Poems (Geisse)/My Bishop

by Mary A. Geisse

MY BISHOP.

My Bishop! Ah, how strange it seems,
 His new won dignity,
When I recall him as the babe
 I rocked upon my knee:
And then the prattling toddler
 With the imperious will,
Whose cheeks would flame with scarlet,
 Whose feet were rarely still.
Ah me I the many tumbles
 His fat legs gave him then;
To-day he walks sedately
 Among his fellow-men—
              My Bishop.

Again I see a vision
 Of a bright, sturdy boy,
A youngster live and agile,
 Brimful of life's sweet joy;
So eager for the knowledge
 The coming years would bring,
So tender and considerate
 Of every living thing,
Indignant at all meanness,
 The champion of fair play,
Frank, loving and courageous,
 Just as he is to-day—
              My Bishop.

How well I can remember
 His boyish scorn of wrong,
In telling how some weaker lad
 Was bullied by the strong:
His eyes would flash at mention
 Of an injustice done,
He only prized a victory
 When it was fairly won.
And how he loved his "Heroes"!
 I call them his indeed.
For he has truly made them
 Part of his life and creed—
              My Bishop.

And when I look into his face
 And tenderly the past years scan,
I murmur in my deep content,
 "The child is father of the man."
For not one hope is unfulfilled,
 Each blessed promise of his youth,
The generous spirit of the boy,
 His love, his loyalty, his truth,
These give his words their power to heal,
 The weary, doubting heart to reach,
And so his prayer has been fulfilled,
 "O teach me. Lord, that I may teach."