Grandma, with the cares of the household on her,
In the morning smoked in the chimney corner.
She hung the tea-kettle filled with water
While still asleep was her youngest daughter.
Ah! there were reasons, good and plenty,
Why she should indulge that baby of twenty.
The rest were all courted and married and flown,
And that little birdie was left alone.
Grandmother, when she had finished her smoking,
Bustled about--she never went poking--
And fried the pork, and made the tea,
And pricked the potatoes, if done to see;
While grandsire finished his chapter of snores,
And uncle and I were doing the chores.
When breakfast was over, the Bible was read,
And a prayer I still remember said.
The old folks in reverence bowed them down,
As those who are mindful of cross and crown.
My uncle and aunt, who were unconverted,
Their right to sit or stand asserted.
And I, I fear, to example true,
The part of a heathen acted too.
But there was always for me a glory,
Morning and night, in that Bible story.
The heroes and saints of the olden time
In beautiful vision moved sublime.
I wondered much at the valor they had,
And in wondering my soul was glad.
My wonderment, I can hardly tell,
At the boldness Jacob showed at the well
In kissing Rachel, when meeting her first;
I wondered not into tears he burst.
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