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This scarce antiquarian book is a selection from Kessinger
Publishing's Legacy Reprint Series. Due to its age, it may contain
imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed
pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we
have made it available as part of our commitment to protecting,
preserving, and promoting the world's literature. Kessinger
Publishing is the place to find hundreds of thousands of rare and
hard-to-find books with something of interest for everyone!
Purchase of this book includes free trial access to
www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books
for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: 38
THE DROPPED STITCHES. O'er rugged roads and mountain-steeps her
pilgrimage pursued; Content, nay, glad, to toil and climb, though
oftentimes oppressed, Since she was in the path that led to victory
and rest. SITTING alone in the corner, In her own old easy-chair,
With the firelight softly falling On her beautiful gray hair, She
's knitting away at a stocking, Rounding a heel to-night; And
nobody knits like mother, Though age is dimming her sight. Glancing
like silver, the needles Backward and forward go, And the rings on
her thin white fingers Are flashing to and fro. There 's the golden
band that has never Been off since her wedding-day, And the hoop
encrusted with diamonds, From Tom, when he went away. THE DROPPED
STITCHES. 39 Away at the beck of fortune, To the far-off China
seas, While his mother compassed his out-bound ship Day and night
on her knees. Pleading that wind and weather For Tom might ever be
fair, And that never the boy might wander Out of reach of his
mother's prayer. This blue-mixed sock ?it reminds her Of some she
sent to the camp, For Willie to wear, poor soldier-boy, To keep his
feet from the damp. And Willie he never wore them; His tired feet
were still ?- Oh, so still in a narrow grave On the side of a
Southern hill. It's wonderful?she remembers The first little sock
she knit, A wee thing, white and dainty, Marvelling, "Would it
fit?" Tucking it by in her basket, As if half it were a sin, And
fearing lest careless eyes should see The dreams she was knitting
in. 40 THE DROPPED STITCHES. Dear little baby Alice! Never was babe
so sweet. Alice's own are all very well; But all! those dimpled
feet That she fondled and kissed so often, That she taught t...
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