THE GARDEN SEAT
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TS former green is blue and thin,And its once firm legs sink in and in;Soon it will break down unaware,Soon it will break down unaware. At night when reddest flowers are blackThose who once sat thereon come back;Quite a row of them sitting there,Quite a row of them sitting there. With them the seat does not break down,Nor winter freeze them, nor floods drown,For they are as light as upper air,They are as light as upper air! BARTHÉLÉMON AT VAUXHALL François Hippolite Barthélémon, first-fiddler at Vauxhall Gardens,composed what was probably the most popular morning hymn-tune everwritten. It was formerly sung, full-voiced, every Sunday in mostchurches, to Bishop Ken’s words, but is now seldom heard. HE said: “Awake my soul, and with the sun,” . . .And paused upon the bridge, his eyes due east,Where was emerging like a full-robed priestThe irradiate globe that vouched the dark as done. It lit his face—the weary face of oneWho in the adjacent gardens charged his string,Nightly, with many a tuneful tender thing,Till stars were weak, and dancing hours outrun. And then were threads of matin music spunIn trial tones as he pursued his way:“This is a morn,” he murmured, “well begun:This strain to Ken will count when I am clay!” And count it did; till, caught by echoing lyres,It spread to galleried naves and mighty quires. “I SOMETIMES THINK”(FOR F. E. H.) I SOMETIMES think as here I sitOf things I have done,Which seemed in doing not unfitTo face the sun:Yet never a soul has paused a whitOn such—not one. There was that eager strenuous pressTo sow good seed;There was that saving from distressIn the nick of need;There were those words in the wilderness:Who cared to heed? Yet can this be full true, or no?For one did care,And, spiriting into my house, to, fro,Like wind on the stair,Cares still, heeds all, and will, even thoughI may despair.
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