Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
A Saint of Yore
By John Vance Cheney (1848–1922)T
Retired of life, unknown to fame,
Whose wont it was with sweet accord
To do the bidding of her Lord.
In quaintly-fashioned bonnet
With simplest ribbons on it,
The neighboring folk remember well
How prompt she was at Sabbath bell.
Her sober gown, silk mitts, and all;
Again I see her with a smile
Pass meekly up the narrow aisle.
The deacons courtly meet her,
The pastor turns to greet her,
And maid and matron quit their place
To find her fan or smooth her lace.
She best became the House of Prayer;
Her gracious presence—from it beamed
The light that robes the Lord’s redeemed.
That gentle mien did often
Some “hardened sinner” soften,
Whose thought had else turned light away
From rigid lesson of the day.
Sought neither chapter-page nor hymn,
She knew them both; and as in song
Her voice kept evenly along,
’Twas not so much like singing
As like the music clinging
About some sacred instrument,
Its lessening breath not wholly spent.
The little church upon the hill—
The little church with open door,
Just as it stood in days of yore,
The grass around it growing
For nearest neighbors’ mowing.
The row of battered sheds behind
Ready to rattle with the wind.
From weathered steps to belfry bell.
Few changes there; but in yon ground
Have thickened fast the slab and mound.
Hark! Shall I join the praises?
Rather, among the daisies,
Let me, in peaceful thought, once more
Be silent with the saint of yore.