When Grandma Sews

When Grandma Sews

My Grandma sews so very well;

She makes her stitches small and straight.

While mine look most like

turkey-tracks

(But then,, of course, I'm

only eight).

My Grandma's thread don't crinkle up;

It's always smooth and nice like this-----------

She often has to help

with mine,

But makes me pay

her with a kiss.

My Grandma keeps her

pretty box

So neat it's ever a de-

light,

While things in mine get

tossed about

Until it is a perfect

sight.

My Grandma sews with glasses on;

I manage well enough without.

If seeing were the whole of it,

I'd learn to sew with ease, no doubt.

When Grandma sews her

patch-work blocks,

She fits her pieces neat

and true,

But let me try howe'er so

hard,

This is the best that I

can do.

But Grandma pats me on the cheek,

And tries to cheer me all she can,

And says, "My dear, how well you sew

I'm really proud of little Nan."

Retrospect

Retrospect

It's a long, well-beaten track
That she traces - looking back.
Thorns and stones beset the way;
Clouds obscured each sunny day;
Toil was hers, and stern affray,
Looking back!

Pain she sees, and sorrow's rack
Through a tear-mist - looking back.
Joy, she says, was there as well;
Peace beyond what tongue can tell
Love thanksgivings must impel,
Looking back !

Not a moment did she lack,
Testifies she - looking back,
Grace to meet her every need;
Manna rich her soul to feed,
Far, she says, beyond her meed,
Looking back !

Peace, we know, she'll never lack,
As we watch her looking back.
Peace that glorifies her brow,
Hovers o'er her dear lips now,
Till we wonder why and how,
Looking back!

The Old Willow Basket

The Old Willow Basket

O, poets have sung of the old oaken bucket.
Like-wise of the bootjack that hung on the wall.
My lyre I'm attuning to sing of a treasure
To my humble notion surpassing them all.
I speak of the basket my Grandmother cherished.
And gladly I offer this tribute of praise
To the dear willow basket, quaint willow basket.
The old willow basket of Grandmother's days.

At home it held proudly her mending and knitting.
Her great balls of worsted and gay colored yarns.
Her needles and thread, and her latest quilt piecing.
And even the stockings awaiting her darns.
In short, a receptacle, useful and handy,
Revealing her neat and industrious ways,
Was that blessed old basket, that queer old basket.
That old willow basket of Grandmother's days.

When calling she came how we hurried to meet her !
With whoops of delight the old basket we'd hail.
We knew that a store there of lovely surprises
Its uplifted lid would reveal without fail,
O, still I can smell the rare odors that greeted
Our senses from sweet-meats and apples in store
In that old willow basket, rare willow basket.
Entrancing old basket that Grandmother bore.

But now she is gone, as an heir-loom it's left us,
A cherished reminder of old-fashioned days.
O me! while we praise, admire and adore them,
I fear we've not copied her dear, thrifty ways.
But close in our memory fore'er we'll enshrine it,
Our voices forever in homage we'll raise
To that dear willow basket, precious old basket
That hallowed old basket of Grandmother's days.

Grandma's Lullaby

Grandma's Lullaby

Bright-eyed stars are peeping
'Tween the cloudlets white;
Calling to the sleepy earth,
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!
Tired little flowers
Nod their drowsy heads,
Chicky-bids and birdies, too,
Long since sought their beds.
All the world is sleepy,
Swathed in moonlight white;
Winds are crooning soft and low,
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!

Sweetly sleep, my dear one,
Watched by angels bright;
Fear shall not disturb thy rest,
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!
Darkness hovers o'er thee,
Soon will come the light;
Breezes waft sweet dreams to thee,
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!

When Grandma Punished Me

When Grandma Punished Me

One time out at my Grandma's house
I got a naughty spell.
And Grandma looked so kind o' s'prised,
And said: '"Louise! well! well!
That doesn't seem like you at all.
Whatever shall I do?
So bad you've been I really think
I'll have to punish you.

Now just you stand behind that door
Till you can better be."
"It tires me so to stand," I said.
"And hurts me in the knee." 

"Try sitting then. Right here's a place.
Beside that window there.
Where you can have the morning sun.
And plenty of good air."

"I hate to sit schrunched up." I cried.
"Why, Grandma, now you know
That every single time I sit.
It always cramps me so!"
"What then," she frowned, "for well you know
That spanking I won't try:
I don't believe in it at all."
"No, ma'am," I said, "nor I."

"Dear me! Dear me!" poor Grandma sighed.
"That there should come to me
So sad a time as this when I
My duty cannot see!"
I hugged her hard. "Poor thing," I cried,
"I truly pity you.
I mustn't worry you like this:
I'll tell you what to do!

Just put me out there 'neath the tree,
Upon that grassy spot;
With cookies three, and make me eat.
If I want them or not."
And grandma laughed and looked relieved,
And brought the cooky pan.
And said: "I'm glad you thought of that,
It is the very plan!"

Loneliness

Loneliness

Grandma's gone a-visitin',
And O, my dearie me!
I never really knew before,
How lonesome I could be.

I mope and mope around the house,
And do not care to play;
And nothing seems to be just right,
Since Grandma's gone away.

I miss her apron from it's nail
Her bible from the shelf;
But most of all I think I miss,
Just dear Grandma herself.

Grandma's Prayer

Grandma's Prayer

Each evening when I say my prayer,
I kneel at Grandma's knee;
And Grandma always bows her head,
And folds her hands like me.
I thank Him for his loving care,
As all dear children should:
And ask Him for His tender grace,
To help me to be good.
And Oh. He hears my prayer I know.
And keeps from me each harmful foe.

Then Grandma says a little prayer,
As soon as I am through;
I fold my hands and bow my head,
And try to join in too.
And Oh, the words seem brimming full
Of faith and love most sweet,
Although it is a simple prayer.
And easy to repeat.
Just: "Father, guard me through the nigh'
And keep me safe 'till morning light."

Now Grandma prays, I'm very sure,
A dozen times a day;
I often linger near her door.
To hear what she might say.
She asks Him for enough of strength
To help her bear her load:
And pleads that He will hold her hand,
As she toils on the road.
And that He hears and gives her grace,
We know it by her peaceful face.

But Oh, I think the sweetest prayer
I ever heard her pray.
Is that brief one she says with me.
At closing of the day.
It seems to me 'tis good enough
To whisper when you die;
And all the angels bright would bend
To listen from the sky,
To "Father guard me through the night,
And keep me safe 'till morning light."