Should aught arise within this Grange
Which we don’t understand;
Let’s look beneath the surface then,
Let’s clear away the sand.
Which we don’t understand;
Let’s look beneath the surface then,
Let’s clear away the sand.
SONG OF THE GRANGERS’
(Written for Mountain Grange)
Away o’er the hills, or thro’ valleys,
Wherever I happen to be;
’Tis wafted along by the breezes,
And comes like sweet music to me,
As on, by the wayside I wander
A Brother I happen to meet,—
The hand-grasp is ever most cordial
And this is the way that we greet,—
Goin ’t the Grange?
Wherever I happen to be;
’Tis wafted along by the breezes,
And comes like sweet music to me,
As on, by the wayside I wander
A Brother I happen to meet,—
The hand-grasp is ever most cordial
And this is the way that we greet,—
Goin ’t the Grange?
I stroll mid the tall waving grasses
Where the laurel and sweet brier springs—
Thence on, to the deep-shadow’d woodland
Where the brooklet so merrilly sings—
How lulling the chirp of the cricket—
How drowsy the hum of the bees.—
I start.—for a voice speaking near me
In deep tones utters words such as these—
Goin ’t the Grange?
Where the laurel and sweet brier springs—
Thence on, to the deep-shadow’d woodland
Where the brooklet so merrilly sings—
How lulling the chirp of the cricket—
How drowsy the hum of the bees.—
I start.—for a voice speaking near me
In deep tones utters words such as these—
Goin ’t the Grange?
Oh! the tables so loaded with dainties
We hail with the keenest delight;
The fruit, pies, and cake, we all welcome
With faces so happy and bright.
There’s naught like the rich, amber coffee
Great fervor and zest to impart—
While the savory baked beans and brown bread
E’er touch a deep chord in the heart—
Goin ’t the Grange?
We hail with the keenest delight;
The fruit, pies, and cake, we all welcome
With faces so happy and bright.
There’s naught like the rich, amber coffee
Great fervor and zest to impart—
While the savory baked beans and brown bread
E’er touch a deep chord in the heart—
Goin ’t the Grange?
Grange!—— name so laden with beauty
I hail with the greatest of glee;
I love it, our dear banded Order—
And ever a Granger I’ll be!
Oft I long as the season approaches
The time for a “meeting” again
To hear from the tumult of voices
Re-echo this gladsome refrain:—
Goin ’t the Grange?
I hail with the greatest of glee;
I love it, our dear banded Order—
And ever a Granger I’ll be!
Oft I long as the season approaches
The time for a “meeting” again
To hear from the tumult of voices
Re-echo this gladsome refrain:—
Goin ’t the Grange?
And may the bright Star of the Heavens
Ever guard and guide us aright—
May we all many times be permitted
To meet here in ardent delight.
May we ever be true to our Master—
Prove faithful and honest in all;
And be ready to answer the summons
When the One great Master shall call
To a higher and nobler Grange.
Ever guard and guide us aright—
May we all many times be permitted
To meet here in ardent delight.
May we ever be true to our Master—
Prove faithful and honest in all;
And be ready to answer the summons
When the One great Master shall call
To a higher and nobler Grange.
UNCLE JOE’S SOLILOQUY
Talk about your new inventions
And the wonders of the age;
I think the pesky foolishness
Has reached the topmost stage!
The news that this here world is round
Comes from some great man’s mouth—
And that ’tis hung onto a pole
That goes from North to South.
And the wonders of the age;
I think the pesky foolishness
Has reached the topmost stage!
The news that this here world is round
Comes from some great man’s mouth—
And that ’tis hung onto a pole
That goes from North to South.
And I suppose that this here way
Is the way to solve the riddle—
Just take an apple up, and thrust
A needle through the middle.
And what is it they won’t do next?
For now, Why, ’pon my soul
They say that larn’ed folks have tried
To find the great North Pole!
Is the way to solve the riddle—
Just take an apple up, and thrust
A needle through the middle.
And what is it they won’t do next?
For now, Why, ’pon my soul
They say that larn’ed folks have tried
To find the great North Pole!
I’d rather stay upon the land
Than sail upon the sea;
Why can’t them folks just stay at home
And let the North Pole be?
Now I am kind of worried like
For fear some of those men
That’s sailing round and round the airth
Will find the pole and then
Than sail upon the sea;
Why can’t them folks just stay at home
And let the North Pole be?
Now I am kind of worried like
For fear some of those men
That’s sailing round and round the airth
Will find the pole and then
Some of them chaps who thoughtlessly
At common sense will scoff
Will take it into their wise heads
To cut the North Pole off!
And then what would become of us?
I’m sure I haint no notion—
I spose that we, the world and all
Would fall into the Ocean!
At common sense will scoff
Will take it into their wise heads
To cut the North Pole off!
And then what would become of us?
I’m sure I haint no notion—
I spose that we, the world and all
Would fall into the Ocean!
And what a bad thing that would be—
How dreadful is the sound—
To let the world fall in the sea
And all the good folks drown’d!
I wish that them ere pesky folks
Would let the pole alone;
I think that they had better find
Some business of their own!
How dreadful is the sound—
To let the world fall in the sea
And all the good folks drown’d!
I wish that them ere pesky folks
Would let the pole alone;
I think that they had better find
Some business of their own!
WHEN DADDY ROCKS THE KID
Little daughter, fair and sweet
With dainty baby charms;
Making every joy complete
As from mamma’s arms
Very tenderly she’s laid;—
(Mamma’s smiles are hid—
Sees the queer maneuvers made
When daddy rocks the kid!)
With dainty baby charms;
Making every joy complete
As from mamma’s arms
Very tenderly she’s laid;—
(Mamma’s smiles are hid—
Sees the queer maneuvers made
When daddy rocks the kid!)
Darling, winsome as can be—
Blossom sweet and rare;
Hears the tuneful melody
From the rocking chair.
Never heard such songs before,—
(And guess he never did—)
Language new—and tunes galore,
When daddy rocks the kid!
Blossom sweet and rare;
Hears the tuneful melody
From the rocking chair.
Never heard such songs before,—
(And guess he never did—)
Language new—and tunes galore,
When daddy rocks the kid!
Though forty times, ere day is done,
From work he homeward comes;
To hold his precious little one
And see it suck its thumbs—
Mamma, e’er with loving glance
Sees new charms amid
The beauties, Which the joys enhance
When daddy rocks the kid!
From work he homeward comes;
To hold his precious little one
And see it suck its thumbs—
Mamma, e’er with loving glance
Sees new charms amid
The beauties, Which the joys enhance
When daddy rocks the kid!
When daddy rocks the kid to sleep
He banishes all care;
And o’er his visage smiles will creep—
Contentment’s written there.
No worldly sorrows cast their shade
But vanish as they’re bid.—
A pleasing picture thus is made
When daddy rocks the kid!
He banishes all care;
And o’er his visage smiles will creep—
Contentment’s written there.
No worldly sorrows cast their shade
But vanish as they’re bid.—
A pleasing picture thus is made
When daddy rocks the kid!
STOP TALKIN’
When a feller gets his back up
And his temper’s in a muss;
If he keeps a peckin’ at ye—
Tryin’ hard to pick a fuss.—
Jest ye go about yer bis-ness.
‘Course its aggravatin’—but
Half the row will be averted
If ye’ll keep yer talker shut!
And his temper’s in a muss;
If he keeps a peckin’ at ye—
Tryin’ hard to pick a fuss.—
Jest ye go about yer bis-ness.
‘Course its aggravatin’—but
Half the row will be averted
If ye’ll keep yer talker shut!
Shut yer lips together firmly—
Let the “other feller” groan,—
Soon ye’ll find the ranch deserted,
For he will not fight alone.
Ferocious bully’ll prove a coward,—
If ye swerve not from the rut
Of yer staunch determination
That ye’ll keep yer talker shut!
Let the “other feller” groan,—
Soon ye’ll find the ranch deserted,
For he will not fight alone.
Ferocious bully’ll prove a coward,—
If ye swerve not from the rut
Of yer staunch determination
That ye’ll keep yer talker shut!
Talkin’ makes a heap o’ trouble
Out o’ nothin’, scandals great,—
As one gossip, then another
From the truth will deviate
’Till the color of the story
Darker grows—I tell ye what,
Wouldn’t be so many heartaches
If they’d keep their talkers shut!
Out o’ nothin’, scandals great,—
As one gossip, then another
From the truth will deviate
’Till the color of the story
Darker grows—I tell ye what,
Wouldn’t be so many heartaches
If they’d keep their talkers shut!
Talkin’s right, if they would only
Try to smooth the weary way
Of some poor, lone, ship wrecked brother
And a word of comfort say
To the sick and weepin’ dweller
Of the rude and lowly hut.—
Then, yes, then, the time is for ye
Not to keep yer talker shut!
Try to smooth the weary way
Of some poor, lone, ship wrecked brother
And a word of comfort say
To the sick and weepin’ dweller
Of the rude and lowly hut.—
Then, yes, then, the time is for ye
Not to keep yer talker shut!
If ye try to see the many
Virtues of yer feller men—
And yer kindly acts uplift him—
Ye are doin’ nobler, then
When to some heart yer words so cruel
Gives a deep malicious cut.—
If ye can’t speak words of kindness
Better keep yer talker shut!
Virtues of yer feller men—
And yer kindly acts uplift him—
Ye are doin’ nobler, then
When to some heart yer words so cruel
Gives a deep malicious cut.—
If ye can’t speak words of kindness
Better keep yer talker shut!
A YULE-TIDE MISSIVE
To my dear friend:—E. L. F.
As onward Old Time is e’er rolling,
And Summer again has gone by;
The sweet bells of Christmas are ringing,
And wafting their music on high—
Telling the same sweet old story,
That ever emotion awakes;
Of Him who was born in a manger
And Who suffered and died for our sakes.
And Summer again has gone by;
The sweet bells of Christmas are ringing,
And wafting their music on high—
Telling the same sweet old story,
That ever emotion awakes;
Of Him who was born in a manger
And Who suffered and died for our sakes.
My wish is, that this day may bring you
Very rich and abundant good cheer;
May yours be a bright happy Christmas,
With friends that are ever sincere.
It is willed that I cannot be with you—
As you still linger “down by the sea;”
But my wish is—and may it be granted—
That one thought-wave may reach you from me,
Very rich and abundant good cheer;
May yours be a bright happy Christmas,
With friends that are ever sincere.
It is willed that I cannot be with you—
As you still linger “down by the sea;”
But my wish is—and may it be granted—
That one thought-wave may reach you from me,
Ere the bells have ceased ringing the tidings
Of Peace and Good Will to all men,
Old Santa will wake from his slumbers
And, hobbling forth from his den
He will harness his fleet footed reindeer
To the sleigh, and away he will flee,—
And eagerly on, he will hasten
To bring you this message from me!
Of Peace and Good Will to all men,
Old Santa will wake from his slumbers
And, hobbling forth from his den
He will harness his fleet footed reindeer
To the sleigh, and away he will flee,—
And eagerly on, he will hasten
To bring you this message from me!
Though this has no value, excepting
The love it contains in its fold,—
Yet, love that is true and unfading
To me is more precious than gold.
So, when you shall weigh in Worth’s balance
The gifts you receive on this day;
Surely mine will not be found wanting,
For Love will be sure to out-weigh.
The love it contains in its fold,—
Yet, love that is true and unfading
To me is more precious than gold.
So, when you shall weigh in Worth’s balance
The gifts you receive on this day;
Surely mine will not be found wanting,
For Love will be sure to out-weigh.
Were I sure, that, receiving this missive
You should feel just one pang of regret
That I cannot be with you this evening,
It would fully repay me, and yet
I know you’ll transmit one thought message
To me, from afar o’er the plain;
While the sweet bells of Christmas are ringing
And telling their story again.
You should feel just one pang of regret
That I cannot be with you this evening,
It would fully repay me, and yet
I know you’ll transmit one thought message
To me, from afar o’er the plain;
While the sweet bells of Christmas are ringing
And telling their story again.
While the sweet bells of Christmas are ringing
In accents of joy and of praise;
For the Babe in the manger, so blessed,
As they rang in the dear by-gone days,—
May they ring as of yore,—And the blessing
Of “Peace and Good Will” which they gave
In the ringing descend o’er our Spirits,—
Like music which wafts o’er the wave.
In accents of joy and of praise;
For the Babe in the manger, so blessed,
As they rang in the dear by-gone days,—
May they ring as of yore,—And the blessing
Of “Peace and Good Will” which they gave
In the ringing descend o’er our Spirits,—
Like music which wafts o’er the wave.
Buckfield, Me., 1911.
THE HUNTER
Traditions of a hunter tells—
A hardy man, and stout;
Who ne’er used snow-shoes—for his feet
Were large enough without!
With dog and gun, across-lots, he
Would roam ’mong bush and stump;
Nor swerved he from the snow-drifts deep,—
He’d very seldom slump!
A hardy man, and stout;
Who ne’er used snow-shoes—for his feet
Were large enough without!
With dog and gun, across-lots, he
Would roam ’mong bush and stump;
Nor swerved he from the snow-drifts deep,—
He’d very seldom slump!
But once, ’tis said, he sank far down
While crossing o’er a field;
The damp snow caved upon his feet
And there he stuck—and squealed!
Then, standing like a statue
Beneath the sun’s warm glow—
His feet, like steamship’s anchor
Fast pinioned under snow.
While crossing o’er a field;
The damp snow caved upon his feet
And there he stuck—and squealed!
Then, standing like a statue
Beneath the sun’s warm glow—
His feet, like steamship’s anchor
Fast pinioned under snow.
THE POETRY MACHINE
Pray, have you ever heard about—
Or have you ever seen
That Pearl of Ingenuity—
A Poetry Machine?
The wonderous thing is fashioned
With most exquisite skill;
Designed precisely to obey
The operator’s will.
Or have you ever seen
That Pearl of Ingenuity—
A Poetry Machine?
The wonderous thing is fashioned
With most exquisite skill;
Designed precisely to obey
The operator’s will.
When touched by “Muse’s” magic wand
The thought-waves throb and spout;
Then, by the turning of the crank
It grinds the verses out.—
The sweet, poetic stanzas
Of equal length will be;
Then, clipping off the ragged lines
It makes a poem.—See?
The thought-waves throb and spout;
Then, by the turning of the crank
It grinds the verses out.—
The sweet, poetic stanzas
Of equal length will be;
Then, clipping off the ragged lines
It makes a poem.—See?
And ’tis an elegant thing to have
When you’re “down in luck” you think—
(And the only cost is a trivial sum
Of some of your mental chink.)
When e’er the world seems going wrong
And you your courage lose;
Get out your “Poetry Machine”
And drive away the “blues.”
When you’re “down in luck” you think—
(And the only cost is a trivial sum
Of some of your mental chink.)
When e’er the world seems going wrong
And you your courage lose;
Get out your “Poetry Machine”
And drive away the “blues.”
Just turn the crank—Sad thoughts will flee
As the cog-wheels whirr and buzz,—
There’s naught can raise one’s spirits up
Like the “Verse Mill” always does!
Let the rippling, rollicking rhymes roll out
With a clamor, a clash, and a clang;
Then punctuate each line with a laugh—
Be one of the “Jolly Gang!”
As the cog-wheels whirr and buzz,—
There’s naught can raise one’s spirits up
Like the “Verse Mill” always does!
Let the rippling, rollicking rhymes roll out
With a clamor, a clash, and a clang;
Then punctuate each line with a laugh—
Be one of the “Jolly Gang!”
There will steal a soothing sense supreme
As we linger ’neath the spell,—
As steal sweet strains from Seraphic Song
Far o’er the Ocean’s swell
Or like soft breezes whispering
O’er the sun-kissed, mossy bank,—
With sweet, poetic fancies rife
If we but turn the crank!
As we linger ’neath the spell,—
As steal sweet strains from Seraphic Song
Far o’er the Ocean’s swell
Or like soft breezes whispering
O’er the sun-kissed, mossy bank,—
With sweet, poetic fancies rife
If we but turn the crank!
OCTOBER
Down, the faded leaves are drifting,
From grey branches overhead;
All summer birds have taken flight,
The grass is sere and dead.—
The brown earth tells us Summer’s gone—
The frost lies white at early morn.
October
From grey branches overhead;
All summer birds have taken flight,
The grass is sere and dead.—
The brown earth tells us Summer’s gone—
The frost lies white at early morn.
October
See! now is yon distant landscape
Clothed in warm and purple haze;
Redolent with ripen’d harvests
Of the Indian Summer days.
Bright—ye golden days—and glad,
Beautiful, yet erstwhile sad
October
Clothed in warm and purple haze;
Redolent with ripen’d harvests
Of the Indian Summer days.
Bright—ye golden days—and glad,
Beautiful, yet erstwhile sad
October
Now the corn, no longer waving,
Shocked, stands waiting for the bin;
Choice fruit and garden products
Soon will all be gathered in.
Golden pumpkins, piled up high,—
Indicative of luscious pie!
October!
Shocked, stands waiting for the bin;
Choice fruit and garden products
Soon will all be gathered in.
Golden pumpkins, piled up high,—
Indicative of luscious pie!
October!
TO MARY
Dear Mary: The sweet bells of Christmas
Are ringing out vibrant and true,—
As I list to their music in gladness
I am thinking of Danville and you.
Are ringing out vibrant and true,—
As I list to their music in gladness
I am thinking of Danville and you.
So Sister, I’m sending this picture—
You will see at the Ward at the right
A little X marked o’er the window,
Where a star peeps in at me at night.
You will see at the Ward at the right
A little X marked o’er the window,
Where a star peeps in at me at night.
You know where my cot is, you fancy—
Tho’ your vision of me is not clear;
Yet you know on that cot I am lying—
You have Faith to believe I am here!
Tho’ your vision of me is not clear;
Yet you know on that cot I am lying—
You have Faith to believe I am here!
Then now, as the sweet chimes are pealing
In accents so joyous and rare;
Look, in Faith, towards the window of Heaven
And believe that our Saviour is there!
In accents so joyous and rare;
Look, in Faith, towards the window of Heaven
And believe that our Saviour is there!
THE WINDS DO BLOW
[Written while the author was a patient at the Maine State Sanatorium, Hebron, Me.]
There’s danger that some of these gales
Will lay this Cottage level—
For every other day, at least,
The wind blows like the—— deuce.
Should it occur, the chances are
That all the fields and lawns
From here down to “West Minot” will
Be scattered o’er with “Cons.”
Then Dr. Garrison, Dr. Knowles
And Dr. Nichols, too,
Will have to search o’er hill and dale
To find which way we blew!—
And all the nurses, too, will run
As fast as e’er they can
And help to bring “us patients” back
To this gale-stricken San!
Sure, if the wind strikes “Greenwood Hill”
With such an awful boom
We shall go sailing through the air
Like Witches on a broom!—
Whiz-Zip-Crash-Bang-Oh, Ugh!—My face
Is full of whirling snow!!—
It’s blown the coverings off my bed!!!—
Ah yes, “the winds do blow!”
Will lay this Cottage level—
For every other day, at least,
The wind blows like the—— deuce.
Should it occur, the chances are
That all the fields and lawns
From here down to “West Minot” will
Be scattered o’er with “Cons.”
Then Dr. Garrison, Dr. Knowles
And Dr. Nichols, too,
Will have to search o’er hill and dale
To find which way we blew!—
And all the nurses, too, will run
As fast as e’er they can
And help to bring “us patients” back
To this gale-stricken San!
Sure, if the wind strikes “Greenwood Hill”
With such an awful boom
We shall go sailing through the air
Like Witches on a broom!—
Whiz-Zip-Crash-Bang-Oh, Ugh!—My face
Is full of whirling snow!!—
It’s blown the coverings off my bed!!!—
Ah yes, “the winds do blow!”
Jan. 1913.
FAREWELL TO THE SAN
To Dr. N.:—
My stay here has been quite extended,
And many long months now are gone;
But soon my sojourn must be ended,
For now I’m not sick with the “Con.”
My heart may have an “affection”—
Yet do not imagine I’m ill,—
For I’m sure that, in case of detection
It would baffle your medical skill.
And many long months now are gone;
But soon my sojourn must be ended,
For now I’m not sick with the “Con.”
My heart may have an “affection”—
Yet do not imagine I’m ill,—
For I’m sure that, in case of detection
It would baffle your medical skill.
The “Microbe” lies hidden, tho closely you scan,
Yet it lives! Now, sad to relate;
One grievance exists which I owe to the San—
Oh dear, I have gained so in weight!
No more like a fairy am I.—Yet ’tis true
It is lovely to come here and rest,—
It’s a fine place to thrive—For see, even you
Are not very small round the vest!
Yet it lives! Now, sad to relate;
One grievance exists which I owe to the San—
Oh dear, I have gained so in weight!
No more like a fairy am I.—Yet ’tis true
It is lovely to come here and rest,—
It’s a fine place to thrive—For see, even you
Are not very small round the vest!
Oh no! and if ever I meet with a friend
Who is built on the skeleton plan
And wishes some fat on the ribs, I intend
To tell him to come to the San!
I’m sorry to leave Greenwood Mt. so fair
And the scenes I’ve so long dwelt amid,—
I know I have been an annoyance and care
Like a naughty refractory kid.
Who is built on the skeleton plan
And wishes some fat on the ribs, I intend
To tell him to come to the San!
I’m sorry to leave Greenwood Mt. so fair
And the scenes I’ve so long dwelt amid,—
I know I have been an annoyance and care
Like a naughty refractory kid.
But vain are regrets.—So why let them tend
Toward the past?—Let ill memories flee!
Yet this will I say: Dr. Nichols—Kind friend
I thank you for your kindness to me.
And I hope the Good Father who rules over all
By an all-wise and infinite plan
May guide and bless you, what e’re may befall—
And rich blessings send down to the San.
Toward the past?—Let ill memories flee!
Yet this will I say: Dr. Nichols—Kind friend
I thank you for your kindness to me.
And I hope the Good Father who rules over all
By an all-wise and infinite plan
May guide and bless you, what e’re may befall—
And rich blessings send down to the San.
The San Poetess.
WE KNOW NOT WHY
’Tis true, to some
Good luck will come
As we go life’s path along;
While to others here
There’s naught of cheer,
And every thing goes wrong.
Good luck will come
As we go life’s path along;
While to others here
There’s naught of cheer,
And every thing goes wrong.
Yet we cannot know
Why it is so—
For a few there is peace complete;
The while for some
There is not a crumb
From the loaf of comfort sweet.
Why it is so—
For a few there is peace complete;
The while for some
There is not a crumb
From the loaf of comfort sweet.
Some know not the turmoil
Of struggle and toil—
Yet there’s enough and to spare for those
Who can live at their ease
And do as they please—
And their crown is entwined with the rose.
Of struggle and toil—
Yet there’s enough and to spare for those
Who can live at their ease
And do as they please—
And their crown is entwined with the rose.
While others there are
From near and afar
Who by “sweat of the brow” earn their bread;
And ’tis very sweet
To those who may eat
Who by their own efforts are fed.
From near and afar
Who by “sweat of the brow” earn their bread;
And ’tis very sweet
To those who may eat
Who by their own efforts are fed.
As God made the rich
And poor alike which
Will be guarded and led not astray?
And which, do you ween,
Will wear the bright sheen
When they get to the end of the way?
And poor alike which
Will be guarded and led not astray?
And which, do you ween,
Will wear the bright sheen
When they get to the end of the way?
To some he sends woe—
We know not why ’tis so—
But he chasteneth all more or less;
Where sorrow and strife
And burdens are rife,
These will He especially bless.
We know not why ’tis so—
But he chasteneth all more or less;
Where sorrow and strife
And burdens are rife,
These will He especially bless.
When o’er trials we sigh
To Him we should fly
Who doeth all things for the best;
When comes the release
There’ll be eternal peace
In that beautiful Haven of Rest.
To Him we should fly
Who doeth all things for the best;
When comes the release
There’ll be eternal peace
In that beautiful Haven of Rest.
Let the rich help the poor,—
Drive the wolf from the door—
In the sorrows of others take part;
And He will receive
All “ye who believe”
And come with a pure sinless heart.
Drive the wolf from the door—
In the sorrows of others take part;
And He will receive
All “ye who believe”
And come with a pure sinless heart.