DOMINIE DAY. 133
"You and I, Deacon Story, are childless old folks, And the work of our hands has been blest ;
Poor Dominie Day in his body and mind Very sadly needs comfort and rest."
Dame Story s old face brighter grew as she spoke, With her tremulous hand on his knee :
"For the Lord s sake and mine, Deacon John, And for Mary s."
He answered, " We ll see."
��In the shadow of sunset sat Dominie Day In his study. His gray head was laid
Despairingly down on the desk where he wrote, And he said now and then, "I m afraid.
"Yes, afraid of the waves, that they will overflow;
Sore afraid for this wearied-out brain; Afraid of the poverty coming so close.
God help that I may not complain !"
Then he took up his cross, as a pilgrim might do On the road to the mountains of glory,
When just at his side stood the minister s wife With a missive. Twas from Deacon Story.
They read it quite through, and they spoke not a word,
Tho it gave to them comfort and rest ; A homestead for ever, a holiday month,
A competence humble but blest.
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