POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2180, 19 February 1881, Page 3

POETRY.

THE PARSON’S SABBATH-BEBAKING. On the grave ef Parson Williams, The grass is brown and bleached, It is more than fitly winters . Since he lived and laughed and preached. But his memory in New England No wintry snow can kill. Of bis goodness and his drollness Countless legends Huger still. And among those treasured legends I hold this one a boon, How he got in Deacon Crosby’s hay On a Sunday afternoon. He was midway in a sermon, Most orthodox on grace. When a sound of distant thunder Broke the quiet of the place. Now the meadow of the Crosbys Lay full within his sight, And bo glanced from out his window Which stood upon his right. And the green and fragrant haycocks By acres there did stand; Not a meadow like the deacon’s Far or near in all the land. Quick and loud tho claps of thunder Went rolling through the skies, And the parson saw his deacon Looking out with anxious eyes. “ Now, my brethren,” called the parson. And called with might and main, Wo must get in Brother Crosby’s hay, ’Tis our duty now most plain ! ” And he shut the great red Bible, And toised his sermon down, Not a man could run more ewiftly Than the parson in that town. And he ran down to the meadow With all bis strength and speed. And the congregation followed, All bewildered, in his lead. Ha ! not often on a Sunday Such a sight as this, I ween. Of a parson and bis people, A New England town bad seen. With a will they worked and shouted, And cleared the field apace, And the parson led the singing, While the eweat rolled down his face. And it thundered fiercer, loader, And dark grew east and west; But tho hay was under cover. And the parson had worked best. Not a moment had been wasted, The rain was falling fast. As the parson and his people Thro’ the village breathless passed. And again in pew and pulpit Their places took composed. And the parson preached his sermon To “ fifteenthly,” where he closed. When the services were ended. The people talking stayed. And among the sternly pious Thera were bitter comments made. And the good old Deacon Crosby, A meek and godly man, Hardly dare rejoice his haycocks Had been saved on such a plan. But the parson came down, striding In haste the narrow aisle. And the deacon’s bent old shoulders He patted with a smile. And ho said, “ No fear, my brother. Lest God think it a sin ; For He sent the sun to make your hay. And your friends to get it in.”