Poems (Stephens)/The silent meeting

by Eliza Jane Stephens

THE SILENT MEETING.

Quaker hill is a lovely place
 When gentle summer lingers there,
Its meadows are the richest green,
 Its orchards fairest of the fair.

There's fragrance borne on every breeze
 Prom flowers of brightest, rarest hue,
And woodland warblers seem to vie
 In always singing something new.

But when stern winter's icy breath
 Makes brown the trees and white the earth,
Then desolation reigns supreme
 O'er all except the cottage hearth.

But there in friendship's sweetest guise
 The neighbors meet and while away
In pleasant games and social chat
 The closing hours each winter's day.

A conscientious people, they.
 Attentive are to duty's call,
And often meet and ask the aid
 Of Him, who cares alike for all.

But so it happe'd one meeting day,
 'Twas so extremely cold, that then
Of all that worthy brotherhood,
 None ventured forth but two old men.

They reached the church and made a fire,
 For warmth they had not long to wait.
A silent meeting oft was held,
 So both sat down to meditate.

They were at peace with all the world,
 At peace with conscience sure to keep,
And in that stupifying warmth
 The two old men soon fell asleep.

The sun had reached the western sky,
 But flight of time disturbed them not.
Their's was a calm, unbroken rest,
 All cares and griefs alike forgot.

The hours wore on, and shades of night
 Soon wrapped the outward world in gloom.
But still the fire burned warm and bright,
 And beautified that homely room.

Their friends, now in a great alarm,
 Unto the church in haste could come,
They roused them from a slumber deep,
 And much amused, all journeyed home.

 

Quakerhill, a beautiful hamlet in Duchess County, N. Y... so named from its Society of Friends, or Quakers.