A fire
broke out in Bildad's shack and burned it to the ground; and
Bildad,
with his roofless pack, sent up a doleful sound. And I, who
lived
the next door west, hard by the county jail, went over there and
beat my
breast, and helped poor Bildad wail.
Around the ruined home I
stepped,
and viewed the shaking walls, and people say the way I wept
would
beat Niagara Falls. Then words of
sympathy I dealt to Bildad and
his
wife; such kindly words, I've always felt, nerve people for the
strife. If I can kill with words your fears, or argue
grief away, or
drown
your woe by shedding tears, call on me any day.
I have a
sympathetic
heart that bleeds for others' aches, and I will ease your
pain
and smart unless the language breaks.
And so to Bildad and his
mate I
made a helpful talk, with vital truths that elevate and break
disasters'
shock; I pointed out that stricken men should not yield to
the
worst, but from the wreckage rise again like flame from torch
reversed.
Then
Johnson interrupted me as I was growing hoarse.
A rude, offensive
person
he, a tactless man and coarse.
He said
to Bildad, "Well, old pard! You are
burned out I see! You
can't
keep house here in your yard, so come and live with me!"
The neighbours
who had gathered round applauded Johnson then, declaring
that at
last they'd found the kindliest of men; not one appreciative
voice
for me, who furnished tears, who made the sad man's heart
rejoice,
and drove way his fears!
by Walt Mason
No comments:
Post a Comment