38
THE DEACON'S DAUGHTER.
But Sundays in the village choir She sweetly sang of "ways of peace,"Of "ways of peace and pleasantness," She trod such paths as these.
No sweeter voice in all the choir Praised God in innocence and truth,The Deacon in his straight-backed pew Had dreams of her he lost in youth,And thought of fair-faced Hebrew maids— Of Rachel, and of Ruth.
But she had faded, day by day, Growing more mild, and pure, and sweet,As nearer to her ear there came A distant sea's mysterious beat,Till now this summer afternoon, Its waters touched her feet.
Upon the painted porch without Two women stood, and whispered low,They thought "she'd go out with the day." They said, "the Deacon's wife went so."And then they gently pitied him— "It was a dreadful blow."
"But she was good, she was prepared, She would be better off than here,"
