The Village Merchant

Upon the quiet village street,

     With slanting stoop and open door,

Whose panes are meager for display,

Through wich scarce shines the light of day,

     Behold the simple country store.

About the door are grouped the things

     Most useful for the farmers’ needs;

Some rakes and hoes, an axe and spade,

Some kegs of nails on which are laid

     A box or two of garden seeds.

Long shelves of canned stuffs greet the eye,

     Each counter too is burdened well;

While fruits and spices, coffees, teas,

And scores of other things like these

     Send forth a most inviting smell.

The grocer, now a man of years,

     Behind the counter spends each day,

Or labors o’er some musty book,

With slow and scrutinizing look,

     To keep a just account always.

Began he here when but a boy,

     He looks with pride around his store;

No great commercial venture his,

A simple, honest business –

     He seeks enough and nothing more.

He ne’er has been to foreign lands,

     Nor yearned his neighbor to excel;

In honest toil he’s passed his days,

In giving yet not asking praise,

     And served his township long and well.

On Sunday he is found at church,

     The same receives his loving care;

A class of trusting boys is his,

And in the midweek services

     His voice is heard in song and prayer.

The best the town has had to give

     Has been thrust in his sturdy hand;

His best is given to his town –

And who shall wear a greater crown,

     Who more than he born to command?

And who successful more than he,

     And who more worthy of a name?

No statesman. prophet, bard or sage

In this or any future age

     Shall have more enduring fame.

Upon the quiet village street

     This man has built his monument;

No tower of stone, a simple store,

An honest life and nothing more, -

     Who would not be, like him, content?

Feb. 10, ‘07