Friday, October 1, 2021

A Faith Baldwin poem for her birthday

 Although Faith Baldwin, born October 1, 1893, was a prolific writer, I have never owned any of her novels. I guess they were considered chic lit of the 1930s. 

But I do read her four autobiographies year round and she inspires me--otherwise I wouldn't have kept the picture of her at her desk that serves as my blog header above all these years.

This past year I've been picking up her novels as I found them in thrift or antique stores, and on particularly stressful days I often choose one for relaxing bedtime reading, remembering each time that she was bosom friends with dear Gladys Taber.


 The red covers are pretty and give me a chance to show you a treasure RH found at Goodwill this summer, a 1950s type of sunburst clock, only with petals on the rays, that shines on our old dark v-groove plank walls.


To honor Faith Baldwin on her 128th birthday, if my math is right, here is a blessing/poem she wrote that I have always loved, never more so than now.

I have come back to quiet ways; to

     Things of silent wonder, instinct

          with delight;

To dusk, that closes in like darling wings--

     To primrose dawns and lamplit,

          hearth-warm night;

To mending bag, to laughter, and old books,

     To loud-voiced clock and table laid for tea

And that brown urchin of a dog who looks

     From sandwich plate to mistress,


Thus, Lord, my spirit keep--in humbleness,

     In still simplicity of gentle days,

This house, the love within, lean to bless

And hold our feet upon the homely ways.