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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


SUN-BROWNED WITH TOIL by EDWARD FRANCIS GARESCHE

First Line: SUN-BROWNED AND WORN WITH TOIL, HE LEANED AWHILE
Last Line: "AND WHERE THY LOVE HATH PLACED HIM, FINDS HIS PEACE."
Subject(s): GOD;

Sun-browned and worn with toil, he leaned awhile
On his bright spade, and looked into the West.
His eyes were soft with thought. St. Francis came,
Noiseless, and stood beside, then gently said:
"Brother, what seest thou?" Deep he drew breath
Of long contentment. "When you evening light
Touches my cottage roof-tree -- lo, see there
How flames the thatch beneath the glowing rays --
I love to look across the reddened world
And thank my God, Who keeps me; love to muse
And through the circling hours and changing years,
As days tread slow on days, He works for me.
I see you shaggy hillside, grown with vines;
His own all-sedulous Hand doth mold each bud
And twine each tendril round its destined stay.
How soft the pastures roll! He greens them o'er
With countless grass tips, each His utter care,
As are the swinging stars. The chestnuts spread
Wide-armed and dark -- He builds their buttressed limbs
Against the storm, and when they groan and sway
They call to Him for succor. And the birds!
How far and free they ride the weightless air,
And fall and soar and circle -- ah, they feel
In swiftest onrush of their dizzy flight
His Hand beneath them. And you waving wheat
That ripples all its shining blades with joy
Beneath the summer's winds -- He bids it grow,
It, and the clustered vines, to furnish forth
His Holy Table! So mine evening thoughts
Run on and on, thus mingled; all the world
Speaking of God, my Lord, and when the West
Flames like a chalice, and its flooding rays
Frame the fair sun, poised ere he veils his light,
Methinks the whole vast world is figured there.
God is its Sun! and it but gleams to show
In myriad forms, the One Eternal Fair
That bade it be." He paused, and could no more.
Then Francis prayed, his eyes besieging heaven.
"O God, My Father, I do give Thee praise,
That Thou hast spoken to these simple hearts,
What pride and troubled learning faint to know.
They search the spheres for light: this man of toil,
Sees Thee, O Light, in all Thy common world!
And where Thy love hath placed him, finds his peace."



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