Poems (Barker)/To Grandma on her 72nd Birthday

by Alice J. Green Barker

On Her 72nd Birthday.

There is a legand 'mong the stories old,
That loving lips have told me years agone,
Its tender sweetness thrills me with a joy,
That oftentimes I love to feast upon.
It whispered of a little silver rill,
 That glided through a dreary desert land,
Its waters cool and limped, clear and sweet,
 Sang of the distant ocean, deep and grand.

Never a murmur of the sterile soil,
Never a murmur of the burning heat,
Only glad songs of all that was to be,
And trillings of the mountains, pure and sweet.
The grand old mountains, where this little rill,
 Had one day danced and rippled, glad and free,
And oftentimes I thought how very fair,
 This cooling stream in such a land would be.

But looking on your lite, oh, patient one!
With never murmer or complaint of pain,
I see the legend of the little rill,
And the great dreary desert o'er again.
On either side its banks, grew tender flowers,
 But for its cooling waters must have died;
All 'round you, precious Grandma, are the lives,
 That by your suffering have been purified,

And as the years slip by, each forms a link,
In that bright chain, your patient life has wrought,
Your gentle feet have followed in the steps
Of Him, who only love and kindness taught.
And all about you blossom, Grandma dear,
 The flowers your love has watered and kept green;
No murmur of the sun's hot rays are heard,
 No cloud upon your face is ever seen.

And now another year has slipped away,
Still with your tender love our hearts are blest,
Your children's children's children bless your name,
And hold in tender reverence with the rest,
And Grandma darling, when the golden chain,
 Has reached the summit of the distant hill,
The flowers that you have planted, all will live,
 Watered and fed by your sweet presence still.