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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MY TRUNDLE BED, by J. G. BAKER First Line: As I rummaged through the attic Last Line: "father, do thou bless my child." Subject(s): Grief; Sorrow; Sadness | |||
AS I RUMMAGED through the attic, List'ning to the falling rain As it patter'd on the shingles And against the windowpane, Peeping over chests and boxes Which with dust were thickly spread, Saw I in the farthest corner What was once -- my trundle bed. So I drew it from the recess Where it had remained so long, Hearing all the while the music Of my mother's voice in song, As she sang in sweetest accents What I since have often read: "Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber; Holy angels guard thy bed." As I listen'd, recollections That I thought had been forgot Came, with all the gush of mem'ry, Rushing, thronging to the spot; And I wander'd back to childhood, To those merry days of yore, Where I knelt beside my mother By this bed, upon the floor. Then it was, with hands so gently Placed upon my infant head, That she taught my lips to utter Carefully the words she said; Never can they be forgotten, Deep are they in memory riven: "Hallowed be thy name, O, Father, Father! Thou who are in Heaven." Years have pass'd, and that dear mother Long hast moulder'd 'neath the sod, And I trust her sainted spirit Revels in the home of God; But that scene at summer twilight Never has from mem'ry fled, And it comes in all its freshness When I see my trundle bed. This she taught me, then she told me Of its import, great and deep, After which I learned to utter "Now I lay me down to sleep"; Then it was, with hands uplifted And in accents soft and mild, That my mother asked Our Father: "Father, do Thou bless my child." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONOMA FIRE by JANE HIRSHFIELD AS THE SPARKS FLY UPWARDS by JOHN HOLLANDER WHAT GREAT GRIEF HAS MADE THE EMPRESS MUTE by JUNE JORDAN |
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