Bob

Singer of songs of the hills     Dreamer, by waters unstirred,     Back in a valley of rills,     Home of the leaf and the bird!     Read in this fall of the year     Just the compassionate phrase,     Faded with traces of tear,     Written in far-away days:     Gone is the light of my lap     (Lord, at Thy bidding I bow),     Here is my little ones cap,     He has no need of it now,     Give it to somebodys boy     Somebodys darling she wrote.     Touching was Bob in his joy     Bob without boots or a coat.     Only a cap; but it gave     Capless and comfortless one     Happiness, bright as the brave,     Beautiful light of the sun.     Soft may the sanctified sod     Rest on the father who led     Bob from the gutter, unshod     Covered his cold little head!     Bob from the foot to the crown     Measured a yard, and no more     Baby alone in the town,     Homeless, and hungry, and sore     Child that was never a child,     Hiding away from the rain,     Draggled and dirty and wild,     Down in a pipe of the drain.     Poor little beggar was Bob     Couldnt afford to be sick,     Getting a penny a job,     Sometimes a curse and a kick.     Father was killed by the drink;     Mother was driven to shame;     Bob couldnt manage to think     He had forgotten their name.     God was in heaven above,     Flowers illumined the ground,     Women of infinite love     Lived in the palaces round     Saints with the character sweet     Found in the fathers of old,     Laboured in alley and street     Baby slept out in the cold.     Nobody noticed the child     Nobody knew of the mite     Creeping about like a wild     Thing in the shadow of night.     Beaten by drunkards and cowed     Frightened to speak or to sob     How could he ask you aloud,     Have you a penny for Bob?     Few were the pennies he got     Seldom could hide them away,     Watched by the ravenous sot     Ever at wait for his prey.     Poor little man! He would weep     Oft for a morsel of bread;     Coppers he wanted to keep     Went to the tavern instead.     This was his history, friend     Ragged, unhoused, and alone;     How could the child comprehend     Love that he never had known?     Hunted about in the world,     Crouching in crevices dim,     Crust with a curse at him hurled     Stood for a kindness with him.     Little excited his joy     Bun after doing a job;     Mother of bright-headed boy,     Think of the motherless Bob!     High in the heavens august     Providence saw him, and said     Out of the pits of the dust     Lift him, and cover his head.     Ah, the ineffable grace,     Father of children, in Thee!     Boy in a radiant place,     Fanned by the breeze of the sea     Child on a lullaby lap     Said, in the pause of his pain,     Mother, dont bury my cap     Give it to Bob in the lane.     Beautiful bidding of Death!     What could she do but obey,     Even when suffering Faith     Hadnt the power to pray?     So, in the fall of the year,     Saint with the fatherly head     Hunted for somebodys dear     Somebodys darling, he said.     Bob, who was nobodys child,     Sitting on nobodys lap,     Draggled and dirty and wild     Bob got the little ones cap.     Strange were compassionate words!     Waif of the alley and lane     Dreamed of the music of birds     Floating about in the rain.     White-headed father in God,     Over thy beautiful grave     Green is the grass of the sod,     Soft is the sound of the wave.     Down by the slopes of the sea     Often and often will sob     Boy who was fostered by thee     This is the story of Bob.