Th’ Edge o’ Dark (or Owd Anvil’s Prayer)
by Samuel Hill
Owd Anvil lean’d o’er th’ ceaw-lone gate,
As th’ day-eend faded into neet,
An’ th’ twileet’s shadows deepened reawnd,
For th’ sun had long bin eawt o’ seet.
A hazy glimmerin’ just o’er th’ ridge
Proclaimed “the rising of the moon,”
Whoile tothry stars loike diamonds breet,
Twinkle’t i’ th’ firmament aboon.
A bonny neet, so calm an’ still,
Just broken neaw an’ then by th’ seawnd
O toir’t footsteps ploddin’ on-
Some honest toiler, homeward beawnd.
O’ th’ world seemed sinkin’ to repose,
As if fagged eawt by th’ long day’s wark,
An’ drowsy feelin’s grew apace,
An’ filled one’s breast – ‘twur th’ edge o’ dark.
Owd Anvil crooned a whoamly tune,
An’ seemed t’ be in a musin’ strain;
Stray thowts coom bubblin’ thro’ his mind-
Past memories, wi’ a sweet refrain.
A gladsome smile crept o’er his face,
Tingein’ his honest heart wi’ joy,
For happiness enthralled his soul-
A happiness without alloy.
Life’s journey neaw, for him, wur short:
He knew it wouldna’ be so long
Ere he must send his time-sheet in-
He waited for the warnin’ gong.
Feelin’ he’d earned his reet-o’-way,
Trustin’ he’d made his merit mark,
Loike some gaunt warrior from the fray,
He rested neaw, at th’ edge o’ dark.
Neet-buzzarts flitted to an’ fro,
An’ beetles buzz’d an’ wheel’d o’er th’ hedge,
A bat coom whizzin’ straight deawn th’ lone,
A tooad scrawl’t thro’ th’ brooklet’s sedge.
Owd Anvil charged an’ lit his pipe,
He’re i’ no mood for roostin’ yet;
He held communion wi’ his God-
Wi’ Him ‘ut we should ne’er forget.
Gazin’ i’ memory back o’er th’ plain-
Th’ great plain o’ life ‘ut he had crossed-
He fowt his battles o’er again;
Troubled, tried an’ tempest-tossed,
In solitude th’ owd mon could yer
The distant heawse-dog’s warnin’ bark;
He doffed his cap an’ knelt him deawn
Before his God, at th’ edge o’ dark.
“Oh, Theau who made o’ th’ universe,
Just hearken fro’ Thy throne aboon;
Con’t find a seat for one loike me?
Becose, Theau knows, aw’st want one soon.
Theau’s bin my staff an’ comfort long;
Theau’s helped me through my hopes an’ fears;
An’ eh! Aw should loike t’ come to Thee-
Aw dunnot want to go deawnsteers.
Just look Thy ledger o’er an’ see-
Aw know aw’ve bin a wayward lad-
Bur see heaw th’ balance stonds, an’ then
Say, have aw done moor good nor bad.
Theaul’t have it o’ i’ black an’ white;
If th’ time-sheet’s wrong, no blaming th’ clark,
Just stretch a point or two, neaw do-
Abide wi’ me, it’s th’ edge o’ dark.”
Twileet ‘ud passed, an’ Luna’s orb
Neaw soared aloft, serene an’ preawd;
Cot windows darkened one by one,
An’ th’ air begun o’ feelin’ cowd.
Th’ owd clock i’ th’ tower o’ th’ church afar
Awoke the echoes with its chime,
An’ towd to wakeful ears areawnd
Heaw th’ fingers stood-‘twur witchin’-time.
Deawn by th’ owd gate a figure knelt,
Bowed humbly at his Maker’s throne,
Seekin’ redemption for the past
From Him who con redeem alone.
An’ when th’ dawn broke, an’ th’ neet wur o’er,
Owd Anvil lee theer, stiff an’ stark;
His Master great had claimed the core-
He’d gone to th’ leet, through th’ edge o’ dark.