Noonday Grace Poem Rhyme Scheme

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MY good old father tucked his head	A
His face the color of gingerbread	A
Over the table my mother had spread	A
And folded his leathery hands and said	A
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'We thank thee Lord for this thy grace	B
And all thy bounties to the race	B
Turn not away from us thy face	B
Till we come to our final resting place '	-
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These were the words of the old elect	C
Or others to the same effect	C
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I love my father's piety	D
I know he's grateful as can be	D
A man that's nearly seventy	D
And past his taste for cookery	E
But I am not so old as he	D
And when I see in front of me	D
Things that I like uncommonly	D
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Cornfield beans my specialty	D
When every pod spills two or three	D
Then I forget the thou and thee	D
And pray with total fervency	B
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Thank you good Lord for dinner time	F
Gladly I come from the sweat and grime	F
To play in your Christian pantomime	F
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I wash the black dust from my face	B
I sit again in a Christian's place	B
I hear the ancient Christian's grace	B
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My thanks for clean fresh napkin first	G
With faint red stain where the fruit jar burst	G
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Thanks for a platter with kind blue roses	B
For mother's centerpiece and posies	B
A touch of art right under our noses	B
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Mother I'll thank you for tumbler now	H
Of morning's milk from our Jersey cow	H
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And father thanks for a generous yam	I
And a helping of home cured country ham	I
He knows how fond of it I am	I
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For none can cure them as can he	D
And he won't tell his recipe	D
But God was behind it it seems to me	D
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Thank God who made the garden grow	E
Who took upon himself to know	E
That we loved vegetables so	E
I served his plan with rake and hoe	E
And mother boiling baking slow	E
To her favorite tune of Old Black Joe	E
Predestined many an age ago	E
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Pearly corn still on the cob	J
My teeth are aching for that job	J
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Tomatoes one would fill a dish	K
Potatoes mealy as one could wish	K
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Cornfield beans and cucumbers	B
And yellow yams for sweeteners	B
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Pickles between for stepping stones	B
And plenty of cornmeal bread in pones	B
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Sunday the preacher droned a lot	L
About a certain whether or not	L
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Is God the universal friend	M
And if men pray can he attend	M
To each man's individual end	M
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They pray for individual things	B
Give thanks for little happenings	B
But isn't his sweep of mighty wings	B
Meant more for businesses of kings	B
Than pulling small men's petty strings	B
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He's infinite and all of that	N
The setting sun his habitat	N
The heavens they hold by his fiat	N
The glorious year that God begat	N
And what is creeping man to that	N
O preacher valiant democrat	N
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'The greatest of all his sympathy	D
His kindness reaching down to me '	-
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Like mother he finds it his greatest joy	O
To have big dinners for his boy	O
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She understands him like a book	P
In fact he helps my mother cook	P
And slips to the dining room door to look	P
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And when we are at our noon day meal	Q
He laughs to think how fine we feel	Q
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An extra fork is by my plate	R
I nearly noticed it too late	R
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Mother you're keeping a secret back	S
I see the pie pan through the crack	S
Incrusted thick in gold and black	S
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There's no telling what that secret pair	E
Have cooked for me in the kitchen there	E
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There's no telling what that pie can be	D
But tell me that it's blackberry	D
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As long as I keep topside the sod	T
I'll love you always mother and God	T

John Crowe Ransom

Noonday Grace Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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