Jean Blewett Poems

A prayer of love, O Father!
A fair and flowery way
Life stretches out before these
On this their marriage day.
...

O! He was the boy of the house, you know,
A jolly and rollicking lad;
He never was sick, he never was tired,
And nothing could make him sad.
...

We met her on the hillside green
Below old Castle Blarney;
Her name, she whispered, was Eileen,
Her home it was Killarney.
...

Gray old gardener, what do you bring?
'Laurel and ivy and bay,
With palms for the crowning of a King-
The morrow is Christmas Day.
...

We catch a glimpse of it, gaunt and gray,
When the golden sunbeams are all abroad;
We sober a moment, then softly say:
The world still lies in the hand of God.
...

Here's a song of cheer
For the whole long year:
We've only to do our best,
Take up our part
...

I cannot echo the old wish to die at morn, as darkness strays!
We have been glad together greeting some new-born radiant days,
The earth would hold me, every day familiar things
Would weigh me fast,
The stir, the touch of morn, the bird that on swift wings
Goes flitting past.
...

God in His own right hand doth take each day-
Each sun-filled day-each rare and radiant night,
And dropp it softly on the earth and say:
'Touch earth with heaven's own beauty and delight.'
...

In powdered wig and buckled shoe,
Knee-breeches, coat and waistcoat gay,
The wealthy squire rode forth to woo
Upon a first of April day.
...

You sing of winter gray and chill,
Of silent stream and frozen lake,
Of naked woods, and winds that wake
To shriek and sob o'er vale and hill.
...