons hung about with withies,And burning coke in tinkers' stithies,And see the golden town, and choose,And think the wild too good to lose.And camp outside, as these camped thenWith wonder at the entering men.So past, and past the stone-heap whiteThat dewberry trailers hid from sight,And down the field so full of springs,Where mewing peewits clap their wings,And past the trap made for the millInto the field below the hill.There was a mist along the stream,A wet mist, dim, like in a dream;I heard the heavy breath of cows,And waterdrops from th'alder boughs;And eels, or snakes, in dripping grassWhipping aside to let me pass.The gate was backed against the rymeTo pass the cows at milking time.And by the gate as I went outA moldwarp rooted earth wi 's snout.A few steps up the Callows' LaneBrought me above the mist again;The two great fields arose like deathAbove the mists of human breath.All earthly things that blessed morningWere everlasting joy and warning.The gate was Jesus' way made plain,The mole was Satan foiled again,Black blinded Satan snouting wayAlong the red of Adam's clay;The mist was error and damnation,The lane the road unto salvation,Out of the mist into the light;O blessed gift of inner sight.The past was faded like a dream;There come the jingling of a team,A ploughman's voice, a clink of chain,Slow hoofs, and harness under strain.Up the slow slope a team came bowing,Old Callow at his autumn ploughing,Old Callow, stooped above the hales.Ploughing the stubble into wales;His grave eyes looking straight ahead,Shearing a long straight furrow red;His plough-foot high to give it earthTo bring new food for men to birth.O wet red swathe of earth laid bare,O truth, O strength, O gleaming share,O patient eyes that watch the goal,O ploughman of the sinner's soul.O Jesus, drive the coulter deepTo plough my living man from sleep.Slow up the hill the plough team plod,Old Callow at the task of God,Helped by man's wit, helped by the bruteTurning a stubborn clay to fruit,His eyes for ever on some signTo help him plough a perfect line.At top of rise the plough team stopped,The fore-horse bent his head and croppedThen the chains chack, the brasses jingle,The lean reins gather through the cringle,The figures move against the sky,The clay wave breaks as they go by.I kneeled there in the muddy fallow,I knew that Christ was there with Callow,That Christ was standing there with me,That Christ had taught me what to be,That I should plough, and as I ploughedMy Saviour Christ would sing aloud,And as I drove the clods apartChrist would be ploughing in my heart,Through rest-harrow and bitter roots,Through all my bad life's rotten fruits.
The moon come pale, the wind come cool,A big pike leapt in Lower Pool,The peacock screamed, the clouds were straking,My cut cheek felt the weather breaking;An orange sunset waned and thinnedForetelling rain and western wind,And while I watched I heard distinctThe metals on the railway clinked.The blood-edged clouds were all in tatters,The sky and earth seemed mad as hatters;They had a death look, wild and odd,Of something dark foretold by God.And seeing it so, I felt so shakenI wouldn't keep the road I'd taken,But wandered back towards the innResolved to brace myself with gin.And as I walked, I said, 'It's strange,There's Death let loose to-night, and Change.'
The moon come pale, the wind come cool,
A big pike leapt in Lower Pool,
The peacock screamed, the clouds were straking,
My cut cheek felt the weather breaking;
An orange sunset waned and thinned
Foretelling rain and western wind,
And while I watched I heard distinct
The metals on the railway clinked.
The blood-edged clouds were all in tatters,
The sky and earth seemed mad as hatters;
They had a death look, wild and odd,
Of something dark foretold by God.
And seeing it so, I felt so shaken
I wouldn't keep the road I'd taken,
But wandered back towards the inn
Resolved to brace myself with gin.
And as I walked, I said, 'It's strange,
There's Death let loose to-night, and Change.'
In Cabbage Walk I made a haulOf two big pears from lawyer's wall,And, munching one, I took the laneBack into Market-place again.
In Cabbage Walk I made a haul
Of two big pears from lawyer's wall,
And, munching one, I took the lane
Back into Market-place again.
Lamp-lighter Dick had passed the turningAnd all the Homend lamps were burning,The windows shone, the shops were busy,But that strange Heaven made me dizzy.The sky had all God's warning writIn bloody marks all over it,And over all I thought there wasA ghastly light beside the gas.The Devil's tasks and Devil's ragesWere giving me the Devil's wages.
Lamp-lighter Dick had passed the turning
And all the Homend lamps were burning,
The windows shone, the shops were busy,
But that strange Heaven made me dizzy.
The sky had all God's warning writ
In bloody marks all over it,
And over all I thought there was
A ghastly light beside the gas.
The Devil's tasks and Devil's rages
Were giving me the Devil's wages.
In Market-place it's always light,The big shop windows make it bright;And in the press of people buyingI spied a little fellow cryingBecause his mother'd gone insideAnd left him there, and so he cried.And mother'd beat him when she found him,And mother's whip would curl right round him,And mother'd say he'd done't to crost her,Though there being crowds about he'd lost her.
In Market-place it's always light,
The big shop windows make it bright;
And in the press of people buying
I spied a little fellow crying
Because his mother'd gone inside
And left him there, and so he cried.
And mother'd beat him when she found him,
And mother's whip would curl right round him,
And mother'd say he'd done't to crost her,
Though there being crowds about he'd lost her.
Lord, give to men who are old and rougherThe things that little children suffer,And let keep bright and undefiledThe young years of the little child.I pat his head at edge of streetAnd gi'm my second pear to eat.Right under lamp, I pat his head,'I'll stay till mother come,' I said,And stay I did, and joked and talked,And shoppers wondered as they walked.'There's that Saul Kane, the drunken blaggard,Talking to little Jimmy Jaggard.The drunken blaggard reeks of drink.''Whatever will his mother think?''Wherever has his mother gone?Nip round to Mrs Jaggard's, John,And say her Jimmy's out again,In Market-place, with boozer Kane.''When he come out to-day he staggered.O, Jimmy Jaggard, Jimmy Jaggard.''His mother's gone inside to bargain,Run in and tell her, Polly Margin,And tell her poacher Kane is tipsyAnd selling Jimmy to a gipsy.'
Lord, give to men who are old and rougher
The things that little children suffer,
And let keep bright and undefiled
The young years of the little child.
I pat his head at edge of street
And gi'm my second pear to eat.
Right under lamp, I pat his head,
'I'll stay till mother come,' I said,
And stay I did, and joked and talked,
And shoppers wondered as they walked.
'There's that Saul Kane, the drunken blaggard,
Talking to little Jimmy Jaggard.
The drunken blaggard reeks of drink.'
'Whatever will his mother think?'
'Wherever has his mother gone?
Nip round to Mrs Jaggard's, John,
And say her Jimmy's out again,
In Market-place, with boozer Kane.'
'When he come out to-day he staggered.
O, Jimmy Jaggard, Jimmy Jaggard.'
'His mother's gone inside to bargain,
Run in and tell her, Polly Margin,
And tell her poacher Kane is tipsy
And selling Jimmy to a gipsy.'
'Run in to Mrs Jaggard, Ellen,Or else, dear knows, there'll be no tellin',And don't dare leave yer till you've fount her,You'll find her at the linen counter.'
'Run in to Mrs Jaggard, Ellen,
Or else, dear knows, there'll be no tellin',
And don't dare leave yer till you've fount her,
You'll find her at the linen counter.'
I told a tale, to Jim's delight,Of where the tom-cats go by night,And how when moonlight come they wentAmong the chimneys black and bent,From roof to roof, from house to house,With little baskets full of mouseAll red and white, both joint and chopLike meat out of a butcher's shop;Then all along the wall they creepAnd everyone is fast asleep,And honey-hunting moths go by,And by the bread-batch crickets cry;Then on they hurry, never waitingTo lawyer's backyard cellar gratingWhere Jaggard's cat, with clever paw,Unhooks a broke-brick's secret door;Then down into the cellar black,Across the wood slug's slimy track,Into an old cask's quiet hollow,Where they've got seats for what's to follow;Then each tom-cat lights little candles,And O, the stories and the scandals,And O, the songs and Christmas carols,And O, the milk from little barrels.They light a fire fit for roasting(And how good mouse-meat smells when toasting),Then down they sit to merry feastWhile moon goes west and sun comes east.
I told a tale, to Jim's delight,
Of where the tom-cats go by night,
And how when moonlight come they went
Among the chimneys black and bent,
From roof to roof, from house to house,
With little baskets full of mouse
All red and white, both joint and chop
Like meat out of a butcher's shop;
Then all along the wall they creep
And everyone is fast asleep,
And honey-hunting moths go by,
And by the bread-batch crickets cry;
Then on they hurry, never waiting
To lawyer's backyard cellar grating
Where Jaggard's cat, with clever paw,
Unhooks a broke-brick's secret door;
Then down into the cellar black,
Across the wood slug's slimy track,
Into an old cask's quiet hollow,
Where they've got seats for what's to follow;
Then each tom-cat lights little candles,
And O, the stories and the scandals,
And O, the songs and Christmas carols,
And O, the milk from little barrels.
They light a fire fit for roasting
(And how good mouse-meat smells when toasting),
Then down they sit to merry feast
While moon goes west and sun comes east.
Sometimes they make so merry thereOld lawyer come to head of stairTo 'fend with fist and poker took firmHis parchments channelled by the bookworm,And all his deeds, and all his packsOf withered ink and sealing wax;And there he stands, with candle raised,And listens like a man amazed,Or like a ghost a man stands dumb at,He says, 'Hush! Hush! I'm sure there's summat!'He hears outside the brown owl call,He hears the death-tick tap the wall,The gnawing of the wainscot mouse,The creaking up and down the house,The unhooked window's hinges ranging,The sounds that say the wind is changing.At last he turns, and shakes his head,'It's nothing, I'll go back to bed.'
Sometimes they make so merry there
Old lawyer come to head of stair
To 'fend with fist and poker took firm
His parchments channelled by the bookworm,
And all his deeds, and all his packs
Of withered ink and sealing wax;
And there he stands, with candle raised,
And listens like a man amazed,
Or like a ghost a man stands dumb at,
He says, 'Hush! Hush! I'm sure there's summat!'
He hears outside the brown owl call,
He hears the death-tick tap the wall,
The gnawing of the wainscot mouse,
The creaking up and down the house,
The unhooked window's hinges ranging,
The sounds that say the wind is changing.
At last he turns, and shakes his head,
'It's nothing, I'll go back to bed.'
And just then Mrs Jaggard cameTo view and end her Jimmy's shame.
And just then Mrs Jaggard came
To view and end her Jimmy's shame.
She made one rush and gi'm a batAnd shook him like a dog a rat.'I can't turn round but what you're straying.I'll give you tales and gipsy playing.I'll give you wand'ring off like thisAnd listening to whatever 't is,You'll laugh the little side of the can,You'll have the whip for this, my man;And not a bite of meat nor breadYou'll touch before you go to bed.Some day you'll break your mother's heart,After God knows she's done her part,Working her arms off day and nightTrying to keep your collars white.Look at your face, too, in the street.What dirty filth 've you found to eat?Now don't you blubber here, boy, orI'll give you sum't to blubber for.'She snatched him off from where we standAnd knocked the pear-core from his hand,And looked at me, 'You Devil's limb,How dare you talk to Jaggard's Jim;You drunken, poaching, boozing brute, you.If Jaggard was a man he'd shoot you.'She glared all this, but didn't speak,She gasped, white hollows in her cheek;Jimmy was writhing, screaming wild,The shoppers thought I'd killed the child.
She made one rush and gi'm a bat
And shook him like a dog a rat.
'I can't turn round but what you're straying.
I'll give you tales and gipsy playing.
I'll give you wand'ring off like this
And listening to whatever 't is,
You'll laugh the little side of the can,
You'll have the whip for this, my man;
And not a bite of meat nor bread
You'll touch before you go to bed.
Some day you'll break your mother's heart,
After God knows she's done her part,
Working her arms off day and night
Trying to keep your collars white.
Look at your face, too, in the street.
What dirty filth 've you found to eat?
Now don't you blubber here, boy, or
I'll give you sum't to blubber for.'
She snatched him off from where we stand
And knocked the pear-core from his hand,
And looked at me, 'You Devil's limb,
How dare you talk to Jaggard's Jim;
You drunken, poaching, boozing brute, you.
If Jaggard was a man he'd shoot you.'
She glared all this, but didn't speak,
She gasped, white hollows in her cheek;
Jimmy was writhing, screaming wild,
The shoppers thought I'd killed the child.
I had to speak, so I begun.'You'd oughtn't beat your little son;He did no harm, but seeing him thereI talked to him and gi'm a pear;I'm sure the poor child meant no wrong,It's all my fault he stayed so long,He'd not have stayed, mum, I'll be boundIf I'd not chanced to come around.It's all my fault he stayed, not his.I kept him here, that's how it is.''Oh! And how dare you, then?' says she,'How dare you tempt my boy from me?How dare you do't, you drunken swine,Is he your child or is he mine?A drunken sot they've had the beak to,Has got his dirty whores to speak to,His dirty mates with whom he drink,Not little children, one would think.Look on him, there,' she says, 'look on himAnd smell the stinking gin upon him,The lowest sot, the drunk'nest liar,The dirtiest dog in all the shire:Nice friends for any woman's sonAfter ten years, and all she's done.
I had to speak, so I begun.
'You'd oughtn't beat your little son;
He did no harm, but seeing him there
I talked to him and gi'm a pear;
I'm sure the poor child meant no wrong,
It's all my fault he stayed so long,
He'd not have stayed, mum, I'll be bound
If I'd not chanced to come around.
It's all my fault he stayed, not his.
I kept him here, that's how it is.'
'Oh! And how dare you, then?' says she,
'How dare you tempt my boy from me?
How dare you do't, you drunken swine,
Is he your child or is he mine?
A drunken sot they've had the beak to,
Has got his dirty whores to speak to,
His dirty mates with whom he drink,
Not little children, one would think.
Look on him, there,' she says, 'look on him
And smell the stinking gin upon him,
The lowest sot, the drunk'nest liar,
The dirtiest dog in all the shire:
Nice friends for any woman's son
After ten years, and all she's done.
'For I've had eight, and buried five,And only three are left alive.I've given them all we could afford,I've taught them all to fear the Lord.They've had the best we had to give,The only three the Lord let live.
'For I've had eight, and buried five,
And only three are left alive.
I've given them all we could afford,
I've taught them all to fear the Lord.
They've had the best we had to give,
The only three the Lord let live.
'For Minnie whom I loved the worstDied mad in childbed with her first.And John and Mary died of measles,And Rob was drownded at the Teasels.And little Nan, dear little sweet,A cart run over in the street;Her little shift was all one stain,I prayed God put her out of pain.And all the rest are gone or goingThe road to hell, and there's no knowingFor all I've done and all I've made themI'd better not have overlaid them.For Susan went the ways of shameThe time the 'till'ry regiment came,And t'have her child without a fatherI think I'd have her buried rather.And Dicky boozes, God forgimme,And now't's to be the same with Jimmy.And all I've done and all I've boreHas made a drunkard and a whore,A bastard boy who wasn't meant,And Jimmy gwine where Dicky went;For Dick began the self-same wayAnd my old hairs are going gray,And my poor man's a withered knee,And all the burden falls on me.
'For Minnie whom I loved the worst
Died mad in childbed with her first.
And John and Mary died of measles,
And Rob was drownded at the Teasels.
And little Nan, dear little sweet,
A cart run over in the street;
Her little shift was all one stain,
I prayed God put her out of pain.
And all the rest are gone or going
The road to hell, and there's no knowing
For all I've done and all I've made them
I'd better not have overlaid them.
For Susan went the ways of shame
The time the 'till'ry regiment came,
And t'have her child without a father
I think I'd have her buried rather.
And Dicky boozes, God forgimme,
And now't's to be the same with Jimmy.
And all I've done and all I've bore
Has made a drunkard and a whore,
A bastard boy who wasn't meant,
And Jimmy gwine where Dicky went;
For Dick began the self-same way
And my old hairs are going gray,
And my poor man's a withered knee,
And all the burden falls on me.
'I've washed eight little children's limbs,I've taught eight little souls their hymns,I've risen sick and lain down pinchedAnd borne it all and never flinched;But to see him, the town's disgrace,With God's commandments broke in's face,Who never worked, not he, nor earned,Nor will do till the seas are burned,Who never did since he was wholeA hand's turn for a human soul,But poached and stole and gone with women,And swilled down gin enough to swim in;To see him only lift one fingerTo make my little Jimmy linger.
'I've washed eight little children's limbs,
I've taught eight little souls their hymns,
I've risen sick and lain down pinched
And borne it all and never flinched;
But to see him, the town's disgrace,
With God's commandments broke in's face,
Who never worked, not he, nor earned,
Nor will do till the seas are burned,
Who never did since he was whole
A hand's turn for a human soul,
But poached and stole and gone with women,
And swilled down gin enough to swim in;
To see him only lift one finger
To make my little Jimmy linger.
In spite of all his mother's prayers,And all her ten long years of cares,And all her broken spirit's cryThat drunkard's finger puts them by,And Jimmy turns. And now I seeThat just as Dick was, Jim will be,And all my life will have been vain.I might have spared myself the pain,And done the world a blessed riddanceIf I'd a drowned 'em all like kittens.And he the sot, so strong and proud,Who'd make white shirts of's mother's shroud,He laughs now, it's a joke to him,Though it's the gates of hell to Jim.
In spite of all his mother's prayers,
And all her ten long years of cares,
And all her broken spirit's cry
That drunkard's finger puts them by,
And Jimmy turns. And now I see
That just as Dick was, Jim will be,
And all my life will have been vain.
I might have spared myself the pain,
And done the world a blessed riddance
If I'd a drowned 'em all like kittens.
And he the sot, so strong and proud,
Who'd make white shirts of's mother's shroud,
He laughs now, it's a joke to him,
Though it's the gates of hell to Jim.
'I've had my heart burnt out like coal,And drops of blood wrung from soulDay in, day out, in pain and tears,For five and twenty wretched years;And he, he's ate the fat and sweet,And loafed and spat at top of street,And drunk and leched from day till morrow,And never known a moment's sorrow.
'I've had my heart burnt out like coal,
And drops of blood wrung from soul
Day in, day out, in pain and tears,
For five and twenty wretched years;
And he, he's ate the fat and sweet,
And loafed and spat at top of street,
And drunk and leched from day till morrow,
And never known a moment's sorrow.
He come out drunk from th'inn to lookThe day my little Ann was took;He sat there drinking, glad and gay,The night my girl was led astray;He praised my Dick for singing well,The night Dick took the road to hell;And when my corpse goes stiff and blind,Leaving four helpless souls behind,He will be there still, drunk and strong.It do seem hard. It do seem wrong.But "Woe to him by whom the offence,"Says our Lord Jesus' Testaments.Whatever seems, God doth not slumberThough He lets pass times without number.He'll come with trump to call His own,And this world's way'll be overthrown.He'll come with glory and with fireTo cast great darkness on the liar,To burn the drunkard and the treacher,And do His judgment on the lecher,To glorify the spirits' facesOf those whose ways were stony places,Who chose with Ruth the better part;O Lord, I see Thee as Thou art,O God, the fiery four-edged sword,The thunder of the wrath outpoured,The fiery four-faced creatures burning,And all the four-faced wheels all turning,Coming with trump and fiery saint.Jim, take me home, I'm turning faint.'They went, and some cried, 'Good old sod.'She put it to him straight, by God.'
He come out drunk from th'inn to look
The day my little Ann was took;
He sat there drinking, glad and gay,
The night my girl was led astray;
He praised my Dick for singing well,
The night Dick took the road to hell;
And when my corpse goes stiff and blind,
Leaving four helpless souls behind,
He will be there still, drunk and strong.
It do seem hard. It do seem wrong.
But "Woe to him by whom the offence,"
Says our Lord Jesus' Testaments.
Whatever seems, God doth not slumber
Though He lets pass times without number.
He'll come with trump to call His own,
And this world's way'll be overthrown.
He'll come with glory and with fire
To cast great darkness on the liar,
To burn the drunkard and the treacher,
And do His judgment on the lecher,
To glorify the spirits' faces
Of those whose ways were stony places,
Who chose with Ruth the better part;
O Lord, I see Thee as Thou art,
O God, the fiery four-edged sword,
The thunder of the wrath outpoured,
The fiery four-faced creatures burning,
And all the four-faced wheels all turning,
Coming with trump and fiery saint.
Jim, take me home, I'm turning faint.'
They went, and some cried, 'Good old sod.
'She put it to him straight, by God.'
Summat she was, or looked, or said,Went home and made me hang my head.I slunk away into the nightKnowing deep down that she was right.I'd often heard religious ranters,And put them down as windy canters,But this old mother made me seeThe harm I done by being me,Being both strong and given to sinI 'tracted weaker vessels in.
Summat she was, or looked, or said,
Went home and made me hang my head.
I slunk away into the night
Knowing deep down that she was right.
I'd often heard religious ranters,
And put them down as windy canters,
But this old mother made me see
The harm I done by being me,
Being both strong and given to sin
I 'tracted weaker vessels in.
So back to bar to get more drink,I didn't dare begin to think,And there were drinks and drunken singing,As though this life were dice for flinging;Dice to be flung, and nothing furder,And Christ's blood just another murder.'Come on, drinks round, salue, drink hearty.Now, Jane, the punch-bowl for the party.If any here won't drink with meI'll knock his bloody eyes out. See?Come on, cigars round, rum for mine,Sing us a smutty song, some swine.'But though the drinks and songs went roundThat thought remained, it was not drowned.And when I'd rise to get a lightI'd think, 'What's come to me to-night?'
So back to bar to get more drink,
I didn't dare begin to think,
And there were drinks and drunken singing,
As though this life were dice for flinging;
Dice to be flung, and nothing furder,
And Christ's blood just another murder.
'Come on, drinks round, salue, drink hearty.
Now, Jane, the punch-bowl for the party.
If any here won't drink with me
I'll knock his bloody eyes out. See?
Come on, cigars round, rum for mine,
Sing us a smutty song, some swine.'
But though the drinks and songs went round
That thought remained, it was not drowned.
And when I'd rise to get a light
I'd think, 'What's come to me to-night?'
There's always crowds when drinks are standing.The house doors slammed along the landing,The rising wind was gusty yet,And those who came in late were wet;And all my body's nerves were snappin'With sense of summat 'bout to happen,And music seemed to come and goAnd seven lights danced in a row.
There's always crowds when drinks are standing.
The house doors slammed along the landing,
The rising wind was gusty yet,
And those who came in late were wet;
And all my body's nerves were snappin'
With sense of summat 'bout to happen,
And music seemed to come and go
And seven lights danced in a row.
There used to be a custom then,Miss Bourne, the Friend, went round at tenTo all the pubs in all the placeTo bring the drunkard's soul to grace;Some sulked, of course, and some were stirred,But none gave her a dirty word.A tall pale woman, grey and bent,Folk said of her that she was sent.She wore Friend's clothes, and women smiled,But she'd a heart just like a child.She come to us near closing timeWhen we were at some smutty rhyme,And I was mad and ripe for fun;I wouldn't a minded what I done,So when she come so prim and greyI pound the bar and sing, 'Hooray,Here's Quaker come to bless and kiss us,Come, have a gin and bitters, missus.Or may be Quaker girls so primWould rather start a bloody hymn.Now, Dick, oblige. A hymn, you swine,Pipe up the "Officer of the Line,"A song to make one's belly ache,Or "Nell and Roger at the Wake,"Or that sweet song, the talk in town,"The lady fair and Abel Brown.""O, who's that knocking at the door."Miss Bourne'll play the music score.'The men stood dumb as cattle are,They grinned, but thought I'd gone too far,There come a hush and no one break it,They wondered how Miss Bourne would take it.She up to me with black eyes wide,She looked as though her spirit cried;She took my tumbler from the barBeside where all the matches areAnd poured it out upon the floor dust,Among the fag-ends, spit and sawdust.
There used to be a custom then,
Miss Bourne, the Friend, went round at ten
To all the pubs in all the place
To bring the drunkard's soul to grace;
Some sulked, of course, and some were stirred,
But none gave her a dirty word.
A tall pale woman, grey and bent,
Folk said of her that she was sent.
She wore Friend's clothes, and women smiled,
But she'd a heart just like a child.
She come to us near closing time
When we were at some smutty rhyme,
And I was mad and ripe for fun;
I wouldn't a minded what I done,
So when she come so prim and grey
I pound the bar and sing, 'Hooray,
Here's Quaker come to bless and kiss us,
Come, have a gin and bitters, missus.
Or may be Quaker girls so prim
Would rather start a bloody hymn.
Now, Dick, oblige. A hymn, you swine,
Pipe up the "Officer of the Line,"
A song to make one's belly ache,
Or "Nell and Roger at the Wake,"
Or that sweet song, the talk in town,
"The lady fair and Abel Brown."
"O, who's that knocking at the door."
Miss Bourne'll play the music score.'
The men stood dumb as cattle are,
They grinned, but thought I'd gone too far,
There come a hush and no one break it,
They wondered how Miss Bourne would take it.
She up to me with black eyes wide,
She looked as though her spirit cried;
She took my tumbler from the bar
Beside where all the matches are
And poured it out upon the floor dust,
Among the fag-ends, spit and sawdust.
'Saul Kane,' she said, 'when next you drink,Do me the gentleness to thinkThat every drop of drink accursedMakes Christ within you die of thirst,That every dirty word you sayIs one more flint upon His way,Another thorn about His head,Another mock by where He tread,Another nail, another cross.All that you are is that Christ's loss.'The clock run down and struck a chimeAnd Mrs Si said, 'Closing time.'
'Saul Kane,' she said, 'when next you drink,
Do me the gentleness to think
That every drop of drink accursed
Makes Christ within you die of thirst,
That every dirty word you say
Is one more flint upon His way,
Another thorn about His head,
Another mock by where He tread,
Another nail, another cross.
All that you are is that Christ's loss.'
The clock run down and struck a chime
And Mrs Si said, 'Closing time.'
The wet was pelting on the paneAnd something broke inside my brain,I heard the rain drip from the guttersAnd Silas putting up the shutters,While one by one the drinkers went;I got a glimpse of what it meant,How she and I had stood beforeIn some old town by some old doorWaiting intent while someone knockedBefore the door for ever locked;She was so white that I was scared,A gas-jet, turned the wrong way, flared,And Silas snapped the bars in place.Miss Bourne stood white and searched my face.When Silas done, with ends of tunesHe 'gan a-gathering the spittoons,His wife primmed lips and took the till.Miss Bourne stood still and I stood still,And 'Tick. Slow. Tick. Slow' went the clock.She said, 'He waits until you knock.'She turned at that and went out swift,Si grinned and winked, his missus sniffed.
The wet was pelting on the pane
And something broke inside my brain,
I heard the rain drip from the gutters
And Silas putting up the shutters,
While one by one the drinkers went;
I got a glimpse of what it meant,
How she and I had stood before
In some old town by some old door
Waiting intent while someone knocked
Before the door for ever locked;
She was so white that I was scared,
A gas-jet, turned the wrong way, flared,
And Silas snapped the bars in place.
Miss Bourne stood white and searched my face.
When Silas done, with ends of tunes
He 'gan a-gathering the spittoons,
His wife primmed lips and took the till.
Miss Bourne stood still and I stood still,
And 'Tick. Slow. Tick. Slow' went the clock.
She said, 'He waits until you knock.'
She turned at that and went out swift,
Si grinned and winked, his missus sniffed.
I heard her clang the Lion door,I marked a drink-drop roll to floor;It took up scraps of sawdust, furry,And crinkled on, a half inch, blurry;A drop from my last glass of gin;And someone waiting to come in,A hand upon the door latch gropin'Knocking the man inside to open.I know the very words I said,They bayed like bloodhounds in my head.'The water's going out to seaAnd there's a great moon calling me;But there's a great sun calls the moon,And all God's bells will carol soonFor joy and glory and delightOf someone coming home to-night.'
I heard her clang the Lion door,
I marked a drink-drop roll to floor;
It took up scraps of sawdust, furry,
And crinkled on, a half inch, blurry;
A drop from my last glass of gin;
And someone waiting to come in,
A hand upon the door latch gropin'
Knocking the man inside to open.
I know the very words I said,
They bayed like bloodhounds in my head.
'The water's going out to sea
And there's a great moon calling me;
But there's a great sun calls the moon,
And all God's bells will carol soon
For joy and glory and delight
Of someone coming home to-night.'
Out into darkness, out to night,My flaring heart gave plenty light,So wild it was there was no knowingWhether the clouds or stars were blowing;Blown chimney pots and folk blown blindAnd puddles glimmering like my mind,And chinking glass from windows banging,And inn signs swung like people hanging,And in my heart the drink unpriced,The burning cataracts of Christ.
Out into darkness, out to night,
My flaring heart gave plenty light,
So wild it was there was no knowing
Whether the clouds or stars were blowing;
Blown chimney pots and folk blown blind
And puddles glimmering like my mind,
And chinking glass from windows banging,
And inn signs swung like people hanging,
And in my heart the drink unpriced,
The burning cataracts of Christ.
I did not think, I did not strive,The deep peace burnt my me alive;The bolted door had broken in,I knew that I had done with sin.I knew that Christ had given me birthTo brother all the souls on earth,And every bird and every beastShould share the crumbs broke at the feast.
I did not think, I did not strive,
The deep peace burnt my me alive;
The bolted door had broken in,
I knew that I had done with sin.
I knew that Christ had given me birth
To brother all the souls on earth,
And every bird and every beast
Should share the crumbs broke at the feast.
O glory of the lighted mind.How dead I'd been, how dumb, how blind.The station brook, to my new eyes,Was babbling out of Paradise;The waters rushing from the rainWere singing Christ has risen again.I thought all earthly creatures kneltFrom rapture of the joy I felt.The narrow station-wall's brick ledge,The wild hop withering in the hedge,The lights in huntsman's upper storeyWere parts of an eternal glory,Were God's eternal garden flowers.I stood in bliss at this for hours.
O glory of the lighted mind.
How dead I'd been, how dumb, how blind.
The station brook, to my new eyes,
Was babbling out of Paradise;
The waters rushing from the rain
Were singing Christ has risen again.
I thought all earthly creatures knelt
From rapture of the joy I felt.
The narrow station-wall's brick ledge,
The wild hop withering in the hedge,
The lights in huntsman's upper storey
Were parts of an eternal glory,
Were God's eternal garden flowers.
I stood in bliss at this for hours.
O glory of the lighted soul.The dawn came up on Bradlow Knoll,The dawn with glittering on the grasses,The dawn which pass and never passes.
O glory of the lighted soul.
The dawn came up on Bradlow Knoll,
The dawn with glittering on the grasses,
The dawn which pass and never passes.
'It's dawn,' I said, 'and chimney's smoking,And all the blessed fields are soaking.It's dawn, and there's an engine shunting;And hounds, for huntsman's going hunting.It's dawn, and I must wander northAlong the road Christ led me forth.'
'It's dawn,' I said, 'and chimney's smoking,
And all the blessed fields are soaking.
It's dawn, and there's an engine shunting;
And hounds, for huntsman's going hunting.
It's dawn, and I must wander north
Along the road Christ led me forth.'
So up the road I wander slowPast where the snowdrops used to growWith celandines in early springs,When rainbows were triumphant thingsAnd dew so bright and flowers so glad,Eternal joy to lass and lad.And past the lovely brook I paced,The brook whose source I never traced,The brook, the one of two which riseIn my green dream in Paradise,In wells where heavenly buckets clinkTo give God's wandering thirsty drinkBy those clean cots of carven stoneWhere the clear water sings alone.Then down, past that white-blossomed pond,And past the chestnut trees beyond,And past the bridge the fishers knew,Where yellow flag flowers once grew,Where we'd go gathering cops of clover,In sunny June times long since over.
So up the road I wander slow
Past where the snowdrops used to grow
With celandines in early springs,
When rainbows were triumphant things
And dew so bright and flowers so glad,
Eternal joy to lass and lad.
And past the lovely brook I paced,
The brook whose source I never traced,
The brook, the one of two which rise
In my green dream in Paradise,
In wells where heavenly buckets clink
To give God's wandering thirsty drink
By those clean cots of carven stone
Where the clear water sings alone.
Then down, past that white-blossomed pond,
And past the chestnut trees beyond,
And past the bridge the fishers knew,
Where yellow flag flowers once grew,
Where we'd go gathering cops of clover,
In sunny June times long since over.
O clover-cops half white, half red,O beauty from beyond the dead.O blossom, key to earth and heaven,O souls that Christ has new forgiven.
O clover-cops half white, half red,
O beauty from beyond the dead.
O blossom, key to earth and heaven,
O souls that Christ has new forgiven.
Then down the hill to gipsies' pitchBy where the brook clucks in the ditch.A gipsy's camp was in the copse,Three felted tents, with beehive tops,And round black marks where fires had been,And one old waggon painted green,And three ribbed horses wrenching grass,And three wild boys to watch me pass,And one old woman by the fireHulking a rabbit warm from wire.I loved to see the horses bait.I felt I walked at Heaven's gate,That Heaven's gate was opened wideYet still the gipsies camped outside.The waste souls will prefer the wild,Long after life is meek and mild.Perhaps when man has entered inHis perfect city free from sin,The campers will come past the wallsWith old lame horses full of galls,And waggons hung about with withies,And burning coke in tinkers' stithies,And see the golden town, and choose,And think the wild too good to lose.And camp outside, as these camped thenWith wonder at the entering men.So past, and past the stone-heap whiteThat dewberry trailers hid from sight,And down the field so full of springs,Where mewing peewits clap their wings,And past the trap made for the millInto the field below the hill.There was a mist along the stream,A wet mist, dim, like in a dream;I heard the heavy breath of cows,And waterdrops from th'alder boughs;And eels, or snakes, in dripping grassWhipping aside to let me pass.The gate was backed against the rymeTo pass the cows at milking time.And by the gate as I went outA moldwarp rooted earth wi 's snout.A few steps up the Callows' LaneBrought me above the mist again;The two great fields arose like deathAbove the mists of human breath.
Then down the hill to gipsies' pitch
By where the brook clucks in the ditch.
A gipsy's camp was in the copse,
Three felted tents, with beehive tops,
And round black marks where fires had been,
And one old waggon painted green,
And three ribbed horses wrenching grass,
And three wild boys to watch me pass,
And one old woman by the fire
Hulking a rabbit warm from wire.
I loved to see the horses bait.
I felt I walked at Heaven's gate,
That Heaven's gate was opened wide
Yet still the gipsies camped outside.
The waste souls will prefer the wild,
Long after life is meek and mild.
Perhaps when man has entered in
His perfect city free from sin,
The campers will come past the walls
With old lame horses full of galls,
And waggons hung about with withies,
And burning coke in tinkers' stithies,
And see the golden town, and choose,
And think the wild too good to lose.
And camp outside, as these camped then
With wonder at the entering men.
So past, and past the stone-heap white
That dewberry trailers hid from sight,
And down the field so full of springs,
Where mewing peewits clap their wings,
And past the trap made for the mill
Into the field below the hill.
There was a mist along the stream,
A wet mist, dim, like in a dream;
I heard the heavy breath of cows,
And waterdrops from th'alder boughs;
And eels, or snakes, in dripping grass
Whipping aside to let me pass.
The gate was backed against the ryme
To pass the cows at milking time.
And by the gate as I went out
A moldwarp rooted earth wi 's snout.
A few steps up the Callows' Lane
Brought me above the mist again;
The two great fields arose like death
Above the mists of human breath.
All earthly things that blessed morningWere everlasting joy and warning.The gate was Jesus' way made plain,The mole was Satan foiled again,Black blinded Satan snouting wayAlong the red of Adam's clay;The mist was error and damnation,The lane the road unto salvation,Out of the mist into the light;O blessed gift of inner sight.The past was faded like a dream;There come the jingling of a team,A ploughman's voice, a clink of chain,Slow hoofs, and harness under strain.Up the slow slope a team came bowing,Old Callow at his autumn ploughing,Old Callow, stooped above the hales.Ploughing the stubble into wales;His grave eyes looking straight ahead,Shearing a long straight furrow red;His plough-foot high to give it earthTo bring new food for men to birth.
All earthly things that blessed morning
Were everlasting joy and warning.
The gate was Jesus' way made plain,
The mole was Satan foiled again,
Black blinded Satan snouting way
Along the red of Adam's clay;
The mist was error and damnation,
The lane the road unto salvation,
Out of the mist into the light;
O blessed gift of inner sight.
The past was faded like a dream;
There come the jingling of a team,
A ploughman's voice, a clink of chain,
Slow hoofs, and harness under strain.
Up the slow slope a team came bowing,
Old Callow at his autumn ploughing,
Old Callow, stooped above the hales.
Ploughing the stubble into wales;
His grave eyes looking straight ahead,
Shearing a long straight furrow red;
His plough-foot high to give it earth
To bring new food for men to birth.
O wet red swathe of earth laid bare,O truth, O strength, O gleaming share,O patient eyes that watch the goal,O ploughman of the sinner's soul.O Jesus, drive the coulter deepTo plough my living man from sleep.
O wet red swathe of earth laid bare,
O truth, O strength, O gleaming share,
O patient eyes that watch the goal,
O ploughman of the sinner's soul.
O Jesus, drive the coulter deep
To plough my living man from sleep.
Slow up the hill the plough team plod,Old Callow at the task of God,Helped by man's wit, helped by the bruteTurning a stubborn clay to fruit,His eyes for ever on some signTo help him plough a perfect line.At top of rise the plough team stopped,The fore-horse bent his head and croppedThen the chains chack, the brasses jingle,The lean reins gather through the cringle,The figures move against the sky,The clay wave breaks as they go by.I kneeled there in the muddy fallow,I knew that Christ was there with Callow,That Christ was standing there with me,That Christ had taught me what to be,That I should plough, and as I ploughedMy Saviour Christ would sing aloud,And as I drove the clods apartChrist would be ploughing in my heart,Through rest-harrow and bitter roots,Through all my bad life's rotten fruits.
Slow up the hill the plough team plod,
Old Callow at the task of God,
Helped by man's wit, helped by the brute
Turning a stubborn clay to fruit,
His eyes for ever on some sign
To help him plough a perfect line.
At top of rise the plough team stopped,
The fore-horse bent his head and cropped
Then the chains chack, the brasses jingle,
The lean reins gather through the cringle,
The figures move against the sky,
The clay wave breaks as they go by.
I kneeled there in the muddy fallow,
I knew that Christ was there with Callow,
That Christ was standing there with me,
That Christ had taught me what to be,
That I should plough, and as I ploughed
My Saviour Christ would sing aloud,
And as I drove the clods apart
Christ would be ploughing in my heart,
Through rest-harrow and bitter roots,
Through all my bad life's rotten fruits.