Gladys Is Looking Forwards to Her Party

Gladys said this morning that she's looking forwards to her party.

"I don't want people to make a big deal about me being 100, I just want them
to come and visit and have a good time visiting with me. I just want to see my
friends, tell some stories and remember the good times. They don't have to
always be right on me, they can visit among themselves," said Gladys.

"I'm doing pretty good these days. I exercise every day, eat good and get
around with my walker"

She was sitting at the kitchen table when she remembered the lines from
The Village Blacksmith by Henry Wadsorth Longfellow.

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH

Under the spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he.
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er ha can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn til night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from the threashing-floor.

He goes to church on sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the church choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He thinks of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his heard , rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, - rejoicing, - sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.

The Children's Hour by Longfellow

This is one of Gladys' favorite poems, her Grandaughter, Mary Jane
furnished the copy for this post. Many thanks to Mary Jane.



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR


Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair,
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms around me entwine,
Til I think I'm the bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, o blue-eyed bandetti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
And I will not let you depart,
But put you down in my dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there I will keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day.
Til the walls shall crumble to ruin,
and moulder to dust away.