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Show FROM "OLD SOULS" $ 8 The world, not hushed, lay aa In trance; It saw the future in its van. And drew its riches In advance. To meet the greedy wants of man; Till lensth of days, untimely sped. Lett us accounts unaudited. The sun, untlred, still rose and set-Swerved set-Swerved not an instant from Its beat; It had not lost a moment yet Nor used In vain Its light and heat; But. as in trance, from when It rose To when It sank, man craved repose. A holy light that shone of yore He saw, despised, and left behind. His heart was rotting to the core Locked In the slumbers of the mind; Not beat of drum, nor sound of fife-. Could rouse It to a sense of life. A cry was heard, intoned and slow. Of one who had no wares to vend; His words were gentle, dull and low. And he called out: "Old souls to mend!" He peddled on from door to door. And looked not up to rich or poor. His step kept on as tf in pace -With some old timepiece In his head, Nor ever did Its way retrace; Nor right nor left turned he his tread. But uttered still his tinker's cry To din the ears of passersby. ' So well they knew the olden note. Few heeded what the Tinker spake. Though here and there an ear it smote And seemed a sudden hold to take; But they had not the time to stay. And it would do some other day. Still on his way the Tinker wends. Though Jobs are far between and few; And here and there a soul he mends And makes it look as good as new. Once set to work, once fairly hired. His dull old hammer seems inspired. Over the task his features glow; He knocks away the rusty flakes, A spark flies off at every blow; At every rap new life awakes. The soul once cleansed of outward stna. His subtle handicraft begins. Like iron unannealed and crude. The soul is plunged Into the blast. To temper it, however rude, 'Tis next in holy water cast; Then on the anvil it receives The nimblest stroke the Tinker gives. The Tinker's task is at an end. Stamped was the cross by that Inst blow. Again his cry, "Old ouls to mend!" Is heard in accents dull and low. He pauses not to seek his pay-That, pay-That, too, will do another day. Now steadfastly regard the man Who wrought your cure of rust and rot! You saw him ere the work began. Is he the same, or is he not? You saw the Tinker; now behold The Envoy of a God of old. Thomas Gordon Hake. |