(1936 or 1937)
It’s a memory we’ve been thinking of,
Oh, quite a lot of late
It’s a little while haired woman
Who’s running from our gate.
Oh, for she was just a neighbor then
Who came to call and stayed
Just a little late and hurried home
To have the table laid.
And the men folk coming from the field
Would find a hearty fare
And a restful place and comfort
Pervading everywhere.
It has seemed to us that no kind deed
Was left to go undone
No word unsaid that might have helped
Or cheered a weary one.
I’m remembering how often we
Might find them sheltering there
Oh, a child or two beside their own
It was their way to care.
For the ones who suffered from the blow
Ill fortune often struck
And in sacrificing their own ease
Would nurse them back to luck.
Then, a warm hand clasp did often yield
Some money for this friend
And a neighbor gave a neighbor fruit
To help is body mend.
To the milk man on a stormy day
He lent a cap and coat
Or went to see an ailing cow
In answer to a note.
We’ll never see the old white house
But what we shall recall
All the mellowed years of friendship sweet
It offered to us all.
Oh, forgive us for remembering
But memory calls late
And a little white haired woman
Is running from our gate.
