Bernard Moore

“ Give us the strength for daily stress Of toil about the busy world; Give us a balm to bitterness From wounds when cruel shafts are hurled; And give us courage in a sense Of Love's divine omnipotence.
For Life can never lonely be Since Love has broken all the bars That stayed the soul from unity With Heaven and its ten thousand stars, Whose music falls sublimely grand Through silences of hand in hand.
[Pg 42]
SORROW'S COURAGE
I have loved Beauty. ”

“ And who that gazes on that garb of Time Shall in the far light of a distant day Catch aught of colour of song or rune of rhyme? Shall all be grey?
Yet till the end fall—and the day close, Let me weave in the web of pain and the woof of tears The colour of sun-bright seas and the red of the rose, In my Loom of Years.
[Pg 41]
IN A GARDEN
A twilight peace droops tenderly, The discords of the day depart, And through the hush there comes to be A harmony within the heart ”

“ Here is calling and crying, Lust and longing for pride of place, vanity, pomp, and the strain of strife; Here in the City sobs arise from the battered hosts of the falling and dying, Who know not Peace, nor the End of Peace; who know not Life, nor the End of Life. ”

“ Let us go out where the ancient hills mother the rivers that run to the sea; Let us go out where the wind wanders, tuning amid the trees swaying, Let us go out to the wider world where the thoughts of men are free. ”

“ A year agone! a year agone! The time do speed so fast, It scairce do seem a year agone we saw our Dicky last; It seems as if his steps must come aclatterin' to the door, An' he be claimin' payment with his breakfast for the score.
He loved the lanes in springtime an' he loved them at the fall, But when the honeysuckle bloomed he loved them best of all; I mind me how he had a sprig stuck in his cap that day, A year agone, a year agone, when Dicky sailed away. ”

“ The schooner's up to hatches with her pig-iron, coal, and mud, The steamer, plugged with cargo, heaves away, But I can whiffle mackerel as through the waves I scud In my little lug and mizzen in the bay.
O! living in a schooner is like living in a tree, And a steamer's like a big hotel to-day, If I had my choice of sailing, I know I'd soonest be In my little lug and mizzen in the bay.
[Pg 59]
SEA-FOAM
The once-flashed beauty borne on a breaking wave Dies to a requiem sung on the sounding shore ”

“ There on the hills the eye may see the changeless Beauty changing On sun-splashed grass and wavering corn, verdant valley and rolling down, Clouds steal up from a far-off tryst, like Titans into battalions ranging, And the splendid Sun-god marching on to crown the world with a golden crown. ”

“ Let us away from the webbed town-tangle, where monstrous Mammon is reigning Over the small cheap souls of slaves, sudden to cringe and swift to serve; Let us go out from the clanging Gates, the squalour of strife and the sordid straining, Let us go out by the open road with feet that falter not nor swerve. ”

“ And waking to the quivering strings Spirits are touched to finer things.
Sweet hand-fast silences of eve, When love's supremest note is heard In symphonies the spirits weave Beyond the need of mortal word, O! may we keep your music when We pace the noisy haunts of men. ”

“ Meanwhile we weave upon his robes' array Embroideries of doubts and hopes and fears, The golden threads of laughter by the way, Grey threads of tears.
Careless sits Time of garment grey or gold, Although our passionate labours never cease Till weaving hands are weary and we grow old. ”

“ You wakes up cryin' an' callin', You'm cold an' hungered, an' skeered o' the turble dark; It feels most like a gert black cloud's a fallin' To crunch you to nothin', an' leave you smuttered an' stark. But a kind hand comes when the gert black clouds would drownd you, An' a warm breast holds you tight to cuddle an' kiss, An' you know that the world o' Love be all around you. Well! there 'tis. ”

“ Sure 'nuff, 'tis good, with voyagin' done, To be anchored in port at last, An' watch the boys go, one by one, As I did in days long past; 'Tis good to set in the cottage door, An' gaze at the sky an' say, An' knaw that I fared on the flood tide once, Now 'tis fallin' away; An' 'tis good to have time to make ready to sail On the voyage that leads to rest; An' I trust a Pilot Who will not fail. Sure 'nuff, 'tis best!
[Pg 40]
II. THE GARMENT OF TIME
The giant Image of Eternal Time Sits throned amidst the Infinite of Space ”

“ He likes tremenjus peonies, an' roses crowdin' arches, An' thinks as what the passun grows the whishtest sort o' fun.
Feyther have a garden, but don't run much to flowers, For he've to think o' tatties, an' useful sort o' things; His cabbages be famous, an' his collyflowers a wonder, An' you should see the runners when they'm scarlet on the strings!
But I've a finer garden than the squire or the passun; 'Tis all along the hedgerows, an' all about the lanes; It stretches up the hillside an' spreads acrost the moorland, 'Tis sweet with Cornish sunshine an' green with Cornish rains. ”

“ An' you don't much trouble at difrent kinds o' weather, If 'tis sunny 'tis sunny, but rain won't make you miss The chance to trample away thro' the moorland heather; Well! there 'tis.
But you keeps on growin', an' then you begin in a fashion To want some things you'd never a thought on before; An' you sees some eyes be blue, an' you gets a passion For jest a very perticlar cottage door. An' you don't feel tired at the end o' the day o' toilin' So long as it ends with the sound an' song of a kiss, So long as it ends with arms round you coilin' ”

“ An' some don't take no heed at all, But some goes up the hill to Paul, An' some to Chapel goes; Whilst some strolls down upon the kay, An' sits an' spits into the say; But all the same, they knaws the Day, An' doesn' dirt their clo'es. [Pg 23]
But whether Church be right or b'aint, Or Mittin' Houses make'ee faint, Or whether you'm a solemn saint Or jest a cheerful sinner, For sartin, not so long by noon, You'll all be playin' the same tune Wi' knife an' fork an' mebbe spoon, Asettin' down to dinner. ”

“ When Jenny goes to Mittin' House dressed in her Sunday clo'es She looks so like a hangell in her little pew apart, That when I try to sing the hymns my throttle seems to close, An' I cussn't hear the sermon for the beatin' of my heart.
Jenny, Jenny, won't 'ee let me love 'ee? You'm brighter far than any star That's shinin' up above 'ee; Sartin sure, you make me mazed, Iss, me deear, a whisht an' crazed; Jenny, Jenny, won't 'ee let me love 'ee? ”

“ Ruth Penwarne be a braave rich woman; Her lives in a cottage with a warpley door; Her've got four childer, not countin' the baby, An' there baint no tellin' but her might have more.
Miss Tregear have a room for dinin', An' a room for drawin', where her doesn' draw, An' a room where books be shut in cupboards, An' others us don't knaw what they'm for.
Ruth Penwarne have a little linhay, An' there her washes when the rain be nigh, But when 'tis sunny her goes in the garden, An' spreads her clo'es on the fuzzen to dry. ”

“ Sure 'nuff, 'twas good when I wandered away, An' saw that the world was wide, In the wunnerful lands beyont the say, An' the ports where the big ships ride. 'Twas good to meet men who could strive an' seek, An' didn' knaw nort o' fear, An' hail 'em a word in passin' by, An' answer 'em back with a cheer. 'Twas good to be sailin' the way o' the world, An' standin' where strong men stood, An' counted awhile as a man among men ”

“ He've good advice for husbands, which he tells them all alone: "Go suant comin' into port an' watch the weather cone; Jest keep your hellum stiddy if there's tokens of a squall— Cross words is nigh as useless as a porpus in the trawl."
He've good advice for housewives but he keeps it to hisself: For he knows they awnly puts it with the jowds upon the shelf; His wisest words to women be the words he doesn' say, For he jest sits in the winder an' looks acrost the bay.
[Pg 25]
A CORNISH SEINING SONG
The Huer is up on the cliff, me deears, Glazing out to say ”

“ Sure 'nuff he thinks a mort o' things tho' 'tis little he has to say. 'Tis time he came to his moorin's an' heaved his gear ashore, For the sea is a bit too chancy for a man gone eighty-four.
He've catched a plenty of wisdom in the net inside his head, An' often us be tellin' of the clever things he've said. They'm cleverer nor things you read in books an' papers too, Because he dosn' make 'em up, but awnly knaws they'm true. ”

“ But I shan't marry a Devon maid; I reckon I'd rather be dead.
I've seed a many o' London maids abroad in London Town; They'm larky an' flittery single, but marryin' calms 'em down; But I shan't marry a London maid; I reckon I'd rather drown.
For I have knawed the Cornish maids, an' like 'em best of any. So take the London an' Devon maids, they'm goin' at two a penny; An' I shan't marry nobody else, for I be tokened to Jenny.
[Pg 19]
CAP'N JOHN
Cap'n John has been to Frisky, Injy an' Australy too ”

“ An' allays at the Church Bazaar He sells the Hooplar rings; An' if us get a concert up An' there's no one else, he sings. [Pg 13]
So be you'm seekin' clever men, Come down along o' we; We'll show 'ee John Pengelly then Behind his grocery; An' when you taste his peppermints, Sure 'nuff, tis mazed you'll be.
[Pg 14]
EDDICATION
Feyther sez as "Larnin' be the proper trade for boys," An' so us have to go to school, an' dursn't make a noise, But jest sits on a form an' hears what schoolmaister do say, An' all the time we'm thinkin' how the boats go in the bay. ”

“ An' two rooms aloft as be crammed with beds; Her don't have carpets, so they can't get dirty, An' her soon clanes up where the childer treads.
Miss Tregear have a face that's lonely; Her be often sad, tho' her can't tell why; Her be allays asayin there's nothin' doin', An' thinks how slow all the days go by.
Ruth Penwarne haven't time for thinkin', With makin' an' mendin' an' scrubbin' too, An' sartin sure, she'm a braave rich woman, With childer an' home an' her work to do.
[Pg 35]
A FIRESIDE SPELL
"I've spanked young Tom an' sent him to bed, an' I reckon it sarves him right ”

“ Still the lil' maid wept.
"Don't 'ee cry, li'l maid—Iss, the Say be a terrible net, An' 'tis wearisome waitin' a meetin' beyont the Big Tide; Jest try to catch sleep on you'm pellaw, mebbe you'll forget." Still the lil' maid cried.
"Don't 'ee cry did un say? Well, youm feyther jest wanted to cheer'ee, But men doesn' knaw where the best cup o' comfort is kept. Cuddle down; cry it out on you'm own mother's bosom, me dearie." Then the lil' maid slept.
[Pg 37]
"I MIND ME"
I mind me of the cottage where I used to bide Just above the harbour on the steep hill-side ”

“ Well! there 'tis.
Then you grows old, an' at last you falls on sleepin'. Do you count you'll be all alone in the turble dark? Do you think you'll be left to the sound o' wailin' an' weepin' Lonely an' cold in the cloam, unmothered an' stark? When you was a baby, helpless an' cryin' an' callin' Didn' the kind arms take, an' the warm lips kiss? An' won't there be Arms at last, to save you from fallin'? Well! there 'tis.
[Pg 10]
GARDENS
Passun he've a garden, 'tis trim an' nate an' vitty, He'm mortal proud o' growin' things that's turble hard to grow ”

“ The Times.—"Wonder and astonishment are great words with great associations. But there are few men living in England today of whom they can be more fairly used, in their most exact and literal sense, than of Mr. ”