Beneath an apple tree she sat
Amid bright leaf and flower,
Telling of what she would do,
Were it within her power:
She’d civilize the heathen poor,—
She’d meet the wary foe,
And drive them till their trackless paths
Were through eternal snow.
Amid bright leaf and flower,
Telling of what she would do,
Were it within her power:
She’d civilize the heathen poor,—
She’d meet the wary foe,
And drive them till their trackless paths
Were through eternal snow.
With strong nerve she would care for those
Who are stricken down in war
And cheer the sick and suffering ones
Without a bit of awe.
She’d soothe the fevered ones to rest
And bathe each aching head,—
And never would she shrink from pain,
But bravely work, instead.
Who are stricken down in war
And cheer the sick and suffering ones
Without a bit of awe.
She’d soothe the fevered ones to rest
And bathe each aching head,—
And never would she shrink from pain,
But bravely work, instead.
PLEASURE
’Twas a calm, still night and the big full moon
Looked down with smile serene;
And his watchful eye observed all things,
And he called it a curious scene.
All agreed ’twas a fine night for the dance,—
We all were so light-hearted;
Light-headed? No! but we wished to go
And dance, so off we started.
Looked down with smile serene;
And his watchful eye observed all things,
And he called it a curious scene.
All agreed ’twas a fine night for the dance,—
We all were so light-hearted;
Light-headed? No! but we wished to go
And dance, so off we started.
The night was fair and the watchful moon
Shone almost bright as day;
So Jack, he harnessed the old white mare
And hitched her to the sleigh.
The old horse clipped a lively time
Over the snow so cold,
Like a frisky colt,—though the old horse
Was twenty-five years old.
Shone almost bright as day;
So Jack, he harnessed the old white mare
And hitched her to the sleigh.
The old horse clipped a lively time
Over the snow so cold,
Like a frisky colt,—though the old horse
Was twenty-five years old.
Oh, the pure delight of that moon-lit drive
As we dashed the plains across,—
And chung, chung, chung, went the merry bells,
The while the old white horse
Kept merry time to the tuneful bells
As over the snow we sped;
And the soft and gentle zephyrs blew,
And the moon its radiance shed.
As we dashed the plains across,—
And chung, chung, chung, went the merry bells,
The while the old white horse
Kept merry time to the tuneful bells
As over the snow we sped;
And the soft and gentle zephyrs blew,
And the moon its radiance shed.
The time flew by on rapid wings,
As it does when on pleasure bent;
And it was in the “wee small hours”
Before we homeward went.
’Twas a beautiful, beautiful, evening,
And the moon looked down so kind;
The world seemed full of music
And poetry combined.
As it does when on pleasure bent;
And it was in the “wee small hours”
Before we homeward went.
’Twas a beautiful, beautiful, evening,
And the moon looked down so kind;
The world seemed full of music
And poetry combined.
TIME BRINGS CHANGES
She sat down by the kitchen fire,
While munching bread and cheese;
With now and then a pancake hot,
Her hunger to appease.
While munching bread and cheese;
With now and then a pancake hot,
Her hunger to appease.
“Ah me! how good this is,” she sighed
As a cookie she stowed away;
“I would that I a lunch could have
Like this one every day!”—
As a cookie she stowed away;
“I would that I a lunch could have
Like this one every day!”—
Next day her beau on her did call
To take her for a ride;
’Twas getting late—’twas nearly noon
When the mother her espied.
To take her for a ride;
’Twas getting late—’twas nearly noon
When the mother her espied.
And, anxious as all mammas are,
As to how her daughter fared;
Cried, “Just you wait a moment dear—
I’ve dinner all prepared.”
As to how her daughter fared;
Cried, “Just you wait a moment dear—
I’ve dinner all prepared.”
“Oh! mercy! no,”—it was no use,
She could not eat a mite
She hardly ever cared for much—
She had no appetite!—
She could not eat a mite
She hardly ever cared for much—
She had no appetite!—
Strange, wasn’t it? that one day she
Could eat a slice of steak,
Potatoes, and a ham sandwich,
With coffee, pie and cake,—
Could eat a slice of steak,
Potatoes, and a ham sandwich,
With coffee, pie and cake,—
Yet the next day, when her beau was nigh
What changes it did bring!
She was so dainty and so frail
She could not eat a thing!
What changes it did bring!
She was so dainty and so frail
She could not eat a thing!
MAMMA’S STORY
Come hither my children, Sue, Archie, and Nell
And listen to me as a story I tell
How “once on a time,” in the mist and the fog
Was a poor ragged boy, and a little brown dog.
The dog, while at play, fell from a high bank
Into a dark pool—and down, down it sank.
To escape it endeavor’d, but slow was its speed,
For the treacherous mud did its progress impede.
And listen to me as a story I tell
How “once on a time,” in the mist and the fog
Was a poor ragged boy, and a little brown dog.
The dog, while at play, fell from a high bank
Into a dark pool—and down, down it sank.
To escape it endeavor’d, but slow was its speed,
For the treacherous mud did its progress impede.
But the folks passing by took no heed of him
Excepting to say—“Just see the pup swim!”
Or, regardless of all save their own worldly pelf—
“It is only a dog—Let it care for itself.”
’Till a poor ragged urchin with pitying eye
In passing that way the poor dog chanced to spy.—
Quickly thrusting a stick within reach of its jaws
It clung to it, and, with the aid of its paws
Excepting to say—“Just see the pup swim!”
Or, regardless of all save their own worldly pelf—
“It is only a dog—Let it care for itself.”
’Till a poor ragged urchin with pitying eye
In passing that way the poor dog chanced to spy.—
Quickly thrusting a stick within reach of its jaws
It clung to it, and, with the aid of its paws
Reached the top of the bank, with a loud joyous yelp—
Ah! none but this boy had offered it help!
Then he took it up kindly, ’neath his jacket to hold
To protect the poor creature, now shivering with cold.
As snugly it nestled ’neath the boy’s ragged frock
It said (as plainly as a poor dog can talk)
I love you, dear friend—I’ll help you if I can;
For in all this vast throng there’s but you that’s a man!
Ah! none but this boy had offered it help!
Then he took it up kindly, ’neath his jacket to hold
To protect the poor creature, now shivering with cold.
As snugly it nestled ’neath the boy’s ragged frock
It said (as plainly as a poor dog can talk)
I love you, dear friend—I’ll help you if I can;
For in all this vast throng there’s but you that’s a man!
Then came the dog’s master, who found it so wet,
And he sought now to fondle his dearly loved pet
In a loving embrace.—but it clung to the boy
With many plain manifestations of joy.
While its glance towards its master said plain as it could:—
“I’ll stay with this laddie because he is good.”
“Oh! my little pet knows you are honest and true;
The dog ’s name is Gipsy, and well he loves you.
And he sought now to fondle his dearly loved pet
In a loving embrace.—but it clung to the boy
With many plain manifestations of joy.
While its glance towards its master said plain as it could:—
“I’ll stay with this laddie because he is good.”
“Oh! my little pet knows you are honest and true;
The dog ’s name is Gipsy, and well he loves you.
But say, little man, how came you to save
‘A poor little cur’ from a watery grave?”
“I know what it is to be friendless,” he said,—
“I’ve no friends, or home, now since Mother is dead—
I know what it is to be hungry—forlorn—
I’ve not tasted food, sir, since yesterday morn.
And at night I must sleep where I happen to be—
And I thought this poor doggie was friendless like me.
‘A poor little cur’ from a watery grave?”
“I know what it is to be friendless,” he said,—
“I’ve no friends, or home, now since Mother is dead—
I know what it is to be hungry—forlorn—
I’ve not tasted food, sir, since yesterday morn.
And at night I must sleep where I happen to be—
And I thought this poor doggie was friendless like me.
The gentleman’s head was bowed low.—And he thought
Of his sister, who married a poor drunken sot,—
Ten years it had been since he last saw her face—
And five it had been since of her he lost trace.
For a moment he prayed—with heart beating wild:
“Have mercy on her, as I pity this child!”
Then aloud he said—as they moved through the throng—
“My dog will not come unless I take you along.
Of his sister, who married a poor drunken sot,—
Ten years it had been since he last saw her face—
And five it had been since of her he lost trace.
For a moment he prayed—with heart beating wild:
“Have mercy on her, as I pity this child!”
Then aloud he said—as they moved through the throng—
“My dog will not come unless I take you along.
So come home with me, ’Tis not good you should roam”—
And he treated him kindly, and gave him a home.
Then he sought the boy’s kindred—here fate on him smiled,—
The lad was his nephew,—his lost sister’s child!
And now in his prayers he forgets not his joy—
He thanks the kind Father for sending the boy.
Now children, who think you ’twas, out in the fog?
My dears, ’twas your Grandpa who saved the brown dog!
And he treated him kindly, and gave him a home.
Then he sought the boy’s kindred—here fate on him smiled,—
The lad was his nephew,—his lost sister’s child!
And now in his prayers he forgets not his joy—
He thanks the kind Father for sending the boy.
Now children, who think you ’twas, out in the fog?
My dears, ’twas your Grandpa who saved the brown dog!
EVERY CLOUD HATH SILVER LINING
(In response to “Pennies In The Box” by R. F. D. carrier No. 1, Buckfield.)
It is said that there are sunbeams
Shining in the distant blue;
Tho’ the dark and angry storm-clouds
May obscure them from our view,
Thus, mayhaps, the seeming hardships
Of the rural carrier’s lot
Are but shadows, merely flitting
Lest the sunbeams get too hot.
Shining in the distant blue;
Tho’ the dark and angry storm-clouds
May obscure them from our view,
Thus, mayhaps, the seeming hardships
Of the rural carrier’s lot
Are but shadows, merely flitting
Lest the sunbeams get too hot.
Though at times, the mailman’s fingers
Are half frozen, and he talks
Language of his own invention,—
Cursing “pennies in the box.”—
Though obliged to doff his mittens
In the zero wind, intent
On opening an icy mail-box—
Struggling with a wayward “cent.”
Are half frozen, and he talks
Language of his own invention,—
Cursing “pennies in the box.”—
Though obliged to doff his mittens
In the zero wind, intent
On opening an icy mail-box—
Struggling with a wayward “cent.”
He should ne’er let angry passions
Vex his spirit—cloud his brow,—
For, beyond the sombre cloudlet
There are sunbeams shining now!
He can breathe “health-giving ozone”
With no doctor’s fees to pay—
All distructive germs dispelling
By “Fresh-air-cure” every day!
Vex his spirit—cloud his brow,—
For, beyond the sombre cloudlet
There are sunbeams shining now!
He can breathe “health-giving ozone”
With no doctor’s fees to pay—
All distructive germs dispelling
By “Fresh-air-cure” every day!
He should count the many blessings
That around his pathway creep—
No matter if the path’s blockaded
By a snow drift hard and deep,—
He should cultivate his patience
With a fortitude most rare;
Ne’er should frown beset his features—
Never even wish to swear!
That around his pathway creep—
No matter if the path’s blockaded
By a snow drift hard and deep,—
He should cultivate his patience
With a fortitude most rare;
Ne’er should frown beset his features—
Never even wish to swear!
These R. F. D. chaps should be happy,
But, alas, contentment damps
When they worry that “we patrons”
Don’t lay in a stock of stamps,—
If they’d gather up our pennies
And not grumble, they would see
Each and every patron murmur
Blessings on the R. F. D.!”
But, alas, contentment damps
When they worry that “we patrons”
Don’t lay in a stock of stamps,—
If they’d gather up our pennies
And not grumble, they would see
Each and every patron murmur
Blessings on the R. F. D.!”
DENNIS O’NEIL’S DREAM
Dennis O’Neil fell asleep one day
And he dreamed from this life he had passed away
And went to Heaven, where, at the Gate
’Mong other pilgrims, he had to wait
’Till came his turn to ask for grace
To pass through the gates of that Holy place.
At length the vast throng ceased to flow—
A few entered the gate—the rest went below—
And he found himself waiting where others had been
’Till St. Peter should come and usher him in.
Soon he heard the sound of hurrying feet
Echoing out from the pearly street;
And, looking up, his eyes behold
Not the Saint—but a friend of the days of old.
With joyful smile they meet, embrace,
And tenderly gaze in each others face.
“Why Pat, old friend, so it appears
You, too, have left the ‘Vale of Tears’
No more to dwell mid scenes of woe
And the din and strife of the World below.
How is it, then, do you think that I
Can gain admittance if I try?
A plea for me of course you’ll make
In my behalf for friendship’s sake.
What must I do—if there should be
A vacant place in there for me—
Tell me now, I ask of you
What is the first thing I must do?”
“First,” then said Pat, “Inside the gates
A pure and spotless Book awaits
Where you—like each and every one
Must write your name, What you have done,
Your faults, your sins, every time you have lied,
That you can recall till the day that you died.—
Every dishonest act write out plainly and bold—
For your chances are lost if one thing you withhold!
“And how long is it, I’d like to know
Pat, since you left the world below?”—
“If I mistake not, it is ten
Years I’ve with patience held the pen.”—
“What errand calls you forth this morn?”
“More ink,” said Pat, “I must hasten on.”
“Ten years since you’ve been in this clime—
And you’ve been writing all the time!
Begorry then, its more than ’tis worth—
And I think, on the whole, I’ll go back to the Earth.
—For really, you see, ’tis not worthy the strife—
Sure, ’twould kape me at work all the days of me life!”
And he dreamed from this life he had passed away
And went to Heaven, where, at the Gate
’Mong other pilgrims, he had to wait
’Till came his turn to ask for grace
To pass through the gates of that Holy place.
At length the vast throng ceased to flow—
A few entered the gate—the rest went below—
And he found himself waiting where others had been
’Till St. Peter should come and usher him in.
Soon he heard the sound of hurrying feet
Echoing out from the pearly street;
And, looking up, his eyes behold
Not the Saint—but a friend of the days of old.
With joyful smile they meet, embrace,
And tenderly gaze in each others face.
“Why Pat, old friend, so it appears
You, too, have left the ‘Vale of Tears’
No more to dwell mid scenes of woe
And the din and strife of the World below.
How is it, then, do you think that I
Can gain admittance if I try?
A plea for me of course you’ll make
In my behalf for friendship’s sake.
What must I do—if there should be
A vacant place in there for me—
Tell me now, I ask of you
What is the first thing I must do?”
“First,” then said Pat, “Inside the gates
A pure and spotless Book awaits
Where you—like each and every one
Must write your name, What you have done,
Your faults, your sins, every time you have lied,
That you can recall till the day that you died.—
Every dishonest act write out plainly and bold—
For your chances are lost if one thing you withhold!
“And how long is it, I’d like to know
Pat, since you left the world below?”—
“If I mistake not, it is ten
Years I’ve with patience held the pen.”—
“What errand calls you forth this morn?”
“More ink,” said Pat, “I must hasten on.”
“Ten years since you’ve been in this clime—
And you’ve been writing all the time!
Begorry then, its more than ’tis worth—
And I think, on the whole, I’ll go back to the Earth.
—For really, you see, ’tis not worthy the strife—
Sure, ’twould kape me at work all the days of me life!”
A LESSON WELL TAUGHT
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Along down the street walked a dandy
Who sported more beauty than brain;
He was dressed in an elegant fashion
And carried a gold headed cane.
With nothing to do, he was strolling—
Just seeking amusement and fun.—
But his practical joke caused him sorrow,
And this is the way it was done.
Along down the street walked a dandy
Who sported more beauty than brain;
He was dressed in an elegant fashion
And carried a gold headed cane.
With nothing to do, he was strolling—
Just seeking amusement and fun.—
But his practical joke caused him sorrow,
And this is the way it was done.
“Bah jove! here comes an old crone—
Now excitement I anticipate!”
And his vest was pulsative with laughter
Thus causing his cheeks to inflate.
With a jug in her hand, and a basket,
She was wending her way from the store,—
A powerful woman from Erin’s fair isle
Weighing two hundred and ninety—or more.
Now excitement I anticipate!”
And his vest was pulsative with laughter
Thus causing his cheeks to inflate.
With a jug in her hand, and a basket,
She was wending her way from the store,—
A powerful woman from Erin’s fair isle
Weighing two hundred and ninety—or more.
As she with quick footsteps approaches
This intrigue he hastily planned:—
To jostle against her, in passing,
And knock the things out of her hand.
And alas for the basket she cherished—
He had planned but too wisely, and well,—
The jug for an instant went whizzing—
Then, broken to atoms, it fell.
This intrigue he hastily planned:—
To jostle against her, in passing,
And knock the things out of her hand.
And alas for the basket she cherished—
He had planned but too wisely, and well,—
The jug for an instant went whizzing—
Then, broken to atoms, it fell.
But she had him fast by the collar—
She shook him, then flung him down flat;
His legs broad-cast on the pavement
Were thrown, and down on them she sat!
He writhed like a fish out of water—
But in vain, for she held him down tight,—
“Ah, me honey, I have the advantage
An’ I’m thinkin’ ye’ll stay here tonight!
She shook him, then flung him down flat;
His legs broad-cast on the pavement
Were thrown, and down on them she sat!
He writhed like a fish out of water—
But in vain, for she held him down tight,—
“Ah, me honey, I have the advantage
An’ I’m thinkin’ ye’ll stay here tonight!
What ye doin’, ye black-hearted black-guard
That ye can’t let an ould leddy alone?
Are ye meddlin’ wid business of others
Because ye have none of yer own?
Ye have broken me jug—an’ molasses
Is spattered all over me dress—
But, begorra! ’fore wid ye I’m done
Ye’ll be lookin’ like me I guess!”
That ye can’t let an ould leddy alone?
Are ye meddlin’ wid business of others
Because ye have none of yer own?
Ye have broken me jug—an’ molasses
Is spattered all over me dress—
But, begorra! ’fore wid ye I’m done
Ye’ll be lookin’ like me I guess!”
She arose—and both his feet seizing
Walked on, while he struggled and yelled;
But the more he struggled and shouted—
So much the more firmly she held!
Through the pool of molasses she dragged him
Until his immaculate shirt,
His trousers, and coat of fine broad-cloth
Was a mixture of molasses and dirt.
Walked on, while he struggled and yelled;
But the more he struggled and shouted—
So much the more firmly she held!
Through the pool of molasses she dragged him
Until his immaculate shirt,
His trousers, and coat of fine broad-cloth
Was a mixture of molasses and dirt.
“Ye blear-eyed spalpeen! A lesson
I’ll larn ye afore I’m content—
Ye’ll not trouble agin an ould leddy
Because she’s of Irish descent!!!
Arrah—but ye don’t get away aisy!
Will ye be done wid yer pratin’, yer jokes?
Shure there’s no more honor about yer
Than to any ould bullfrog that croaks!
I’ll larn ye afore I’m content—
Ye’ll not trouble agin an ould leddy
Because she’s of Irish descent!!!
Arrah—but ye don’t get away aisy!
Will ye be done wid yer pratin’, yer jokes?
Shure there’s no more honor about yer
Than to any ould bullfrog that croaks!
An’ a right sorry figure I’m thinkin’
Ye look fer a “swate bloomin’ youth!”
Will ye show yerself to the fellers?
Will ye tell yer ould Mither the truth?
Will ye tell her ye spilled me molasses—
If ye do, will she say it was right
To deprive an ould woman of somethin’
To eat on her cold bread to night?
Ye look fer a “swate bloomin’ youth!”
Will ye show yerself to the fellers?
Will ye tell yer ould Mither the truth?
Will ye tell her ye spilled me molasses—
If ye do, will she say it was right
To deprive an ould woman of somethin’
To eat on her cold bread to night?
REMINISCENCE
Tonight, of the Past I am thinking—
Of one of the Autumn’s bright days
When the beautiful hills of old Hartford
Were covered with October haze,—
When the leaves, all russet and golden
Came rustling down, and the breeze
Seemed bent upon mischief, dispelling
The radiant garb of the trees.
Of one of the Autumn’s bright days
When the beautiful hills of old Hartford
Were covered with October haze,—
When the leaves, all russet and golden
Came rustling down, and the breeze
Seemed bent upon mischief, dispelling
The radiant garb of the trees.
Where the Oak and the Elm stand, defying
The wrath of the tempest’s fierce blast—
Through the thicket, where warble the wild-birds
And the chipmunk goes scurrying past.—
To the brilliant-hued, picturesque landscape
No color could artist e’er lend
On this day, when o’er hill and thro’ valley
I wandered in search of a friend.
The wrath of the tempest’s fierce blast—
Through the thicket, where warble the wild-birds
And the chipmunk goes scurrying past.—
To the brilliant-hued, picturesque landscape
No color could artist e’er lend
On this day, when o’er hill and thro’ valley
I wandered in search of a friend.
In search of a dear loved one, dwelling
In a quiet, suburban retreat—
The friend whose kind manner e’er charmed me—
Whom I long had been hoping to greet.
And I found her at last, my friend Emma!
As at last thro’ the garden I walk.
She was sitting quite close by the window—
And I found her there—mending a sock!
In a quiet, suburban retreat—
The friend whose kind manner e’er charmed me—
Whom I long had been hoping to greet.
And I found her at last, my friend Emma!
As at last thro’ the garden I walk.
She was sitting quite close by the window—
And I found her there—mending a sock!
HUMOROUS
“Oh!” said the chick
To the white hen, “Run, quick!”
(They stood in the garden patch;)
“Here’s a woman coming
Who will send us ahumming—
She’s determined she’ll not let us scratch!”
To the white hen, “Run, quick!”
(They stood in the garden patch;)
“Here’s a woman coming
Who will send us ahumming—
She’s determined she’ll not let us scratch!”
“Now if ’twere a man
That yonder I scan”
And her eyes she opened wide,—
“And a rock he should throw
We’d know where ’twould go
And could easily dodge it one side,—
That yonder I scan”
And her eyes she opened wide,—
“And a rock he should throw
We’d know where ’twould go
And could easily dodge it one side,—
But this is a Woman—
A terror uncommon,
What to do I’m sure I can’t see;
If a missile she throws
It will veer, and, who knows?
May by accident hit you or me!”
A terror uncommon,
What to do I’m sure I can’t see;
If a missile she throws
It will veer, and, who knows?
May by accident hit you or me!”
“You silly chick,”
Said the white hen quick—
“Much wiser I hope you’ll soon be,—
Just stand in your track
When she makes an attack
And your safety I will guarantee!”
Said the white hen quick—
“Much wiser I hope you’ll soon be,—
Just stand in your track
When she makes an attack
And your safety I will guarantee!”
When, as it chanced,
She firmly advanced,
Hen and chicken with diligence scratched;
No verbal command
Availed, so her hand
A stone from the dusty loam snatched.
She firmly advanced,
Hen and chicken with diligence scratched;
No verbal command
Availed, so her hand
A stone from the dusty loam snatched.
To Southward she aimed—
And hostilely proclaimed!
(’Twas just as the white hen said—)
The pebble flew forth,
And, sailing due North,
It struck her old man on the head!
And hostilely proclaimed!
(’Twas just as the white hen said—)
The pebble flew forth,
And, sailing due North,
It struck her old man on the head!
ONWARD FOR FREEDOM AND RIGHT
(Written at the time of the Spanish-American War.)
“All that there is in Cuba’s lands
Is ours, and we shall reign;
Or we will fight them till they die!”
Thus comes the cry from Spain.
“They never shall their freedom have—
We will rule with iron hand;
They shall bow to us, they shall heed our laws
Or we’ll drive them from the land!”
Is ours, and we shall reign;
Or we will fight them till they die!”
Thus comes the cry from Spain.
“They never shall their freedom have—
We will rule with iron hand;
They shall bow to us, they shall heed our laws
Or we’ll drive them from the land!”
“Ye cruel tyrants! Are ye men?”
(’Twas ‘Uncle Sam’ who spoke.)
“Desist, or ye shall see this end
In cannon roar, and fire, and smoke
Ye worse than tyrants! what have ye done?
Ye have pillaged, burned and destroyed—
Ye have starved helpless men and women to death
And the wailing of children enjoyed.
(’Twas ‘Uncle Sam’ who spoke.)
“Desist, or ye shall see this end
In cannon roar, and fire, and smoke
Ye worse than tyrants! what have ye done?
Ye have pillaged, burned and destroyed—
Ye have starved helpless men and women to death
And the wailing of children enjoyed.
Ye have tortured them with fiendish delight,
And hundreds of people have slain;
Ye caused the death of our brave, noble men,
Who went down in the wreck of the “Maine.”
Ye can come to me if ye want to fight,—
Ye can come with your jeer and taunt;
And ye can fight to your hearts’ content.
If fighting is what ye want.
And hundreds of people have slain;
Ye caused the death of our brave, noble men,
Who went down in the wreck of the “Maine.”
Ye can come to me if ye want to fight,—
Ye can come with your jeer and taunt;
And ye can fight to your hearts’ content.
If fighting is what ye want.
Our boys so brave, when duty calls,
Will all their strength unite;
And fight as long as there is need
For freedom and for right.
May the curse forever be wiped out
That now the country mars;
And peace restored in this fair land
Where float the stripes and stars.”
Will all their strength unite;
And fight as long as there is need
For freedom and for right.
May the curse forever be wiped out
That now the country mars;
And peace restored in this fair land
Where float the stripes and stars.”
A MYSTERY EXPLAINED
Hi Sambo—don’ yo’ talk dat way—
Aint yo’ a silly coon!
A talkin’ ’bout de mystery
Ob de man dats in de moon!
I tell yo’ ’taint no mystery
’Bout de moon, or how it acts,
I reckon ef yo’d like to know
I kin tell yo’ all de facts.
Aint yo’ a silly coon!
A talkin’ ’bout de mystery
Ob de man dats in de moon!
I tell yo’ ’taint no mystery
’Bout de moon, or how it acts,
I reckon ef yo’d like to know
I kin tell yo’ all de facts.
’Tis dis:—Yo’ see when de world was new
De moon was roun’ an’ clear;
An’ kep’ a shinin’ ebery night
Jus’ so, year arter year.—
’Till dis man he done some drefful t’ing—
He ran, but dey cotched him soon
An’ widout no odds dey banished him
An’ sent him to de moon.
De moon was roun’ an’ clear;
An’ kep’ a shinin’ ebery night
Jus’ so, year arter year.—
’Till dis man he done some drefful t’ing—
He ran, but dey cotched him soon
An’ widout no odds dey banished him
An’ sent him to de moon.
Dey see’d him lookin’ down to earth
Whar dey wouldn’t let him stay;
Den solemn like, an’ bery slow
He turn he face away.—
An’ arter dat de moon was new—
Den half a moon dar’ll be;
Den de moon am roun’, an’ de man looks down
On de lan’ an’ on de sea.
Whar dey wouldn’t let him stay;
Den solemn like, an’ bery slow
He turn he face away.—
An’ arter dat de moon was new—
Den half a moon dar’ll be;
Den de moon am roun’, an’ de man looks down
On de lan’ an’ on de sea.
An’ he gazes ober all de earth
’Til he wants to see no more—
Den he slowly turn he face away
Jus’ as he did before.
Dese am de facts ob what yo’ call
De “Mystery profound”—
When de moon keeps changing as yo’ see
’Tis de man a turnin’ round!
’Til he wants to see no more—
Den he slowly turn he face away
Jus’ as he did before.
Dese am de facts ob what yo’ call
De “Mystery profound”—
When de moon keeps changing as yo’ see
’Tis de man a turnin’ round!
A BIRTHDAY GREETING
Your natal anniversary
Once more around has crept;
And, as a token of respect
Will you these flowers accept
Once more around has crept;
And, as a token of respect
Will you these flowers accept
From all your friends? And we do hope
That they may bring delight;
And shed abundant cheer and joy
From every petal bright.
That they may bring delight;
And shed abundant cheer and joy
From every petal bright.
And as another year speeds on
To swell the list of Time;
We truly wish that each day may
Be filled with Peace sublime.
To swell the list of Time;
We truly wish that each day may
Be filled with Peace sublime.
And may the Heavenly Father’s grace
Be with you on your way;
And keep you safely ’till returns
Another glad Birth-day.
Be with you on your way;
And keep you safely ’till returns
Another glad Birth-day.
ALL’S WELL THAT ENDETH WELL
The robins and the blue-birds sing
In tones so sweet and clear;
“Cheer up dear, Annie dear, ’tis spring
And Summer time is near.”
In tones so sweet and clear;
“Cheer up dear, Annie dear, ’tis spring
And Summer time is near.”
The crocus soon will wake from sleep
And lift its dainty head;
The trailing arbutus will peep
Out from its leafy bed.
And lift its dainty head;
The trailing arbutus will peep
Out from its leafy bed.
Dame Nature soon will deck the hills
And vales in verdant clothes;
While ’neath the oak the brooklet trills
Where blooms the blushing rose.
And vales in verdant clothes;
While ’neath the oak the brooklet trills
Where blooms the blushing rose.
Fair daisy sweet and buttercup
The breeze will softly kiss;
Then do not pine, dear friend, cheer up
And share with them their bliss.
The breeze will softly kiss;
Then do not pine, dear friend, cheer up
And share with them their bliss.
Let not your heart be troubled dear,
The birds this message tell,—
Ye faint at heart, be of good cheer,
“All’s well that endeth well.”
The birds this message tell,—
Ye faint at heart, be of good cheer,
“All’s well that endeth well.”
A TALE FROM MOUNTAIN GRANGE
[This poem was written for, and read at the first meeting held after the
completion of the new grange hall at North Buckfield, Nov. 1st, 1904.
The poem was founded on facts, but in order to be more amusing for the
occasion the incidents were, of course, somewhat exaggerated by the
author, who was also a member of Mountain Grange.]
Patrons and Friends:
Within the annals of this Grange
A circumstance occurred—
And, be it true—Or otherwise,
I’ll give it as ’twas heard.
When last winter’s icy breezes
Brought the welcome news, so strange
That the ever staunch, and loyal
Patrons of this Mountain Grange
A circumstance occurred—
And, be it true—Or otherwise,
I’ll give it as ’twas heard.
When last winter’s icy breezes
Brought the welcome news, so strange
That the ever staunch, and loyal
Patrons of this Mountain Grange
Decided to erect their temple
Ere the coming of the Fall
In the village of North Buckfield,—
There to locate their new hall.—
Ere the last glad trump had sounded
Thro’ the vales, and o’er the plain—
Ere the zephyrs bore the echo
To the rugged hills of Maine—
Ere the coming of the Fall
In the village of North Buckfield,—
There to locate their new hall.—
Ere the last glad trump had sounded
Thro’ the vales, and o’er the plain—
Ere the zephyrs bore the echo
To the rugged hills of Maine—
Ere the last faint notes were wafted
To “Old Shack’s” most distant peak—
There a brave, and loyal patron
Thus to himself did speak:—
“I, Lucius Record, patron, member
Of this Grange, a vow do make
That I the very first will be
The foundation ground to break.
To “Old Shack’s” most distant peak—
There a brave, and loyal patron
Thus to himself did speak:—
“I, Lucius Record, patron, member
Of this Grange, a vow do make
That I the very first will be
The foundation ground to break.
For I have read of honors great
To “lay the corner stone,”
I’ll be the first to break the ground
And do it all alone!
And so, for months, this patron brave
Did cherish in his breast
A longing for the time to come
Which gave him much unrest.
To “lay the corner stone,”
I’ll be the first to break the ground
And do it all alone!
And so, for months, this patron brave
Did cherish in his breast
A longing for the time to come
Which gave him much unrest.
“Old Father Time” moved slowly on—
The snow began to melt—
The bleak earth showed in tiny spots
Where Lucius Record dwelt.
For aught else in the world, just then
He neither cared nor feared;
But watched those patches grow, until
The snow had disappeared.
The snow began to melt—
The bleak earth showed in tiny spots
Where Lucius Record dwelt.
For aught else in the world, just then
He neither cared nor feared;
But watched those patches grow, until
The snow had disappeared.
To all who anxiously await
Time slowly wears away;
But at last—at last there came the eve
Ere the eventful day.
That night no sweet dreams came to him,
No sleep his pillow sought;
But listened he to every sound
With nerves most tensely wrought.
Time slowly wears away;
But at last—at last there came the eve
Ere the eventful day.
That night no sweet dreams came to him,
No sleep his pillow sought;
But listened he to every sound
With nerves most tensely wrought.
And ere the sun’s first rays arose
To gild yon distant domes;
And shed their radiance upon
These fair North Buckfield homes
Arose he from his downy couch—
And with his gleaming spade
Proceeded he to carry out
The plans which he had made.
To gild yon distant domes;
And shed their radiance upon
These fair North Buckfield homes
Arose he from his downy couch—
And with his gleaming spade
Proceeded he to carry out
The plans which he had made.
In silence marched he by Fred Heald’s,
Slow, stealthy as a mouse;
With bated breath, on tiptoe went
Past Celia Dunham’s house
Lest she or Fred should be awake
And chance to hear his step,—
And thus—with soft, and cat-like tread
He past the school house crept
And reached the spot where stands this hall
When lo! in yonder field
He spied a form approaching near,
And found ’twas Brother Heald
And on the self same purpose bent!
Lute straightway feared the worst;
It but remained now to be seen
Which one would get there first!
Slow, stealthy as a mouse;
With bated breath, on tiptoe went
Past Celia Dunham’s house
Lest she or Fred should be awake
And chance to hear his step,—
And thus—with soft, and cat-like tread
He past the school house crept
And reached the spot where stands this hall
When lo! in yonder field
He spied a form approaching near,
And found ’twas Brother Heald
And on the self same purpose bent!
Lute straightway feared the worst;
It but remained now to be seen
Which one would get there first!
Lucius quickened up his pace
Nor stopped for rocks or planks,
’Tis said his record equaled then
The far-famed Nancy Hanks!
He nearly now his courage lost,
The way seemed not so clear
To be the first to break the ground
With tother feller near.
Nor stopped for rocks or planks,
’Tis said his record equaled then
The far-famed Nancy Hanks!
He nearly now his courage lost,
The way seemed not so clear
To be the first to break the ground
With tother feller near.
So in the road the spade he dropped
And scooped it full of earth
Then sprang with all his wondrous might
And ran for all he’s worth
And dumped that sand upon the spot,
And made a little mound—
“Ah, ha!” quoth he, “I am the first
To break the Grange Hall ground!”
And scooped it full of earth
Then sprang with all his wondrous might
And ran for all he’s worth
And dumped that sand upon the spot,
And made a little mound—
“Ah, ha!” quoth he, “I am the first
To break the Grange Hall ground!”
Then with a sigh both turned away—
They felt somewhat—perhaps
One like the ‘Russians’ at bay—
The other like the ‘Japs.’—
The morning dawned with azure skies,
And then the workmen came;
Brad Damon and another man
Sir William Brown by name.
They felt somewhat—perhaps
One like the ‘Russians’ at bay—
The other like the ‘Japs.’—
The morning dawned with azure skies,
And then the workmen came;
Brad Damon and another man
Sir William Brown by name.
They saw the sand, and then one spoke—
(The other followed suit,)
“What tarnal fool done this, d’ye spose?
I vum, I’ll bet ’twas Lute!”
The other answered, “I’ve no doubt
’Twas him, but see these tracks—
Now you don’t spose dew ye, they
Resemble Danville Jack’s?”
(The other followed suit,)
“What tarnal fool done this, d’ye spose?
I vum, I’ll bet ’twas Lute!”
The other answered, “I’ve no doubt
’Twas him, but see these tracks—
Now you don’t spose dew ye, they
Resemble Danville Jack’s?”
“Oh, no, taint Dan—I know ’tis Lute—
To reason this appeals:—
These tracks look like an Elephant
While Dan’s got Nigger heels!”
Then exclamations volleyed forth,
With laughter long and loud;
Just then Geo. Record’s silvery voice
Came ringing through the crowd:
To reason this appeals:—
These tracks look like an Elephant
While Dan’s got Nigger heels!”
Then exclamations volleyed forth,
With laughter long and loud;
Just then Geo. Record’s silvery voice
Came ringing through the crowd:
“I say there, Bill! Tim Jones’n me
Will give fifty cents in change
To whom will write this story up
And read it in the Grange!”
Five poetic pencils glibly glide—
Low bends each thoughtful head—
Presented for inspections, thus
Brad Damon’s poem read:—
Will give fifty cents in change
To whom will write this story up
And read it in the Grange!”
Five poetic pencils glibly glide—
Low bends each thoughtful head—
Presented for inspections, thus
Brad Damon’s poem read:—
Lucius Record
Sat up late,—
Broke the ground—
Honor great.
Sat up late,—
Broke the ground—
Honor great.
Road to fame—
Show’s us how,—
Pile of dirt—
Big’s a cow.
Show’s us how,—
Pile of dirt—
Big’s a cow.
Awfully solemn—
Awfully mute—
Sadly feels—
Beat by Lute!
Awfully mute—
Sadly feels—
Beat by Lute!
Walls of fame—
Got Lute’s name on—
Poem complete—
Bradbury Damon.
Got Lute’s name on—
Poem complete—
Bradbury Damon.
“By Gum! he’s beaten us all!” they cried
Between their tight—shut teeth;
Then brushed away that pile of sand
And saw what lay beneath!
They cried “Let’s give three cheers for Lute!
Of him we have learned this day
If we can’t succeed just as we wish
We’ll do it as we may.”
Between their tight—shut teeth;
Then brushed away that pile of sand
And saw what lay beneath!
They cried “Let’s give three cheers for Lute!
Of him we have learned this day
If we can’t succeed just as we wish
We’ll do it as we may.”
Patrons, Friends:—