The Eighth Sin/Old Quaker Wood

by Christopher Morley

OLD QUAKER WOOD.

(To C. W. S., the Goblin-Woodcutter.)

Old Quaker wood burns sweet and slow
And sinks into a crimson glow.
The log, grown tough with many days
The fiery fingers long gainsays
And then—how grey the ash below!

Green were your leaves of long ago,
Now brighter blossoms round you grow
The golden foliage of the blaze
Old Quaker wood!

And even in your final throe
The small blue flame is whispering low
In confidential Quaker phrase
"Thee must be brave!" The log obeys
For any (as we all well know)
Old Quaker would!

Old Jordans Hostel.