Tales From Granny Squannit: Grandmother's Poem
By JOAN TAVARES-AVANT Apr 26, 2024
I strolled by the church of my childhood
Our old Indian Church at Mashpee
And it spoke to me in a voice so tender.
I have shared your voice and sorrows
Welcomed you each Sunday morn.
In the Sunlight of the summers
And in the winters wind and storm
Although I’m old I still remember.
The horse and buggy I recall
Filled with many happy faces
Of the families large and small.
Out of the trails they come to worship.
The spirit of sabbath they did not lack.
As they traveled through the forest
Some with papooses on their backs.
Out of the past a handbell is ringing.
Calling them to come inside.
And they filled my pews and gallery.
How my old beams creaked with pride.
The old clock struck the hour of worship.
A few dogs nestled round the stove.
Waiting for their masters.
To hunt in the surrounding grove.
Once more I see the dear old parson.
Opening the Bible, he could not see.
It was just a force of habit.
For he preached from memory.
Sightless eyes, yet so courageous.
His soul took its flight so long ago.
Yet I never forget the Christian spirit.
Of my beloved friend Blind Jo.
I still can see the dear old Deacons.
One with flowing beards so white.
The other with the goatee trimmed so neatly.
Each Sunday they were a welcomed sight.
As they sat beside my pulpit.
In their straight back hair cloth chairs.
With bowed heads and a loud “Amen.”
As the parson said the prayers.
Hark I hear the children singing.
The good old hymns so long ago.
Jesus loves me this I know.
Cause the Bible tells me so.
Some with voices sweet and lusty.
Others out of tune.
They were all my children and I loved them.
But they left me all too soon.
It is now first Communion Sunday.
The old Deacon breaks the bread.
While the other fills the pewter goblets.
With sparkling wine so red.
The members join hands and sing in chorus.
Like angels voices from above.
Bless be the tie that binds.
Our hearts in Christian love.
Gone is the wooden water bucket.
Filled with water to the brim.
Clear, cold and so refreshing.
Brought from a nearby spring.
My old chandelier lamps are missing.
I’m alone in the darkness of night.
Alone with fond past memories.
To compare with my pleasant plight.
I am old, my sills are sagging.
I have reached the winter of life.
Through countless ages I’ve served you.
And through many years of strife.
Now my pews are empty.
There’s a lock upon my door.
Oh! That I might know the splendor.
Of those good old days once more.
Time is fleeing oh my loved ones.
You are getting older too.
And I bid you be ever ready.
And to your faith be true.
I have taught you how to love Him.
And I’ll always be your friend.
Ever ready to protect you.
While I linger to the end.
