Not Understood and Other Poems/The Beggar’s Prayer

by Thomas Bracken

 

THE BEGGAR’S PRAYER.
(A DIGGER’S TALE.)

 

I’LL tell you how it happened, mate: we worked in wet and cold
The winter through, until at last we struck upon the gold;
Though Charley had a woman’s frame, it held a lion’s heart,
And day by day, in shaft and drive; he nobly did his part.

I was his mate before the rush to Gabriel’s began,
I loved him, for I knew him to be every inch a man;
Ah! times are changed, and people now are not what they were then,
The boys who wore the yellow pants in those old days were MEN.

The Bible tells us, as you know, we all are made from dust,
And to the same material return again we must;
But still I can’t believe that all are moulded the same way.
For Charley was a BRICK, you see, and made of common clay.

Besides, he had a poet’s soul, and often in his ear
Old Nature whispered secrets sweet which I could never hear;
And yellow clouds, that were to me but vapour in the sky,
To him were golden pictures from the brush of God on high.

Well, as I just was telling you, we came upon the gold,
’Twas Charley’s shift below, you see; the day was wet and cold,
And I was at the windlass, when I heard my poor mate cry,
“For God’s sake, Harry, haul me up, for I’m about to die!”

“Upon the muster-roll of Death I’ve heard them call my name;
I go to take possession of a richer, better claim—
Just listen, Harry, listen, don’t you hear it over there?
I know it is, I’m sure it is, that long-remembered prayer.”

“Some strange, odd fancy, mate,” I cried, “is wandering through your mind,
The only sound I hear is the low wailing of the wind
Amongst the wild flax in the gorge and o’er the mountains bare—”
“Nay, ’tis not that, come closer and I’ll tell you ’bout that prayer.

“’Twas winter in the dear old land, and I was but a child;
December, of the sullen brow, with voice so weird and wild,
Laughed round the mansions of the rich, where comfort reigned secure,
And howled with fiendish glee about the hovels of the poor.

“Night gathered all her curtains o’er the groves of leafless beech,
And on the ruined Abbey walls the owls began to screech;
The swift electric swords of heaven flashed from each sable sheath,
And shiv’ring poplars humbly bent to kiss the shrubs beneath.

“The tempest marched triumphantly along its gloomy path,
And e’en the oak obeisance made to Nature in her wrath;
Yet all the dear ones laugh’d and joked within our home, and I
Received that night a silver crown, for Christmas time was nigh.

“But hark! a low knock at the door disturbed our mirth and glee,
And I ran forth to open it—‘For Christ’s dear sake, help me;
My little ones are starving, we are hungry, weak, and cold,
Oh, help us, boy, and may God keep you ever in His fold.’

“A wretched, ragged creature, with her little starv’lings four,
Made this appeal, as, cold and wet, they shivered at our door;
I thought not of the Nazarene’s impressive Love command,
Young impulse urged me, and I placed my crown within her hand.

“She threw herself upon her knees, whilst tears sprang from her eyes,
And raising up her hands in prayer, and looking to the skies,
She cried, ‘May God protect you, child, through all this world of sin,
And when you reach His palace doors, may angels let you in.’

“Oh, Harry, through my long, long years of wand’ring since that night,
In weal and woe, across my path that prayer has shed a light;
I heard it in the drive to-day, when sickness struck me down—
A voice said, ‘For your silver coin, you’ll get a golden crown.’

“Oh, Harry, dear old mate, good-bye, I hear that voice again,
And yonder ope’s the palace gates beyond the azure plain;
God bless you, mate ! Remember that the path to bless is sure
To all who practise Charity—then don’t forget the poor.”

 

 

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