FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   296   297   298   299   300   301   302   303   304   305   306   307   308   309   310   311   312   313   314   315   316   317   318   319   320  
321   322   323   324   325   326   327   328   329   330   331   332   333   334   335   336   337   338   339   340   341   342   343   344   345   >>   >|  
l. When they had breakfasted, they read together from the Bible: first the uncle read the passage he had last got light upon--he was always getting light upon passages, and then the niece the passage she had last been gladdened by; after which they sat and chatted a long time by the kitchen fire. "I am afraid your asthma was bad last night, uncle dear," said Ruth. "I heard your breathing every time I woke." "It was, rather," answered the little man, "but I took my revenge, and had a good crow over it." "I know what you mean, uncle: do let me hear the crow." He rose, and slowly climbing the stair to his chamber, returned with a half sheet of paper in his hand, resumed his seat, and read the following lines, which he had written in pencil when the light came: Satan, avaunt! Nay, take thine hour; Thou canst not daunt, Thou hast no power; Be welcome to thy nest, Though it be in my breast. Burrow amain; Dig like a mole; Fill every vein With half-burned coal; Puff the keen dust about, And all to choke me out. Fill music's ways With creaking cries, That no loud praise May climb the skies; And on my laboring chest Lay mountains of unrest. My slumber steep In dreams of haste, That only sleep, No rest I taste-- With stiflings, rimes of rote, And fingers on the throat. Satan, thy might I do defy; Live core of night, I patient lie: A wind comes up the gray Will blow thee clean away. Christ's angel, Death, All radiant white, With one cold breath Will scare thee quite, And give my lungs an air As fresh as answered prayer. So, Satan, do Thy worst with me, Until the True Shall set me free, And end what He began, By making me a man. "It is not much of poetry, Ruth!" he said, raising his eyes from the paper; "--no song of thrush or blackbird! I am ashamed that I called it a cock-crow--for that is one of the finest things in the world--a clarion defiance to darkness and sin--far too good a name for my poor jingle--except, indeed, you call it a Cochin-china-cock-crow--from out a very wheezy chest!" "'My strength is made perfect in weakness,'" said Ruth solemnly, heedless of the depreciation. To her the verses were as full of meaning as if she had made them herself. "I think I like the older reading better--that is, without the _My_," said Polwarth: "'Strength is made perfec
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   296   297   298   299   300   301   302   303   304   305   306   307   308   309   310   311   312   313   314   315   316   317   318   319   320  
321   322   323   324   325   326   327   328   329   330   331   332   333   334   335   336   337   338   339   340   341   342   343   344   345   >>   >|  



Top keywords:

passage

 

answered

 

prayer

 
poetry
 

raising

 
making
 

breath

 
patient
 

radiant

 

Christ


ashamed

 

depreciation

 

verses

 

heedless

 
solemnly
 
strength
 
wheezy
 

perfect

 

weakness

 

meaning


Polwarth
 

Strength

 

perfec

 
reading
 

breakfasted

 

finest

 

things

 

called

 
thrush
 
blackbird

clarion
 

defiance

 
jingle
 

Cochin

 
darkness
 

stiflings

 

avaunt

 

pencil

 

written

 

resumed


chatted

 

kitchen

 

breathing

 

revenge

 

returned

 

chamber

 

afraid

 
asthma
 

slowly

 

climbing