Page:Andrew Lockhart - At the Bars of Memory.pdf/13



Preacher? No, I ain't no preacher! But as O saw you standin' there, I thought I could trace O'er a boy's happy face A ringlet o' wind-toss'd hair. An' I thought I could picture a mother With a face like the heaven's dawn. As she heard her child's pray'rs, By his bedside upstairs When the curtains at evenin' were drawn.

Preacher? No, I ain't no preacher! But when I saw the glint in your eyes, Wondered I if she knew What had happened to you, An' if you ever thought o' her sighs. An' I wondered if you ever wrote her— Yes, I know folks call you a bum— But she's prayin' tonight By the lamp's yellow light For the boy, her boy, who don't come.

Preacher? No, I ain't no preacher! But as I heard you laugh just now, I thought I could trace In the lines o' your face The kisses she pressed on your brow; An' I thought I could hear the babble Of a wee, little chap in his glee, As he galloped the course On a white wooden horse No higher'n his gran'daddy's knee.

Preacher? No, I ain't no preacher! But I just couldn't help but see How sweet-like you looked Afore you went and booked For the ports that can never be. An' I just couldn't keep from wonderin' If you weren't hungry tonight To hear mother say: "Dear Father, I pray"— Back home in the yellow light.

Preacher? No, I ain't no preacher! But I'm askin' you just the same, As a mere passin' friend Who has noticed your trend Though he don't even know your name. To go back to the woman who's waitin' An' fill her old heart with joy— An' kiss her wrinkled brow: For though you're a man now, In her eyes—you're only a boy!