Poems (Odom)/Out in the World
OUT IN THE WORLD.
Out in the pitiless falling rain,—
Out in the chill November weather—
We wander forth to earn our bread,
My only child and I together;
A leaden sky is overhead;
Thick, shaggy clouds of dismal gray,
Hang over us as though despair
Would shroud the light of hope away.
Out in the chill November weather—
We wander forth to earn our bread,
My only child and I together;
A leaden sky is overhead;
Thick, shaggy clouds of dismal gray,
Hang over us as though despair
Would shroud the light of hope away.
The engine shrieks as though in pain,
Then, panting, stops as if for breath;
The cars rush madly on again,
As though they fled from sin and death.
I shiver in the murky air,
Lift my wet eyes and glance around;
In all the crowd of faces there
No friend's familiar look is found.
Then, panting, stops as if for breath;
The cars rush madly on again,
As though they fled from sin and death.
I shiver in the murky air,
Lift my wet eyes and glance around;
In all the crowd of faces there
No friend's familiar look is found.
Alone in my heart-breaking woe,
Bereft of all the joy I 've known;
Just as hot tears begin to flow,
Soft loving fingers clasp my own.
I feel sweet kisses on my cheek,
Two loving arms around me twine;
Two great, brown eyes that almost speak,
Look up in childish trust to mine.
Bereft of all the joy I 've known;
Just as hot tears begin to flow,
Soft loving fingers clasp my own.
I feel sweet kisses on my cheek,
Two loving arms around me twine;
Two great, brown eyes that almost speak,
Look up in childish trust to mine.
Thank God! I have one blessing yet—
One rose upon my tree of joy—
One single star that has not set
Amid the clouds—my darling boy—
My precious only child—the last
Of four sweet children that I had—
One living baby left to cheer,
Three little graves to make me sad.
One rose upon my tree of joy—
One single star that has not set
Amid the clouds—my darling boy—
My precious only child—the last
Of four sweet children that I had—
One living baby left to cheer,
Three little graves to make me sad.
Dear little Fannie went before
Her baby lips had drawn a breath;
And Frank was scarcely eight months old
When his blue eyes were closed in death;
The next—the purest of my pearls,—
With bright blue eyes, and shining hair
That clustered in such sunny curls
About her brow so smooth and fair,—
Her baby lips had drawn a breath;
And Frank was scarcely eight months old
When his blue eyes were closed in death;
The next—the purest of my pearls,—
With bright blue eyes, and shining hair
That clustered in such sunny curls
About her brow so smooth and fair,—
My little Maggie, whose sweet eyes
Looked into mine for two brief years,
Died, and my very heart turned cold,
And froze the fountain of my tears.
I could not weep, tho' others knelt
Beside my child in sobbing woe;
The deepest grief I ever felt
Was when my tears refused to flow.
Looked into mine for two brief years,
Died, and my very heart turned cold,
And froze the fountain of my tears.
I could not weep, tho' others knelt
Beside my child in sobbing woe;
The deepest grief I ever felt
Was when my tears refused to flow.
My little ones have passed away—
My home, and fortune, too, have gone,
And on this cheerless wintry day
I wander in the world alone.
Out in the pitiless falling rain—
Out in the chill November weather—
We wander forth to earn our bread,
My only child and I together.
My home, and fortune, too, have gone,
And on this cheerless wintry day
I wander in the world alone.
Out in the pitiless falling rain—
Out in the chill November weather—
We wander forth to earn our bread,
My only child and I together.