Poems (Linn)/Song of the Chain

by Edith Willis Linn

SONG OF THE CHAIN.

THE smithy stood by his furnace fire
 Forging an iron chain;
The ruddy flames leaped high and higher,
  And many a song sang he.
 A song of love and a song of pain,
A song of passion and desire,
  Of hope, of Heaven, and joy to be.

The farmer said, "Forge me a chain,
 To bind my wheel, as from the field
 I bring the summer's golden yield;—
The happy harvest's wealth of grain."

"Forge me a chain," the seaman said,
 "With which to hold my good ship fast,
 When death is walking in the blast,
And storms are raging overhead."

"Forge me a chain," the builder cried,
 "A strong and long and mighty chain,
 To bear the heaviest weight and strain,
And let each link be thick and wide."

The mourner said, "Forge me a chain,
 A small, light chain to mark the place
 Where, wrapped in peaceful death's embrace,
The tired heart forgets its pain."

"Forge me a chain," the woodman said,
 "To yoke my oxen to the load,
 When homeward through the forest road
I bring my heavy-laden sled."

"Forge me a chain," the warden said,
 "A chain to bind my prisoner sure,
 A chain that shall for years endure,
Till you are old and I am dead."

The smithy stood by his glowing fire,
 Forging an iron chain;
The ruddy flames leaped high and higher,
  And many a song sang he.
 A song of love and a song of pain,
A song of passion and desire,
  Of hope, of Heaven, and joy to be.