Classic Poem

Old Enoch Elk was seventy-five,
He wore a light smock-frock;
'T is said he traced his pedigree
From no ignoble stock:
His home, where ivy reach'd the roof,
Was by a mountain rock.

And Enoch drove from year to year
The team of Farmer Brown
Along the crooked country lanes
With granite from the down,
To ship across the sea, or build
The terrace of the town.

An honest, upright man was he;
This all the neighbours knew:
" We have no fear of Enoch Elk,
Whate'er he says is true;
And while he drives his team, he has
The upper world in view. "

I met him once returning home
As day began to wane;
He sat upon the shaft, and sang
A happy, hopeful strain:
I knew he had been praying there,
The Lord was in that lane.

" Good evening, Enoch Elk, " said I;
" Good evening, Sir, " said he:
" If men would only seek the Lord
I know they'd happy be;
For He has sent His Spirit down,
And whisper'd peace to me. "