My Thirty Six Years' Walk

Six and Thirty Years have glided
   Into past eternity,
Since I here commenced, as postman,
   On my first delivery;
And it gives me solid pleasure
   To review my chequered way,
While comparing old surroundings
   With the things I see to-day.

First, I think about the Office,
   And observe that much has changed
Modern furniture is added,
   While the old is re-arranged:
One room, then, was thought sufficient
   For the business to be done;
Now, 'tis said, our six-roomed office
   Is not an ideal one.

Yes, that room, of no pretentions,
   Was for every purpose used,
Though our present postal servants,
   When they hear it, are amused;
Yet, to me, it forms no problem
   And, explaining, I would say
That the business, rules and methods,
   Were not what we find to-day.

'Twas our Counter-room, with tables,
   Served for business and for store,
Mails were brought and mails were carried
   Through the one same public door,
Sorting there was done and stamping,
   Telegrams received and sent.
While the staff and all the public
   Through that door both came and went.

Then I think about the persons
   On the staff when I began,
For of them and most who followed,
   There remaineth not a man:
Some have died, but most are living,
   Having left at various times,
Scattered o'er our native country
   And, it may be, other climes.

One postmistress, three postmasters,
   Two of whom, in life, remain;
Others took their final journeys,
   Never to return again:
To the one, at present, with us
   We, most willing service pay,
Wishing for him life-long vigour
   And success in every way.

Sir, to you, the clerks and postmen,
   And to all, I wish to say
That I've passed thro mingled feelings
   As I've neared the Leaving-day:
For the period spent among you
   Has been long, and varied too;
But, in heart, I am most grateful
   For your kindness, warm and true.

Sorting-time has not been wholly
   Spent in duty, rush and go,
But we've had our leisure moments,
   And have used them, as you know,
In a social, friendly manner:-
   Stories, ditties, jokes and news,
And expressing our opinions
   To convince or to amuse.

When the sorting was completed,
   I the office left behind.
With a load of precious contents
   All their owners next to find:
Well I knew their nature varied
   From the letters love had penned,
To the dreaded bills, unsettled.
   And the notes they fain would rend.

Passing on the public highway
   To the street and to the lane,
Crossing fields or tracing footpaths,
   Yonder moorland height to gain:
And along my walk are scattered
   Homely dwellings, here and there,
Some 'midst trees, but others yonder
   On the hillside bleak and bare.

At a many doors, when passing,
   I've distributed my store,
Ever lightening its contents
   Till my burden was no more:
Most received their portion gladly
   Whether large or small the share,
But, a few who guessed its nature,
   For the packet did not care.

I remember well the district,
   Over which my walk has been,
Still recalling farms and houses
   Which are now no longer seen;
While I think of those erected,
   Where no farm or cottage stood,
But where I, on former journeys,
   Only saw a field or wood.

Day by day, through every season,
   I have walked the country-side:
When the sun was brightly shining
   And when fogs would all things hide;
When the rain has come in torrents,
   Forming streamlets everywhere;
When the air has frozen keenly
   Making all things hard and bare.

I have watched a black horizon
   Quickly spread across the sky,
Heard the heavy peals of thunder,
   Seen the vivid lightnings fly;
While around was like a deluge,
   Causing me enforced delay
Still, with clothing drenched, I ventured
   Soon again along the way.

I have always been delighted
   In the brightening days of Spring,
And have listened to the anthems
   Which the birds so gladly sing:
I have tried to catch the message
   And the spirit of their song,
To enjoy a kindred freedom,
   As I daily moved along.

I have also gathered lessons,
   When the farmers ploughed the land,
And, while they the seed were sowing,
   I have tried to understand
How we all are ever sowing
   Something bad or something good,
Longing, by my words and actions,
   To be scattering what I should.

In the Summer, and the Autumn,
   I have seen the grass and corn
Fall before the scythe and sickle,
   Harvested and homeward borne:
Then I've thought of other harvests
   Everyone must shortly reap,
Striving to observe the precepts
   Which my heart for such must keep.

High upon the hillside yonder
   Stood a cottage odd and low,
Much exposed to snow and tempest
   And, when there, I often saw
Haverbread baked on the bakestone
   By the baker, "Happy Jack":
Neither he nor "Merry Mary"
   Visit now that upland track.

Other places, too, I think of,
   Where no dwelling now is found,
Where was once a glowing fire
   And the household seated round:
There, to-day, the grass is growing
   And the hearth is ever cold,
Neither parents nor the children
   Near that spot do I behold.

On the farms there's not a tenant,
   And, in cottages, but few,
Who, when I commenced as postman,
   Gave me greetings warm and true:
It would seem they all had left me
   And that I, alone, must stay;
But, as they no longer welcomed,
   So I've ceased to plod my way.

There's another generation
   Living on the hillside now,
As, from duty, I retire
   And to circumstance bow;
But the former and the present
   Have been well disposed to me,
As I've passed or left a message
   While upon delivery.

When I took my closing journey,
   And the rain was falling fast,
Was it that the clouds were weeping
   Just because it was my last?
Whether they were tears of sorrow
   I have sought not to divine;
Or if they were tears of gladness,
   And, if so, akin to mine.

Six and thirty years I've travelled
   O'er a most uneven way
And, in every kind of weather,
   Yet with limbs complete to-day:
And, in heart, I am most grateful
   For a heavenly Father's care,
Through the many changing season,
   It has been my lot to share.

Taking not my daily journeys,
   As I've long been wont to do,
I shall strive to not be idle,
   But some useful work pursue:
And I pray to still be guided,
   In the path I ought to go
Till the One I serve so feebly,
   I shall fully come to know.

I delight to give expression
   Of my thankfulness to-day,
For the rich, abundant mercies
   I've enjoyed along the way;
And, by them, I am encouraged
   To believe He will provide
Everything that I require,
   Till He calls at eventide.

Now that I have ceased to travel
   O'er the district, day by day,
To the people and the places,
   My "Farewell" I now must say
For, as postman, to those dwellings
   I shall visit them no more,
And it cannot be in future,
   As it has been heretofore.

"Farewell," too, to you my comrades,
   For, the past our lives entwine;
But the future will divide us-
   You to your paths, me to mine:
May we all, though separated,
   Live our lives and walk our ways;
Seeking each a neighbour's welfare,
   Seeking each our Maker's praise.