367. Under a Wiltshire Apple Tree

SOME folk as can afford,

So I’ve heard say,

Set up a sort of cross

Right in the garden way

To mind ’em of the Lord.

But I, when I do see

Thik apple tree

An’ stoopin’ limb

All spread wi’ moss,

I think of Him

And how He talks wi’ me.

I think of God

And how He trod

That garden long ago;

He walked, I reckon, to and fro

And then sat down

Upon the groun’

Or some low limb

What suited Him

Such as you see

On many a tree,

And on thik very one

Where I at set o’ sun

Do sit and talk wi’ He.

And, mornings too, I rise and come

An’ sit down where the branch be low;

A bird do sing, a bee do hum,

The flowers in the border blow,

And all my heart’s so glad and clear

As pools when mists do disappear:

As pools a-laughing in the light

When mornin’ air is swep’ an’ bright,

As pools what got all Heaven in sight

So’s my heart’s cheer

When He be near.

He never pushed the garden door,

He left no footmark on the floor;

I never heard ’Un stir nor tread

And yet His Hand do bless my head,

And when ’tis time for work to start

I takes Him with me in my heart.

And when I die, pray God I see

At very last thik apple tree

An’ stoopin’ limb,

And think of Him

And all He been to me.