Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE NARROW HOUSE, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE NARROW HOUSE, by                    
First Line: "a narrow home, but very still it seemeth"
Last Line: Trust him who calls unto his rest our dead
Subject(s): Houses;jesus Christ


A NARROW home, but very still it seemeth;
A silent home, no stir of tumult here;
Who wins that pillow of no sorrow dreameth,
No whirling echoes jar his sealed ear.
The tired hands lie very calm and quiet,
The weary feet no more hard paths will tread;
The great world may revolve in clash and riot,
To its loud summons leaps nor heart nor head.

The violets bloom above the tranquil sleeper,
The morning dews fall gently on the grass;
Amid the daisies kneels the only weeper,
He knows not where her lingering footsteps pass.
The autumn winds sigh softly o'er his slumber,
The winter piles the snow-drifts o'er his rest;
He does not care the flying years to number --
The narrow home contents its silent guest.

No baffled hopes can haunt, no doubt perplexes,
No parted love the deep repose can chafe,
No petty care can irk, no trouble vexes,
From misconstruction his hushed heart is safe.
Freed from the weariness of worldly fretting,
From pain and failure, bootless toil and strife,
From the dull wretchedness of vain regretting,
He lies, whose course has passed away from life.

A narrow home; and far beyond it lieth
The land whereof no mortal lips can tell.
We strain our sad eyes as the spirit flieth;
Our fancy loves on heaven's bright hills to dwell.
God shuts the door no angel lip uncloses,
They whom Christ raised no word of guidance said;
Only the cross speaks where our dust reposes:
"Trust Him who calls unto His rest our dead."





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