A FISHERMAN'S STRING by Ada Melville Shaw

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, Cal. · Jan 10, 1900

A FISHERMAN'S STRING.

By Ada Melville Shaw

I WENT a-fishin' one sweet summer day, Bein' sick o' work an' wantin' to play. I longed for a sight o' the woods an' things; The smell o' ferns an' the whirrin' o' wings; So I took my rod an' a piece o' pie, An' I struck a path goes m'anderin' by A brook that's plum full o' shinin' fish, The purtiest ever was served on a dish.

There, shady an' snug-like, beside the brook I fixed up my rod and baited my hook. 'Twas as sweet as heaven there in the shade, The fragrantest day that God ever made. The birds they was busy as gatherin' bees. There was matin' goin' on in the trees. An' I'd luck that day—the tidiest batch As ever was fisherman's lot to catch.

First, I caught a sight o' a thing so sweet, Outside o' Eden it couldn't be beat: 'Twas a nest o' babies—a robin brood, All a-cheepin' an' pesterin' fer food. How the old birds worked till each crop was filled, An' every hungerin' cheep was stilled! Then I thought o' the Father's love for me, Till the tears brimmed up an' I couldn't see.

Next, I caught a sight o' a shinin' fin; 'Twas a trout enjoyin' his mornin' spin. "God put you in there, ol' fellow," says I, "An' there ain't no reason that you should die. To-day there'll be fun an' freedom fer you; I'll just let you swim, an' that's what I'll do!" An' I surely caught, as I left him there, Another sweet glimpse o' my Father's care.

So I stayed there an' "fished" the hull day through, Enjoyin' the trees an' the sky o' blue, The robin's clear call an' the pillow o' moss, An' not a thing sufferin' hurt an' loss. Yes, I might've shot an' I might've snared, Or I might've hooked, but fer once I spared, An' I caught in my heart, as I came away, An echo of voice that seemed to say:

"Be kind, Thou good Father of us all, To the man who loveth the robin's call, Who looked on the fish and harmed it not, And hurt no thing in this holy spot." —Ada Melville Shaw.