Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE OLD FARM, by ELIZABETH SEWELL HILL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE OLD FARM, by                    
First Line: Oh, the old, old farm, and the old farm's joys!
Last Line: "across the twilight's dusk and grey, still calls, ""come, boys, come in""!"
Subject(s): Animals; Farm Life; Prairies; Agriculture; Farmers; Plains


Oh, the old, old farm, and the old farm's joys!
Its meadows and its pastures where we played when we were boys;
Its garden-patch that kept us pulling weeds and hoeing corn—
And retiring to the river, bruised by stone and pierced by thorn.

Oh, the old barnyard and the barnyard gate,
Where with breath all clover-laden, the milk-cows used to wait;
Where the horses wheeling from it, sent them back a lusty neigh,
And the chickens cackled thro' the dust to get out of the way.

Oh, the old gray barn and the old barn door,
That swung upon its iron hinges, forty years or more;
That ope'd before the sunrise and closed at twilight's fall,
As the milk-cows moved sedately to the milk maid's call.
Oh, the old hay-mow and the old straw stack,
With the hickory sapling stripped across its great broad back;
With the young calves cuddled in the sun, but which refused to stay
While the children hunted for the nests the hens would hide away.

Oh, the old farmhouse on the long, long lane,
Down which the children wandered and ne'er came back again;
With its trees and bushes 'round it, its vines and flower-beds,
Where the maiden-blush blushed faintest pink, the poppies furious red.

And the orchard—oh, the orchard, with its wealth of blossom sweet,
Its cherries and its berries and its shade in July's heat,
When the butterflies were chasing other butterflies as fleet,
And the honey-bee and hornet claimed the clover at your feet.

And the broad cornfields and the corncribs high,
With their manifest temptations to the pig-pens nigh;
The farmer's implements and tools all lying round at will
In the barnyard, barn and meadow; in the yard the cider-mill.

Twilight settles down upon it. Dews are falling; silence reigns;
And night's mighty, haunting sorrow pulsates thro' the halting strains
Of the katydids and crickets to the great gold star of eve,
As the farmer's children seated on the hayrack softly weave
All those glorious, golden fancies, only hope and childhood can
As they wrestle with the problem, "What I'll do when I'm a man."
But the evening chores are finished and Father, gaunt and thin,
Rises from the open doorway, calling, "Come now, boys, come in"!

Father by the rocker yonder; Mother just across the room;
With the moonlight falling softly, oh, so softly, thro' the gloom,
As they kneel to ask God's blessing on the dear group kneeling there,
On the loved ones long since scattered, on God's people everywhere.

Oh, that moonlight hushed and holy; oh, the prayers each night; the tears
When the boys rode down the long, long lane. Thro' the haze of vanished years
God's peace still rests upon the farm and father, gaunt and thin,
Across the twilight's dusk and grey, still calls, "Come, boys, come in"!





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