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.

By Anna Bunston (Mrs. De Bary)