Unpublished poems from yesteryear. Author's unknown

I remember that bright June morning when they brought me home from the store.  They hung me up here in the kitchen close by the pantry door.  She was then a rosey cheeked woman, with a voice that was good to hear, but soon all the roses had faded like flower's in the fall of the year.  When there honeymoon poem was ended, and there pro's of their life had began.  I heard him telling her often of schemes, projects, and plans that would help him making money.  That was his one pet theme.  She'd listened, sighing softely as over a vanishing dream.  I'll do all I can to help you, she said with a smile and a kiss.  As she takes up lives work as before her.  But soon I was sorry to miss the song that made merry music in the room.  I ticked away, the hours was all for labor and never a one for play.  Children were born in the household, but there never was time it seemed for the mother to love her baby's in the way that she dreamed.  There was always some hard work waiting, some task that had to be done, and it was snitch a kiss and hurry from the rise to the set of the sun.  Often I've seen the tear drop that trembled and fell on her cheek.  The look of sorrowful loving that she seldom dared to speek.

But once I remember she fullered.  Oh John, it would help me so, if you'd just speak one kind word sometime.  But his answer was like a blow, there's something else to be thought of.  Our love making days are done, and now we've settled down for business.  That leaves no time for fun.  Oh the pitifull, putifull quiver on her lips as she turned from him as the hartless words were spoken with eyes of hot tears may dim.  But never a word she would answer the hop in her heart was dead, and after her husband had left her, she looked up at me and said, her voice had a heart break in it, and a sob to stiffle breath, how many years must I stand it, this life that is worse than death?  

It was Christmas day,and it should lay all about the place. As the children came to the bed side with pale and troubled faces, and they just stood and whisper together, with voice odd and low.  There mother's dying, and their glad to have it so.  The husband came to the bed side and looks at her worn white face, that looked like a ghost of the old time, haunting it seldom place.  And the voice of his conscience whispers in God's terrible judgement day, will your wealth be found sufficient, for the debt you have to pay?

She was a faithful wife, and mother, and earned a word of praise, did you give it and did you lighten, with a kind work, the toil some days?  No! you let her starve in silence for a crumb of lifes sweet bread.  How can you face the record, of the kind  of words you left unsaid?  Forgive, forgive cried the husband as he sinks beside the bed.  I was blind for I tough God judges us only by the words we have said, now I know he holds us guilt for the words we do not speek.  When their help is needed by the weary and the weak.  Oh, I see the mistakes in living in assorted a selfish ends, for the lives that they have made, there failures or gains can not make amends, if I could live my life over, I would full atonement make, for the wrong I have done you Mary, God spare her for loves sake. 

 Oh, John she cried, do you love me?  All her soul was in that cry, if you love me I will not leave you.  God will not let me die.  He answered her kissing her softly with a face that was wet with tears.  Live and the love you have missed dear, shall brighten all coming years.  The Christmas bells were ringing and this was the song they sang.  God made this fair world in love, and in love lies our most precious things.  The hearts of wives and of husbands send thanks to the Great God above, who out of his urgent mercy had answered their pleadings for love.