Classic Poem

Look down the road — he is crossing the bridge;
He'll pass the cranberry bush in a minute.
(I must pick those cranberries tomorrow
And make some sauce for the harvesters).
Now you can see the long stocking dangling
And the steel needles he's using.
He walks over the roads year in and year out
Knitting — knitting. His hair has grown long
And hangs over his thin shoulders like strings.
The rains and the snows beat down upon him
Winter and Summer; he won't wear a hat
Because, he tells you, he can't see the sky.

Why don't folks have him sent to the asylum?
Why, he isn't crazy — just touched a bit;
He'll take your yarn and knit stockings for you
If you will sit and listen to his message.
He comes here twice a year, and I listen,
And after he's gone I feel better,
Just as I do when I've been to meeting
And seen sinners come to the " Mercy Seat "
For salvation when their sins get heavy.
I have an idea he won't live long,
His face is too white; he don't eat much
I have seen him nights walking along,
And I tell you his face shines in the dark
And you think of pictures in the Bible.

No, he's not coming here; he's passed the gate.
I wish you could have heard him talk just once.
He was married when he was a young man
To Etta La Rose, a little French girl.
Her people came down here from Canada.
She was like a china doll, all pink and white, —
Looked as if the wind would blow her away
With one breath. They went to live on the hill
On the Lavery Place, and all went well
Till the baby came — and lived just a week.
Then Etta pined and cried for her baby;
You could see she was fading right away,
And the doctors couldn't do anything.

Then, the Knitting Man was a likely boy.
He had been brought up by religious folks
Who taught him that God did answer our prayers;
So he turned the doctors out of the house
And sat down and read the Bible to her,
For he really believed all that it said
About healing the sick. But in spite of reading
She grew weaker and weaker, and we saw
That she hadn't much more hold upon life
Than a white rock flower in a dry Summer.
One morning he said that God had spoken;
She would be healed that day. He lifted her,
Anointed her with oil, scripture fashion.
And said to her, " Take up thy bed and walk, "
Just as Christ commanded the poor cripple.
She did walk, or totter for a minute,
And a miracle happened — or he thought so:
For the color came to her face, her eyes
Flamed, and she cried out his name — " Silas. "
'Twas the light that comes once to the dying;
She fell like a broken flower in his arms,
With a drip of red from her poor pale lips.
And he raved and raved for weeks with brain fever.

And when he came out of it and got well
He began reading the Bible again,
And gave everything he had to the poor.
And started walking the roads late and early
He said that faith had failed to save his wife
Because he had not obeyed the Word ,
And that now he must carry God's message
Up and down, never resting, until he died.
He offers to knit stockings for his food,
And lodges under the stars all Summer;
In Winter he'll sleep 'most anywhere, —
Places even a dog would be cold in.
What is his message? I wrote it down once.
It is in the Bible, though he changes
The wording. It is about the Kingdom
That men's flesh and blood cannot inherit,
And about being as little children,
And the love that passeth all knowledge,
And about the resurrection promised
The Beloved of the Lord, and all,
You remember, about our forgiving
Everyone and setting our affections
Above earthly things. He winds up with this —
It is in St. John: " I have manifested
Thy Name. "

Strange how touched folks and fools
Seem to find the way of the Lord easy.
What is it that bars the way in our minds
And makes it so hard to find salvation?
You can't see him now. I must stop talking
And bake up for harvest men tomorrow;
You might pick those cranberries for me.