With a long life's thought in her gentle eyes___
The hoarding of many a year___
Nearer drawing, from sun to sun,
To the peaceful goal of a race well run,
Waiting her record of work well done
In the hearts that hold her dear.
Grandmother's locks, all silvery white,
Seem to my fancy like bands of light,
Crowning her sweet pale face.
Grandmother's voice is tender and low;
And the fall of her footsteps soft and slow,
As hither and yonder, and to and fro,
She glides with a saintly grace.
Grandmother's mission, for every day,
Is to do the duty that comes her way,
Whatever that duty may be.
To think of others, her self forgot,
To dry sad tears when her own are wet,
Is Grandmother's plan___and the best one yet,___
'Twere a good one for you and me.
She has her griefs, though she hides them well,
Her heart still throbs when a tolling bell
Utters its mournful tone.
For she thinks of a knell rung long ago,
Of a far off grave underneath the snow,
And a silent sleeper on pillow low,
Whose lips once pressed her own.
Thirty years___'tis a lonely while!
Yet Grandmother's face wears a peaceful smile
As she sits in the sunset glow.
She is busy still, as evening light
Falls on her hair, so silvery white:
And she softly speaks of the coming night___
She is biding her time to go.
__Ellen P. Allerton.
Walls of Corn and Other Poems
Ellen P. Allerton
(Hiawatha, KS: Harrington Printing Company. 1894)