The old gray Wall

Time out of mind I have stood
Fronting the frost and the sun,
That the dream of the world might endure,
And the goodly will be done.

Did the hand of the builder guess,
As he laid me stone by stone,
A heart in the granite lurked,
Patient and fond as his own?

Lovers have leaned on me
Under the summer moon,
And mowers laughed in my shade
In the harvest heat at noon.

Children roving the fields
With early flowers in spring,
Old men turning to look,
When they heard a bluebird sing,

And travellers along the road
From rising to setting sun,
Have seen, yet imagined not
The kindness they gazed upon.

Ah, when will ye understand,
Mortals, —nor deem it odd, —
Who rests on this old gray wall
Lays a hand on the shoulder of God!