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Mornings of Thankfulness
Jantallian
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A small offering of mornings when various inhabitants of the relay station wanted to give thanks.
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1 Food for the Soul (After Glory Road)
2 Breaking Bread (after Drifters' Gold)
3 Putting on a Shine (After Trouble Cooking)
4 Upond my Word (After Duck Rustler)
5 Boxing Day (After Duck the Halls)
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1
Food for the Soul
(After Glory Road)
Blessed is the dawn when a man wakes with music in his soul!
First to wake, as always, Jonesy did not, as always, begin to persuade his reluctant body to face the inevitable pain of rising. No, this morning, he lay quiet as a child.
Quiet as the child he had once been. The child who would sneak from his bed and his brethren, a battered bone flute clutched in his hand. The instrument which, whatever the discomfort, lay close to his heart each night. In the soft, cold darkness beyond the bedroom door, he would fumble into his clothes and step silently on bare feet to the window. No use to use the door. Its protesting groans would bring matching ones from the sleepers aroused by the noise. The window opened without a sound. Small and skinny as he was, even hampered by a twisted back, he could slide through the gap and drop to the chilly ground. All around was darkness, save for the thinnest possible line of grey marking the eastern horizon. He was in time! He had beaten the sun. He could herald its rising with the simple purity of music.
So Jonesy lay, remembering, It was a very long time since he had been able to rise and greet the sunrise with music. He was old now. His twisted back gave him more pain than that child had ever realised was possible. He could no more easily slide through an open window than he could thread a needle. That took some doing too, when y' eyes weren't what they were. A smile twitched his lips as he thought of the amount of threading which needed to be done in order to patch up the constant rips in Jess Harper's shirts. The smile broadened into a positive beam of delighted thankfulness. He might not be climbing out of windows anymore, but, for the first time in goodness knows how long, he could get up and make music to serenade the sun.
- Thank y', Jess! Thank y'! –
Slowly he rolled onto his side. Slowly manoeuvred until his legs could slip over the edge of the bed. Slowly and cautiously used his arms to lever himself into sitting position. These actions were always the most painful part of the process. Once he was upright, he could control his movements so that his back – and practically every other part of his body – didn't hurt quite so much. He was still smiling.
He smiled as he looked up at the top bunk where all that could be seen of Jess was an outflung arm and a tangle of black hair sticking out half under the pillow.
- Needs cuttin'. – Jonesy remarked to himself, wondering if Jess had spotted the barber's on his recent excursion into Laramie. – Probably didn't, - he allowed – bein' as he had his hands full with Roany Bishop. –
Another reason for thankfulness, that Miss Essie Bright had lived through the consequences of her generous, unconditional love. - That woman sure must be precious t' God, for he sure knows her faith in him! –
So much to be thankful for this morning! It was definitely a morning for music. Music was an outpouring of the deepest feelings without words to express them. Music lifted the heart and fed the soul. This morning Jonesy's heart could not be higher and he had the means to express it.
As soon as he was dressed, instead of going straight into the kitchen, he crossed the living room and unlocked the door. He flung it open. The windows too. Then the kitchen door and the kitchen window and the back door. Cool, gentle air rolled in from the outside, bringing with it the scent of dew and green, growing things. It was still almost totally dark. Only a thin band of palest gold marked the very edge of the hills to the east.
Jonesy went quietly to the piano, sat down and lifted the lid. Under his fingers, the white keys were cool as the dawn wind, the black keys very faintly warm like the ashes of last night's fire.
He closed his eyes and began to play.
He did not need music to read. The music was living in his soul.
He needed only to let his deep thankfulness flow out as the sun rose.
He played very softly as first, letting the melody carry him along, gradually growing and swelling and surging up as the burning disc rose above the hills, flooding the world with new light. The music soared and the room grew bright and polished and ready for the new day. His fingers slowed and he let the melody wrap together all the blessings as it drew to its end.
Soft voices broke the hush which followed his playing. Jonesy swivelled on his stool and saw Andy and Slim and Jess, quiet as mice, in the bedroom doorway.
"Thank you, Jonesy."
"Thank you."
"Thank y'."
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2
Breaking Bread
(After Drifters' Gold)
It was his turn to get the breakfast.
Slim Sherman uttered a stifled groan, but there was no getting away from it. After the mood Jess was in last night, on no account was Slim going to get out of his share of domestic duties, however much he wanted to. And boy, did he want to! Not only was his body aching from the bruises he had sustained during the fight in the bar, but his head ached too from the residual strain of trying to fool Tom Bedloe and circumvent his scheme to rob the bank. Add to all this a row with Jess when he finally got home and Slim felt like turning over and putting his head under the pillow and ignoring the world in the hope that yesterday had never happened.
The bruises and the headache put paid to any such idea. Still, at least he had won in the end. Slim smiled a little to himself as he recalled Jess's question: "D'y whip him?" and his own triumphant affirmative. Not that he just felt pure triumph – there had been too many twists and turns, too many shocks and bitter emotions involved in achieving the return of law and order. Too many other people had had to pay a price for this restoration. Slim felt for them and was too honest not to acknowledge the part others had played.
This morning, however much he disliked it, he had to play his part in the chores of the day. He'd better be quick too. There was nothing quite so hazardous as a starving Jess Harper faced with no breakfast on the table. Accordingly, Slim forced himself to jump out of bed and dress with commendable speed. Such speed, indeed, that he took no notice whatsoever of his surroundings. He was entirely focused on what Jess was likely to say – or do – about further shortcomings, as he saw it, on Slim's part. Something was making Slim uneasy, but he put it down to natural anxiety about the effect of his late rising.
When he got out into the living room, something new instantly hit his senses.
The smell. The beautiful smell of newly baked bread.
There, on the table, lay a basket with two small loaves. They were warm when Slim held his hand over them. Next to them was a dish of fresh butter. On either side of the table, a plate and a knife.
Slim shook his head and blinked his eyes, which he was having trouble believing.
New bread. Even with good, strong yeast and a warm place, that meant hours to rise and more time to cook. Jess must have got up in the middle of the night! Then it dawned on Slim what had been troubling him since he started to get up himself. Jess's bed, an unmade tangle of blankets and quilt, had been empty.
The kitchen door to the yard banged open and boots thudded on the boards and something rattled on the dresser. Slim remained rooted to the spot, unsure what his next move should be.
"Git! Out! Y' feathered fiends! Or I'm usin' the sharp axe f' real."
The ensuing clucking and flapping had Slim smiling. He just hoped Jess had collected the eggs before he started harassing the birds which produced them.
"Mungo! Down off the stove, y' stupid cat. Y' wanna scorch that fur coat o' yours?"
There was a yowl from the big ginger yard cat, the sound of spitting, and the slamming of the kitchen door.
"Now maybe some peace 'n quiet!" Jess muttered, to the accompaniment of rattling crockery and the scrape of the coffee pot on the hotplate. Almost at once, the inner door to the kitchen swung open and the Texan walked calmly in, bearing a tray of cups, milk, sugar and the blessed coffee pot. These he deposited on the table, before observing: "Oh, y're up."
"Yeah." Nothing like stating the obvious, both of them. Slim waved a hand at the table, the new bread, the coffee. "What's all this?"
Jess raised an eyebrow and let his gaze rest on the provision for several seconds. "Looks like some kinda breakfast t' me."
"But –"
"Sit down!" Jess interrupted and it was so sudden that Slim did exactly as he was ordered.
"But –"
Jess shook his head and grinned. "No buts. I reckoned y' maybe needed some cossetin' after yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Slim queried, sounding slightly stunned.
"Yeah. Yesterday."
"But I thought –"
"Cut it out, will y'! I chewed y' ear yesterday 'cause it ain't the same when y' not here."
"You said the place fell apart without me," Slim agreed. "I guess I need to say thank you for that. At least I'm some good."
"I guess y' did some good yesterday too, even if y' weren't here all day," Jess told him and when Slim went to say "But" again, ploughed on relentlessly. "If y' weren't back when you said, then there must've been a good reason. Y' the most conscientious man I know, Slim Sherman, an' the only reason y' don't keep your word is if y' can't. Add on the fact that y'd been in a fight and it makes a total of big trouble in town. So if there was big trouble, I can also reckon on you bein' in the middle, sortin' it out. Am I right?"
"Yeah."
"Thought so," Jess said in pleased tones. "So if I had a bad day, so did you – right?"
"Yeah."
"I guess I'll find out what the trouble was soon as someone from town rides through, since you ain't the kind t' blow y' own trumpet. This mornin' I reckoned y'd need a lie-in – or any rate not having t' do everything t' get the day started."
"In that case, I'm not going to fire you seven ways to Sunday!"
"Good. And, seein' as how I yelled at y' for not bringin' the yeast in time, the bread should say I was wrong an' I'm sorry."
Jess reached out and took one of the loaves and broke the bread and offered one half to Slim.
Slim took the fragile, fragrant crust and breathed in the simple scent which bore in its essence the sharing of life and of home.
"Thank you, Jess."
Simple words. Words which were a shield and strength and promise of integrity in the future.
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3
Putting on a Shine
(After Trouble Cooking)
"Andy! Andy! Wake up!"
"Urrrghh!" Or some such noise.
"Andy? You sure y' want me t' do this?"
"Hmmm?"
"Wake up! Y' asked me t' get you an' Mike up real early. Now c'm on an' get to it!"
"Huh?"
Andy Sherman struggled to the surface of sleep and saw the face of his old friend and mentor, Jonesy, bending over him in the half light of dawn.
"I did?"
Andy sat up abruptly.
"Oh, yeah! I did!"
He forced his eyes fully open and hung over the top bunk so that he could see the sleeping bundle below.
"Mike! Mike! Wake him up too, Jonesy."
"Y' got some kinda death wish?" Jonesy inquired caustically. "He's worse'n Jess f' gettin' up in the morning."
"Give him a shake."
Jonesy complied cautiously.
Mike continued to resemble an Egyptian mummy, so tightly wound was he in his blankets and so totally tranquil his expression.
This did not last for long.
Andy descended from the top bunk with extreme rapidity, seized the glass of water on the nightstand and dashed it in Mike's face.
"C'm on, Mike, we've got work to do!"
Mike's roar of indignation would have raised the rafters, had not Andy clamped his hand over the younger boy's mouth. "Shut up! You'll wake Slim and Jess."
"What?" Mike struggled free of the muffling hand and sat up. "What's goin' on, Andy? Who's gonna wake up?"
"We are," Andy told him firmly. "Now get into your clothes and keep quiet."
Satisfied that the pair were now proceeding under their own volition, Jonesy left them to it and returned to his kitchen. He was shortly followed by the two sleepy but determined boys.
"Here," Jonesy said, handing them a mug of warm milk each.
"Thanks, Jonesy."
Thus fortified, they sallied out into the cockcrow twilight. Actually the cocks were not crowing, because they had not yet been let out. This duty caused as brief but spirited dispute in the doorway of the barn.
"You get on with our chores, Mike. I'll make a start on Slim 'n Jess's."
"Oh no you ain't!"
"What?"
"You ain't pushing all the little jobs on t' me an' takin' all the big responsible stuff y'self. I'm gonna work along with you in the barn. Then we'll do the little stuff."
Andy heaved a resigned sigh, recognising that there was no way he was going to change his fellow conspirator's mind.
"OK. Let's get a move on."
There followed a period of intense activity. The boys were well used to the routine of the relay station and all the many tasks which had to be accomplished for its smooth running. This was the first time they had attempted these on their own, in the absence of the hired hands who usually covered the work when Slim and Jess were both away. It gave them a real insight into what their elders accomplished at the start of every day while they were still peacefully lying in their beds.
"Phew!" Mike mopped his brow as the last bundle of hay was tipped into the corral for the small herd of horses which were held in readiness if teams were needed for the passing stagecoaches.
"You milk the goats?"
Receiving an affirmative nod from a tired Mike, Andy said, "We'll collect the eggs, then I reckon we've done enough to get the day started."
"Sure have!" Mike had quickly recovered his second wind and was now delving enthusiastically into all those nooks and crannies where he knew hens were wont to conceal their eggs. "Let's get these inside. I sure am ready for breakfast!"
It was not just in sleeping that Mike resembled Jess, Andy thought fondly, as they made their way into the house.
They were already at the breakfast table when Slim passed sleepily through the living room on his way to a wash and a shave. Moments later he was followed by an almost entirely somnolent Jess. There was a sound of splashing, accompanied by groans and moans about the cold water. Then the two older men came back inside.
"Hello, you two!" Slim said in surprise.
"Y're up awful early," Jess observed.
Andy shrugged nonchalantly. "Just excited to have you both back. Didn't want to waste any time."
"Yeah. We're really pleased," Mike told them with a brilliant smile.
Slim and Jess exchanged a meaningful glance. "Do I smell a rat here?" Slim asked, half jokingly.
"Ain't no rats," Mike assured him. "Least, not any dead ones lyin' around for you to smell."
"Is that so?" Jess looked more than a little sceptical.
"Sure is." Andy applied himself vigorously to his food, on the grounds that no-one could ask him to talk with his mouth full.
Once breakfast was finished, the boys just carried on helping Jonesy as usual, while their elders went out to start the day's work. The door had hardly closed behind them before it opened again.
"Andy! Mike! Get out here."
The boys exchanged a delighted grin, which was echoed by Jonesy's approving smile. Together the three of them went out into the yard.
"Everything's been done!" Slim's voice radiated surprise and gratitude in equal parts.
"Done properly too," Jess commented in tones of approval.
"Why? You must have been up real early."
Andy and Mike exchanged another telling glance.
"We figured you'd be tired, needing a rest, after working on the trail for so long."
"An' we just wanted t' show how thankful we are that you're both safely home."
"You did?"
"You do?"
"Yeah." Andy shrugged with his best attempt at nonchalance. "Come on, Mike. Those saddles could do with a good clean."
Slim and Jess stared at the departing figures as the two boys disappearing into the barn.
"Andy, volunteering to soap harness?"
"Yeah, I heard that too."
"You're sure this isn't April the first?"
"No. I guess it's just welcome home!"
"Thankfulness for our safe return."
"Looks that way. An' since there ain't no work t' do right now, we can sit on the porch an' drink a cup of coffee an' be thankful for comin' home ourselves."
"I'll vote for that!"
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4
Upond my word!
(After Duck Rustler and continuing from the morning in Chapter 2)
Breakfast had finished at the Sherman Relay Station in an atmosphere of armed neutrality. On one side, Mike and Andy were fervent in their support of Jess. On the other, Slim radiated a decidedly jaundiced view of the prevailing circumstances, backed up by Jonesy's shrewd scepticism. Jess alone seemed oblivious, showing only his usual determined concentration on consuming as much breakfast as possible in the time allowed. Oh, and as many cups of coffee as he could fit in before Jonesy went on strike.
No-one said anything much, at least not over breakfast. Prior to this and following the early unexpected upheaval, the household had resumed business as usual, more or less. The boys had completed their dressing in a seemly manner and made their beds. Slim had helped Jonesy bring through the breakfast, a procedure in which he had been seriously hampered by the alarms of that morning. Jess had dressed with exemplary speed and disappeared outside with the cause of the disturbance.
A duck!
All this fuss and bother and the disruption of the household's normal routine was down to a single mallard. A mallard, it must be said, of considerable character and sagacity. But a duck nonetheless. It also has to be said that most adults find themselves distinctly annoyed at being circumvented by a flying dinner.
When Jess returned to the table some several minutes later, his reception was not unalloyed. Not that he appeared to notice. He was looking pleased and had a distinct twinkle in his eye. Mike and Andy were delighted at this, but, with the instinctive understanding which youth has of its elders, they did not express any such sentiment. Jonesy continued intermittently to look askance at the box of bedding on the seat under the window. Slim maintained a masterly appearance of indifference and concentrated on his breakfast. Jess, as has been said, just ate breakfast.
When the meal was finished and the boys had begun to help Jonesy clear up, the routine was that Slim and Jess would review the work for the day, which they would normally have discussed in some detail the night before. The night before, however, had been entirely taken up with the requirements and preferences of a certain duck – as conveyed by the man whom everyone erroneously presumed was its owner. They had yet to discover that 'owner' was not a word with which one particular mallard was acquainted.
Consequently Slim was feeling understandably put out and irritable. He did not take it kindly when Jess jumped to his feet and ordered cheerfully, "C'm one. I got something t' show y'. Outside!"
The Texan hauled open the door in a flash, grabbing his hat and gunbelt almost in the same movement.
"Come on!" he repeated. "Outside."
Slim scowled and his eyebrows rose in reproof, but common sense and kindliness told him that he was making a mountain out of a mallard-shaped molehill. He rose and strolled over to pick up his own hat and belt.
"What is it? We've got plenty to do today."
"Yeah, but this is important," Jess assured him.
"Oh yeah?"
Slim followed Jess reluctantly across the yard and into the near paddock. It had been transformed yesterday by considerable labour. The resulting pond glimmered and gleamed in the early light of the sun. In the middle, the offending mallard was dozing, his beak tucked under his wing.
Jess stopped at the edge of the pond. He folded his arms as if cradling something. His eyes were twinkling and across his face a huge grin spread from ear to ear.
"What is it?" Slim repeated, trying to keep the crossness out of his voice. "What did you want to show me?" The phrase "that I haven't already seen" hovered in the wake of this question.
"Somethin' important. Very important." Jess gestured to the expanse of the pond, which was really quite impressive given that only two men had excavated it in the last few hours of daylight.
"Some water. And a duck." Slim did not sound impressed.
"Not just any water," Jess told him softly. "It's water you provided. Not because y' wanted to. Not because it was your duck. And not because y' needed a pond. You dug it because your sense of justice made y' do it. And because y' wouldn't let a friend down, even if it meant diggin' something this big."
At this, Slim gave an embarrassed shrug, as if he were somehow ashamed of having his motivation noticed. In order to hide his confusion, he focused hard on the water in front of him. The duck woke up from his doze and began to paddle round the pond, stopping at frequent intervals to engage in the perennially comic habit of duck diving. One moment all that was visible was an up-turned tail. The next he would emerge with his pleased quack which sounded so much like a chuckle. Slim was hard put not to let a fledgling smile escape.
"Napoleon's real happy an' relaxed," Jess pointed out. "An' that makes me happy. Ducks are special. They're totem creatures bringin' harmony and affection, so they're good to have about the place."
"You just don't like the chickens!" Slim pointed out grumpily, but he was inwardly supressing a chuckle at the thought that this duck might be a lot more trouble than a few hens.
"True enough," Jess admitted. "But that's not the point. The point is that Napoleon and I would like t' thank you. He ran away from Old Man Patterson's place, because there was never any water there for him. He ain't been on this ranch more'n a few hours and you gave him what he needed."
"I've got blisters to prove it!" Slim said, but the inward grin was winning its way out.
"Yeah, y' have. An' backache too, if mine's anything t' go by! That's why I need t' tell y' how much it means. An' I need to thank you. Really thank you, from the bottom of my heart. So that's what I'm doin'."
"You're welcome," Slim told him generously, even if he was not too sure how much he welcomed the avian invader. "Just make sure he knows he's not sleeping in the bunk-room. Ever!"
"Ok." Jess agreed. He looked totally innocent as he delivered his next remark. "Just give me a hand buildin' a big enough duck house for him, will y'?"
There was a pause of several seconds.
Followed by an almighty splash.
Slim finally let himself grin.
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5
Boxing Day
(Towards the end of Duck the Halls)
Waking up in a strange bed in a strange room in a place you don't know is unnerving. When Amanda opened her eyes on her first morning at the Sherman Ranch and Relay Station, she was confused. She'd been in so many strange beds and travelled so far and finally, it seemed, she had arrived somewhere. She just didn't know where it was.
She sat up very cautiously and looked around. The bed was a little truckle bed, tucked into the corner of the room between the window, which was next to the bedhead, and the door, which opened beyond its foot. It must have been the silver-pale light, creeping under the curtains, which had wakened her, for there was no sound or movement anywhere else except gentle breathing from the bunk-beds against the wall on the other side of the window. Both bunks were occupied, but the huddled shapes were too small for adults.
The boys! She remembered now. The smaller of the two, cheerful and funny, was Mike. The older one, more serious but still kind and friendly, was Andy. They'd looked after her amongst all the adults at the party.
The party! She'd never seen so many people in one room. It wasn't even a big room either. Everyone was talking and laughing and the noise was incredible to a child brought up in more or less austere quietness. It was exciting to see so much colour and so many decorations – every ledge and flat surface seemed to be covered in holly, bright with berries, which also surrounded every ornament, candle and picture frame. The people were quite decorative too, for everyone was dressed in their best, especially a whole group of ladies like exotic butterflies. Everyone was very happy and everyone made her welcome. All sorts of people, everyone from the sheriff to a little old lady who seemed to have made many of the dresses in the room. Later the whole party fell quiet, when the old cook sat down at the piano and played. Music filled the whole place, it seemed to fill the whole world, making everything shimmer with a new radiance of happiness which Amanda could hardly comprehend. Then he played all the familiar carols and everyone sang, a great chorus of joy and thankfulness rolling out from the ranch house like a wave of goodwill which could reach absolutely anywhere.
Amanda was not sure in which part of the country she had finally arrive at the end of the long and confusing journey she had taken. But she knew where she was. She was home. The old man, her new Opa, had stated it very firmly to everyone last night: "She belongs here!"
Outside in the living room, Amanda heard sounds of movement, a slightly dragging step which she at once identified with her new Opa because of his limp. He must be getting the house ready for the beginning of the day, finishing the tidying which had not been completed the previous evening and probably getting breakfast. Amanda was a well-trained child, who was accustomed to having her own tasks every morning. This morning she just wanted to do something to show how happy and thankful she was. She slid out of bed and dressed quickly and quietly. Then she eased open the bedroom door and slipped out without disturbing the other sleepers.
The living room was shadowy still, just a little dawn-light filtering through the curtains. It was reasonably tidy, largely because people had brought their own plates and mugs and glasses, so had taken the bulk of the washing up away with them when they went home. The chairs by the fire still had dents in the cushions and the fire itself had not been lighted, although someone had cleared the cold ashes ready for the new day's fire.
Amanda frowned. Probably Opa. He had a bad back. He shouldn't be bending down and scraping out the grate. Kindling and tinder were placed ready. She knew how to lay and light a fire. Then the room would be warmer when everyone else got up.
A few moment's later, Amanda sat back on her heels and watched closely as the little flames began to lick round the lightest kindling. Soon they took hold and the bigger branches began to burn. When this had got a good hold, she carefully placed on top a couple of split logs, sweet applewood by the smell of it. Then she swept the hearth again, plumped up the chair cushions and picked up one or two items of crockery which had been missed.
"Good morning, Opa Sherman." The little girl stood in the kitchen doorway.
"Good morning to you too, Amanda. Did you sleep well?"
The little girl nodded. "The bed stayed still." It was all she was ever to say about the stresses of her long journey. That was behind her. Now she simply concentrated on the immediate future.
"Where shall I put these?"
"In the sink, thank you," Jonesy told her, pointing to it.
"The duck is in it."
"Napoleon! Y' wretched flyin' dinner!"
The mallard shot up in the direction of the ceiling, whirled round their heads and disappeared into the living room.
Amanda looked worried. "He's my friend. Will he be all right?"
"Yeah, he's just gonna perch on Jess's chair and wait for him to get up."
"I will set the table."
Two minutes later she had reassured herself that the duck was indeed comfortably ensconced on the seat of one of the dining chairs. She stroked the sleek bright feathers of its head before carrying out her self-appointed task very efficiently. After this she trotted backwards and forwards, carrying items needed for a generous breakfast.
The light was getting stronger and stronger. The sun would be rising soon. Jonesy wiped his hands on his apron and looked round the kitchen. Coffee was brewing. Breakfast was keeping warm. He smiled.
"I guess we make a good team, Amanda," he told the little girl. "You helped me finish much sooner'n usual. There's time for a little music."
He took Amanda by the hand and led her over to the piano in the living room.
"I like to play while the sun comes up," he explained.
"Yes," Amanda nodded, "the tune makes it want to dance."
"It does indeed!" Jonesy smiled.
He sat on the stool and opened the lid of the piano. Amanda leaned against the side of it, entranced, as his gnarled old fingers drew out a magical skein of notes. Presently she began to hum a melody she had learnt back home in the east and which Jonesy's playing stirred in her memory. Jonesy's ear was acute and his skill creative. A harmony grew between them, almost wordless, but not quite.
"Low at his feet lay thy burden of carefulness, high on his heart he will bear it for thee," the little girl sang, her clear pure treble carrying all the thankfulness she longed to express.
Man and child smiled at each other as the music wove a bond around and between them and the light of a new day flooded the room.
"Mornings of joy give for evenings of tearfulness, trust for thy trembling and hope for thy fear."
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Acknowledgements:
For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors.
O Worship the Lord, J.S.B Monsell (1811-75), published in Hymns of Love and Praise (1863). The tune is much older: Was Lebet, from Rheinhardt MS (1754).
Notes:
Morning 2 – Drifter's Gold. Slim is guilty of muddled thinking about the making of bread, since Jess obviously left the dough to rise overnight for the first rising.