The Old Sampler

The Old Sampler

I found it in the attic,
All covered o'er with grime.
Scarce could I read it's letters,
So faded now by time.
A queer, old-fashioned sampler,
My tears bedew each line.
Grandmother set these stitches.
When she was "aged nine."

I seem to see her working
If I but close my eyes,
Dear wee one, bravely tackling
Her stent. So great it's size!
With patience rare she wove them,
These gaudy stitches fine.
How I love each straggling one!
"Cordelia, aged nine."

The sampler is an heir-loom
We'll always hold most dear.
It sets for us the lesson
That we should persevere.
Your patience made you saintly,
Your memory we'll enshrine,
Your virtues try to copy,
"Cordelia, aged nine."