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Of his day's work. "Three dark mid-winter months
"Pass," said the Matron, "and I never see,
"Save when the Sabbath brings its kind release,
"My Help-mate's face by light of day. He quits
"His door in darkness, nor till dusk returns.
"And, through heaven's blessing, thus we gain the bread
"For which we pray; and for the wants provide
"Of sickness, accident, and helpless age.
"Companions have I many; many Friends,
"Dependants, Comforters—my Wheel, my Fire,
"All day the House-clock ticking in mine ear,
"The cackling Hen, the tender Chicken brood,
"And the wild Birds that gather round my porch.
"This honest Sheep-dog's countenance I read;
"With him can talk; nor seldom waste a word
"On Creatures less intelligent and shrewd.
"And if the blustering Wind that drives the clouds
"Care not for me, he lingers round my door,
"And makes me pastime when our tempers suit;
"—But, above all, my Thoughts are my support."
The Matron ended—nor could I forbear
To exclaim—"O happy! yielding to the law
Of these privations, richer in the main!
