THE GRANDFATHER'S STICK.
'Twas as bonnie an ash-staft as ever was seen
In the hands of a pilgrim or paths of a wood;
'Twas as tough as the bow of Ulysses, I ween;
Its polish was high, and its fibre was good.
In the hands of a pilgrim or paths of a wood;
'Twas as tough as the bow of Ulysses, I ween;
Its polish was high, and its fibre was good.
'Twas the grandfather's stick—it was his stick alone—
Of its forty years' service how proudly he'd tell!
'Twas all very just—he might call it his own;
But every one else seem'd to claim it as well.
Of its forty years' service how proudly he'd tell!
'Twas all very just—he might call it his own;
But every one else seem'd to claim it as well.
'Twas his when the soft, Sabbath chimes floated by,
When the sun might be hot, or the mud might be thick;
The church was up-hill, and the youngsters would fly
To carry his prayer-book, and find him his stick.
When the sun might be hot, or the mud might be thick;
The church was up-hill, and the youngsters would fly
To carry his prayer-book, and find him his stick.
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