A night of wind and driving rain,No light on land or sky—The sharp squalls shook the window-paneAnd scurried loudly by,
When sped abroad the message sternOn cantering hoofbeats borneThat old man Carey “took a turn,”And might not see the morn.
What though debarred from Carey’s set,What though ’twas plainly seenThe new house and its etiquetteHad made a gulf between,
What matter if they passed us byAnd scorned us heretofore—We could not spurn a neighbour’s cryWhen trouble found his door.
So through the dark, a swinging lightBeneath the axle tied,The neighbours braved the stormy nightWhen old man Carey died.
All blank was Carey’s new brick placeAs, entering through the gloomWith noiseless step, we just might traceWithin a darkened room
The purple stole that purifies,The old wife’s stricken head,The Carey girls, with swollen eyes,All kneeling round the bed—
We’d move the world to help them, then:Our feuds were laid aside,For all were neighbours once againWhen old man Carey died.
And, when he’d paid the debt perforceThat every man must pay,We came again with hearse and horseTo bear him on his way.
We left behind the new brick placeSo strangely silent now,The death-mask on its staring face,The ashes on its brow;
Slow straggling down the winding road,Past ripening crops a-sweepWhich old man Carey’s hands had sowedBut other hands would reap,
With slap and tap of unshod heelsWe followed one by one,And fifty sets of idling wheelsWere twinkling in the sun.
With many a tale of deeds unguessed,Deeds of the early years,We brought him to his long, long restAmong the pioneers.