m^M 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
 Chap Copyright No 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 

 S^injw 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^i& 
 
 j Vpl 
 
 ^^^i^^ 
 
 ^llf 
 
 - 
 
 H 
 
 
 
 (i 
 
 &-> 
 
 & 
 
 
 -L^j 
 
 .^Oi 
 
 
 
 
 n 
 
 
 51 
 

POEMS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 MIDDLE WEST 
 
&^\J\Ji/y^j 
 
 /j J^J^X- 
 
Poems of the Middle Ulest 
 
 BY 
 
 WARREN BENTLEY GREGG 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA: 
 
 T. S. MEJTCAI.F, Printer and Binder. 
 
 1899. 
 
y6 
 
 A 
 
 <A 
 
 & 
 
 <^x> 
 
 $ 
 
 31676 
 
 Copyright by 
 
 WARREN B. GREGG. 
 
 1899. 
 
 TWO'COPir.c KECCIVED, 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A Boy's Duty 168 
 
 A Direful Sonnet 107 
 
 Affliction i 79 
 
 Another Day Has Fled 144 
 
 A Sonnet 9 
 
 Bridge of Inspiration 131 
 
 Christmas Eve 74 
 
 Christmas Shopping 139 
 
 Closing Odes... 177 
 
 Crumbs of Truth 83 
 
 Death. 118 
 
 Death of a Little Boy .136 
 
 Dewey 61 
 
 Divine Music 174 
 
 Don't Forget Me 62 
 
 "Drifted In" 56 
 
 Evening Song 126 
 
 Flattery 71 
 
 Get the Theme 70 
 
 Grandma's Grave 114 
 
 Hymn No. 1 112 
 
 Hymn No. 2 113 
 
 Intellectual Societies 170 
 
 I Said " Farewell " 81 
 
 Legend of Hawkeye 18 
 
 Mary 50 
 
 Memorial Day 122 
 
 Music 63 
 
 Queen of the Middle West 10 
 
 Questions 145 
 
 Reverie by Moonlight 147 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 River of Death ...120 
 
 Song 169 
 
 Song of Poets 66 
 
 Songs to "The Lamb" 97 
 
 Song to the Morning 45 
 
 Sonnet No. 1 106 
 
 Speak From the Heart 64 
 
 Sweet Sleep of the Dead 116 
 
 The College Bridge 48 
 
 The Creed 134 
 
 The Gift 129 
 
 The Iron Horse 110 
 
 The Judgment 92 
 
 The Lake 176 
 
 The Lament for Ottumwano 42 
 
 The LittlePink 65 
 
 The Oration of Nanamakee ... 40 
 
 The Penitentiary — 47 
 
 The Teacher's Good-Bye 68 
 
 The Quarries; or, " From Sun to 
 Sun" 155 
 
 There is One Who Has My Heart.137 
 
 To a Friend 133 
 
 To a Woman Who Has Written a 
 Wicked Novel... 72 
 
 Two Sonnets 104 
 
 Two Sonnets 108 
 
 Wapsipinicon Song... 151 
 
 We Make Our Fate ...153 
 
 When I Lay Me Down to Die 117 
 
 Will My Grave Neglected Be?... .119 
 Worldly Pleasure..-. 89 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 A T the earnest request of many personal friends, I 
 ** have laid aside my own personal feelings of 
 seclusiveness and privacy in order to give this little 
 volume to the public. 
 
 It has been hastily written during the spare mo- 
 ments and hours that I have not been in the school- 
 room, and consequently may lack the finish that is 
 acquired in composition by those who have ample 
 time and opportunity for literary work. 
 
 In the hope that this book will meet the approval 
 of its readers, especially those who have asked for its 
 publication, it is respectfully submitted. 
 
 Warren B. Gregg. 
 Anatnosa, Iowa, March, 1899. 
 
Sterns of the "Middle West." 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 O FRIENDS! to you these faulty lines I pen, 
 To face the world, and meet the scoffs of men; 
 But you and all my fellow townsmen kind 
 Will not despise, tho' others faults may find. 
 Who condescends to men of station low, 
 Finds blessings rare around him freely flow; 
 As gentle music thrills and charms the soul 
 And onward in the distance seems to roll, 
 Then echoes back from a far away vale 
 The plaintive tones, with their rich golden tale; 
 So thine own unselfish deeds soon will come 
 And echo back kind favors one by one, 
 And golden tales of you that may be said, 
 Will live when you and I are silent, dead. 
 
10 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 QUEEN OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 FAIR virgin queen, of our great Middle West! 
 We love the natural charms of your face. 
 The robes of green that modestly enfold 
 Your graceful form in early spring, are like 
 Reception gowns of ancient fairy queens 
 Whose beauty did bewilder mortal eyes, 
 (Such as were favored with a blissful sight.) 
 The golden dress you wear in harvest time, 
 Displays the richness of your vast estates ; 
 And all the lovers that throng 'round your feet, 
 Partake of hospitalities that're free. 
 Your features are not plain, but rounded here 
 And there; for 'tis in curves that beauty dwells 
 Without the stiffness of straight, formal lines. 
 And so, fair queen, presuming that you'll bear 
 With me, a humble subject of your realm, 
 If I relate the story of your birth, 
 Your noble parentage and childhood days ; 
 I take my pen — forgiveness if I'm wrong! 
 But if you're pleased, then bless your native song. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 11 
 
 Afar in western wilds where savage hordes 
 Did roam about in search of Bison droves ; 
 Or, on account of some pretended wrong 
 Went forth in warpaint hideous, and with 
 Strange movements swift, peculiar to their tribe, 
 Went skulking on the unsuspecting foe 
 And feasted their revenge with cruelty ; 
 A fertile region lay between two streams 
 Whose rushing torrents sped on to the sea 
 Quite unthought of, unnoticed, save by God 
 And fierce red men untutored in the law 
 Of Christian fellowship and civil arts ; 
 Yet, having common laws that governed all 
 In tribal homes and in great councils, wars ; 
 Displaying oft' sound wisdom, statesmanship, 
 And manners worthy of a noble race. 
 Rich pasturage was found o'er all this land ; 
 And near its waters, forests did abound : 
 Thus nature seemed to give a special care 
 To this broad landscape stretching out so fair. 
 
 No plow had turned the soil to morning's sun ; 
 For Anglo-Saxons here, were yet unknown ; 
 Nor had the sturdy, German, immigrant 
 
12 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Found out the value of its farming land. 
 
 The missionaries of the French came first 
 
 To spread the gospel light and civil laws 
 
 Along the Mississippi's verdant banks. 
 
 O, who will ever know what trials came 
 
 To those who braved the dangers that beset 
 
 On ev'ry side, our early pioneers? 
 
 They struggled on, the fathers of the West, 
 
 And faltered not, though oft' cast down with care : 
 
 New England and the Middle States sent forth 
 
 Their stalwart sons ; and royal stock from far 
 
 Across the sea, gave to the Western Queen 
 
 Of states her righteous birth and guarded her 
 
 Till she became of age and gained a place 
 
 Among the stars that crown Columbia's brow. 
 
 Thus was the child conceived in love and born 
 
 In strength and might, while yet 'twas early morn ! 
 
 Go to your aged grandsires whose gray locks 
 
 Have seen so many winters on the plains, 
 
 And learn of them how settlers strove to live, 
 
 To build their homes, and plant the corn for bread. 
 
 Dark Indian tales of frontier life are told 
 
 Of warriors slyly burning up the homes 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 13 
 
 And shooting down the inmates for revenge. 
 
 Our white-haired mothers can recall the time 
 
 When father drove his slow ox team to mill ; 
 
 And she at home with children four or five 
 
 Oft' counted up the days when he'd return • 
 
 And hardly dared to think of what might be 
 
 If aught should harm the husband on the way. 
 
 The small brown huts in which the schools were kept 
 
 Turned out the future men who'd rise to fill 
 
 Responsible and honored positions high 
 
 In county, state, and national affairs ; 
 
 Thus showing that instruction was not lost, 
 
 That hardy trials of those early days 
 
 Brought out the best of youth in many ways. 
 
 The founding of an empire state in peace 
 
 Is better than a hundred gained by war ; 
 
 And conquerors armed well with axe and plow 
 
 Can do more good for all the human race 
 
 Than armies great with shining swords of steel. 
 
 'Tis education after all that makes 
 
 Our country free and great 'mong nations strong; 
 
 It gives the vital force to battle down 
 
 All discord and injustice that prevails. 
 
14 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 The pioneers made haste to school the young, 
 They knew the strong inherent worth of books 
 And in their feeble strength did all they could 
 To foster and maintain the public schools. 
 And as their farms became a source of wealth, 
 They piled the funds for education high ; 
 And over all the land reared to the sun 
 Tall church-spires whose gilt tops portrayed 
 A beamy light of holiness to all 
 The country 'round where gospel light was felt 
 And lowly worshipers serenely knelt. 
 
 The ruralistic life of early homes 
 Whose curling smoke made ringlets in the air 
 And marked the distant huts of pioneers ; 
 Gave manhood, intellect, and self-control 
 To future generations of the plains. 
 In modest homes where sacred fires burn with 
 A cheerful glow throughout the years of life, 
 Are founded those pure sentiments from which 
 Just governments receive their fruitful source. 
 Yes, 'tis the love of home that binds our hearts 
 Together in one treasured spot on earth, 
 And turns our minds to that one blissful place 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 15 
 
 When sorrows come like evil birds of prey 
 To feast upon our hopes and bring despair. 
 Let's fan the fire that burns for love of home, 
 That keeps alive our history of old, 
 And makes a thrill of pride run through our veins"; 
 Because our state is peaceful, wise, and great. 
 O, that the world would cease its constant strife 
 And cultivate a friendly, happy life ! 
 
 Verse of tongue cannot express the sight 
 
 Of matchless fields with tasseled, yellow, corn 
 
 All waving in the balmy, healthful, air 
 
 And curing in the Autumn's potent sun: 
 
 Here, " Corn is king" and lacks no splendor grand, 
 
 But rules and sways the markets of the land. 
 
 What fellowship and love prevails in homes 
 Of western people of the hills and plains ! 
 Where pure affections flow unstintedly, 
 As rivers timely fed by gushing springs. 
 So closely are the ties of friendship drawn 
 That love of country and of home is felt 
 Within the sturdy breasts of all our sons 
 Who dwell 'neath cottage roofs or slated halls. 
 
16 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 And when our nation needs some fearless men 
 To vindicate her justice and defend 
 Her shores 'gainst evil plots of alien foes, 
 The West responds with energetic souls 
 Prepared to face cold death if it must be, 
 In order that Columbia may be free ! 
 
18 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 LEGEND OF HAWKEYE. 
 
 IN Mississippi's pleasant valley, long 
 Ago, 'tis said there dwelt a warrior bold 
 Whose tow'ring strength did far outreach his tribe; 
 And all the chieftains west from Rockies came 
 To pay him tribute and to counsel 'bout 
 The things pertaining to great chiefs of might. 
 Oft' the incredulous came far to see 
 If half the stories of his wisdom could 
 Be founded on real truth unbiased, if 
 His hawk-like eyes did pierce their very thoughts 
 As oft' related by those coming from 
 His famous shrine of learning in the west. 
 Quite proud was he of all his warlike race; 
 For oft' he read on painted barks and skins 
 The story of his ancient fathers, their 
 First origin, their wanderings, and how 
 Across from Asia long ago, they steered 
 Through Behring Sea and found another shore 
 Created by the Great, Wise Spirit ; for 
 His children of the earth to have a home. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 19 
 
 Chief Hawkeye had ne'er crossed the muddy stream 
 
 Which lay just east of him ; but oft' had heard 
 
 That charming queens of beauty ruled and swayed 
 
 The tribes whose land did stretch far' out between 
 
 Great river systems of the North and West. 
 
 And eagerly inquiring of the chiefs 
 
 Who paid their yearly visits to his lodge 
 
 He learned of one, a Midland Queen, whose face 
 
 Was likened to the sun, so daz'ling fair; 
 
 And that the virgin maidens of her court 
 
 Did fascinate all strangers that came near. 
 
 At first, affecting that he little cared 
 
 To hear about this chaste and lovely one ; 
 
 Pretended not to hear the praises said 
 
 In her behalf about her royal grace 
 
 Or of the lustre and magnificence 
 
 Displayed by all the beauties of her court. 
 
 Yet, somehow she would linger in his thoughts 
 
 And he'd be dreaming of the Midland Queen ; 
 
 Nor could not stop, till he himself had seen. 
 
 Accordingly the brave young Hawkeye rose 
 And vowed he'd visit this bewitching maid 
 Known in the west afar as Midland Queen. . 
 
20 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 He called together all his chiefs and said : 
 " Make ready our canoes to journey east, 
 Select the strongest braves and deck them well 
 With paint and finery profusely placed ; 
 Devise some queer maneuvers that will awe 
 And please the hostile strangers that we meet." 
 He gathered up the trinkets made of gold 
 Which western chiefs had fashioned out for him, 
 And many other things that squaws had made 
 To deck the Queen if she should worthy be. 
 His royal retinue indifferent 
 To fear or death, approved the chieftain's trip, 
 And gloried in the hope. that trouble might 
 Ensue ere they returned, to give them fame 
 Among the older warriors left at home. 
 They crossed the rushing waters black and deep 
 And touched the shore where banks were high and 
 steep. 
 
 The Midland Queen had heard of Hawkeye's fame 
 And secretly had hoped that fate ere long 
 Would bring this noble warrior of the plains 
 To her own land that she might see his face. 
 She pictured him as tall, with shoulders broad 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 21 
 
 And having graceful movements with his speech 
 
 And in his walk, a firm elastic tread ; 
 
 His features seemed to be of finer mold 
 
 Than any warrior of her court and realm. 
 
 Ah, note the flashing of her eyes, the quick 
 
 Red tinging of her cheek when word is brought 
 
 By runners from the west, that Hawkeye with 
 
 A peaceful band is marching to the east. 
 
 The queen feigns illness, then at once retires 
 
 In order that she may have time alone 
 
 To think, and quell the throbbings of her heart; 
 
 For 'twould detract from dignity to see 
 
 A queen give way to sentimental thoughts, 
 
 And thus display a weakness of the pate 
 
 Before her court and ministers of state. 
 
 When Hawkeye with his warriors came in view, 
 Then all the queen's strong chieftains brave, with 
 
 queer 
 Fantastic steps, advanced to pay respects 
 And welcome this proud ruler to their home. 
 And Hawkeye not to be outdone performed 
 The army tactics of his tribe, whose build 
 And manners much impressed the native men. 
 
22 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Then came the village maidens with gay songs 
 And graceful steps that marked the meter of 
 Their sylph-like motions in the dreamy dance ; 
 And waving garlands of green leaves above 
 Their heads, commenced a ballad of their tribe 
 As they drew near, to gre,et the western king ; 
 And thus the lyric ran : 
 
 WAUD1NA. 
 
 Waudina was a happy maid 
 And knew no care or harm ; 
 
 She lived within the forest shade 
 And felt no strange alarm. 
 
 There came a suitor for her hand 
 And claimed he loved her well ; 
 
 He told her of his native land 
 Where she would like to dwell. 
 
 He promised all his life to love 
 
 This handsome girl so fair ; 
 And like a gentle cooing dove 
 
 He won her unaware. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 23 
 
 She left her father's pleasant home 
 
 And gave her plighted vow ; 
 That with this warrior young she'd roam 
 
 And to his wishes bow. 
 
 Alas ! how soon a heart can change ! 
 
 Waudina met her fate ; 
 The husband's heart was cold and strange, 
 
 All love had turned to hate. 
 
 Then brave Waudina in despair, 
 
 Rushed for her father's land ; 
 And left the other wives to share 
 
 Her lover's cruel hand. 
 
 Waudina reached her native soil; 
 
 But crossing o'er a stream 
 Where raging waters foam and boil, 
 
 She seemed as in a dream : 
 
 She fell far down into the foam 
 
 And never more was seen ; 
 But now she comes to sigh and moan 
 
 When spring floods wash the green. 
 
24 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 O love is fickle and untrue ! 
 
 And maids are oft' deceived : 
 The ones that really love, are few, 
 
 And they are not believed. 
 
 Some think they love, but fail to see 
 
 That 'tis but surface deep ; 
 While bleeding hearts must broken be 
 
 And others lie in sleep. 
 
 You may not read a maiden's heart 
 By outward signs and ways ; 
 
 Nor know that love's own cruel dart, 
 Has blasted all her days. 
 
 Chief Havvkeye seemed astonished at the scene 
 And listened quite intently to the song 
 Which so pathetically described the fate, 
 Waudina suffered through false words of love. 
 Next came the princely band of royal guards 
 To take his highness to their gracious queen : 
 And taking all the wisest men of war, 
 Proceeded to the palace with the guides. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 25 
 
 The palace was surrounded by a grove 
 So dense, that nothing larger than a fox 
 Could pass within, except, by one straight road 
 That entered from the south and joined the square, 
 Wherein the Midland Queen kept up her court, 
 
 The trees along this road on either side, 
 Were thickly intertwined with ivy vines 
 That seemed to form a perfect wall of green 
 Far as the eye could see. No weeds or brush 
 Defaced the highway here, but ev'rywhere 
 Rich meadow grass was growing in the sun 
 And songsters in the trees were never done. 
 
 The palace was built of gray limestone rock 
 And stood two stories high, a solid pile 
 Of massive stone reared up to face the sun. 
 The square was paved with river rock near by; 
 And shady trees with scented flowers lent 
 Delightful perfumes to the balmy air. 
 As Hawkeye neared the court, the drums beat out 
 The calls and warriors sallied forth to guard 
 Against surprise and intercept all but 
 The dignitaries that belonged to courts. 
 
26 POEMS OP THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 When Havvkeye and his retinue came near 
 
 The throne, the queen arose and bowed while all 
 
 Her faultless beauties of the brilliant court, 
 
 Arose and bowed with salutations grave. 
 
 Her majesty besought him to take seat 
 
 Beside the throne, and if 'twould please his grace, 
 
 The maidens of the palace would recite 
 
 Some noted epic of their ancient tribe 
 
 To liven up his spirits in some way 
 
 And make his visit here a pleasant stay. 
 
 WAPEIXA*. 
 i. 
 
 [leader ] 
 
 Wapella, prince of all his kin, 
 Possessed a fascinating way ; 
 A gallant youth was he indeed 
 'Mong maidens of the leafy dell; 
 For many true hearts loved him well. 
 
 fCHORUS OF THE MAIDENS ] 
 
 He was beloved by thoughtful men 
 Who gather knowledge when they can ; 
 
 (*Wapella— The little prince.) 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 27 
 
 Adored for manly virtues known 
 
 By those who shared his lodge and home. 
 
 [leader ] 
 
 He led the forces of his tribe 
 By speeches wise and timely said 
 When matters of importance came 
 Before the council of the chiefs; 
 His fiery eloquence was known 
 Throughout the land where it had flown. 
 
 ii. 
 
 [CHORUS of the maidens] 
 
 O he could stir with magic art, 
 The sleeping music of the heart ! 
 He knew the cords of tender ring 
 And often touched each gentle string! 
 
 [LEADER.] 
 
 And nature much assistance gave 
 This little prince of wondrous fame; 
 For he was fair as morning sky 
 When June's sun rises in the east : 
 His dark eye flashed with liquid fire 
 Inherit'd from his aged sire. 
 
28 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 [CHORUS- OF THE MAIDENS.] 
 
 He was a brilliant star of light 
 That shone far out into the night, 
 And lighted up with wisdom's rays 
 The lonely path where justice strays. 
 
 in. 
 
 [leader ] 
 
 He Went away to forests deep 
 
 To find a maid both kind and true ; 
 
 As gentle as a harmless doe 
 
 And lovely as a fairy nymph ; 
 
 One that he'd love and cherish long 
 
 And one that bards would bless with song. 
 
 [CHORUS of the maidens.] 
 
 He went to seek the sweetest bird 
 That ever mortal soul had heard 
 Or seen within the shady trees 
 Fann'd by the purest zephyr breeze. 
 
 [LEADER.] 
 
 Wapella stole upon a tribe 
 
 And found the beauty of his choice ; 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 29 
 
 The artful maids retired from view, 
 Pretended that he frightened them ; 
 Just hid from sight, they danced and sang 
 Till with their songs, the forest rang. 
 
 IV. 
 [CHORUS OF THE MAIDENS.] 
 
 They moved about with lightest tread 
 Where're the. leading singer led ; 
 Assumed to be quite hid from view, 
 As timid maids are apt to do. 
 
 [LEADER.] 
 
 He asked the chieftain for her hand, 
 But he raved fiercely at the prince 
 And bade him leave ere morning sun ; 
 For he would never give away 
 His daughter to a foreign prince ; 
 And arguments would not convince. 
 
 [CHORUS of the maidens.] 
 
 O, hateful father, cease your ire 
 And let those wed who so desire ! 
 Let arguments your mind convince ; 
 For he's a charming little prince! 
 
30 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 v. 
 
 [leader.] 
 
 Wapella waved a kind adieu, 
 
 But straightway found the maiden true 
 
 And they two fled in evening dew ; 
 
 Nor did the maiden ever rue 
 
 Her flight 'way with the charming prince. 
 
 When arguments would not convince. 
 
 [CHORUS of the maidens.] 
 
 O sing ! ye fairies of the dell ; 
 The chieftain's lost his forest belle ! 
 She fled 'way with the noble prince 
 When arguments would not convince ! 
 
 Amidst the grandeur and enthusiasm 
 
 Prevalent at the ceremonies here, 
 
 Chief Hawkeye could think only of the queen 
 
 Whose elegance did far surpass his most 
 
 Expectant dreams of what she'd likely be : 
 
 He made a firm resolve to win her hand 
 
 Or die ; for he could never live without 
 
 This fairy nymph to grace his lodge and home. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 31 
 
 v 
 
 And she oft' glanced at his wise, noble face 
 
 When he intently seemed to look across 
 
 The room at some maneuver of the maids 
 
 Who danced about and sang their lyric songs. 
 
 Yes, she loved him with zealous heart and soul ; 
 
 And said within herself, " I'll gain this chief, 
 
 Or else live on, unmated and alone." 
 
 Just then, the war drums beat the warriors' charge! 
 
 An awful warning that fierce blood ran wild ! 
 
 The war whoops of the palace guards rang out, 
 
 Like demons thirsting for revenge and gore ; 
 
 They waved their gleaming spears 'mid frantic roar ! 
 
 The rash young warriors from the distant West 
 
 Had picked a quarrel with the native chiefs 
 
 On purpose for renown and fame when they 
 
 Returned among the chieftains of their homes. 
 
 So when the armies gave the war-whoop yell, 
 
 The palace guards surrounded in the square 
 
 The foreign warriors and began to dance, 
 
 And menace with their spears the haughty heads 
 
 Of Hawkeye's western braves. While some led off 
 
 To find the royal visitor and bring 
 
 Him out to see his warrors humbled low. 
 
32 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 The queen refused them passage through the door; 
 Then ordered all the guards to cease, retire. 
 And show respect for strangers at her court. 
 Meanwhile, the tide of battle turned, and with 
 A mighty yell the troops of Hawkeye came 
 In overwhelming force, and reached the square 
 Wherein the palace stood, and blind with rage, 
 Made for the throne-room door to kill the queen ; 
 But Hawkeye stood and formed a perfect screen. 
 
 Then Hawkeye reprimanded his fierce chiefs 
 And sent away the leaders in disgrace. 
 When order in the square had been restored, 
 'Twas found the queen's chief counselor was dead; 
 The aged father of her noble tribe, 
 Brave Kokowah, the minister of state. 
 Soon all the maidens of the court and tribe 
 Began to wail the mourning hymn used when 
 Some member of the household passed away. 
 
 MOURNING HYMN. 
 
 Oh ! desolate are all our hearts, 
 Our eyes with tears are damp ; 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 33 
 
 We mourn in sorrow for the dead, 
 As 'round his bier we tramp. 
 
 Oh ! we must bear this awful woe 
 
 And trouble for his sake ; 
 Because we loved his manly heart 
 
 And did his friendship take. 
 
 Oh! strange indeed, that he should die, 
 
 The one we all adored ; 
 And leave us here to mourn his loss 
 
 Without our hearts restored. 
 
 Now, lonely ones of earth are we ; 
 
 Our friend is stiff and cold 
 And all the merry songs have ceased ; 
 
 For death doth now enfold. 
 
 A pit was dug within the grove wherein 
 Five men could stand ; the sides were deftly lined 
 With native rock found near the river beds; 
 And on the bottom, robes and furs were placed ; 
 That he might have a pleasant sleep and rest, 
 While waiting for the happy, hunting grounds 
 His ancient fathers would some day possess. 
 
34 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 They placed him sitting up within his grave ; 
 
 And 'round about him stored his ornaments, 
 
 With many bows and arrows of his make 
 
 And sharpened knives to dress what game he'd take. 
 
 The queen with dignity, 'mid solemn looks 
 
 And tears, proceeded to the pit where sat 
 
 The dead chief, Kokowah, and listened to 
 
 A famous orator, Chief Keokuk, 
 
 "The Watchful Fox," for such his name implied. 
 
 ORATION OF KEOKUK. 
 
 O ! fathers of my tribe, what shall I say 
 To comfort and assuage this grief of ours? 
 Can words of mine portray the sorrow which 
 The nation feels now weighing at its heart? 
 O that my sight had faded ere I saw 
 The death of Kokowah, our mighty chief! 
 Who'll take his place to counsel and advise 
 Our queen and warriors on the battlefield? 
 Oh, Kokowah! wake up and speak again! 
 It must not be that Kokowah is dead ! 
 
 The birds will come again to sing each spring, 
 The trees will bud and blossom in the sun ; 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 35 
 
 And all the land in ecstacy will sing 
 But our dead chieftain will return no more. 
 Can eloquence depict or celebrate 
 The justice in a perfect man of earth ? 
 
 The nearer that men reach to perfect ways, 
 The harder 'tis for orators to sing their praise ; 
 For language signs cannot express the light 
 Within a person that is doing right. 
 O that my tongue could by so some magic art 
 Reveal to you the life-work of this chief! 
 He planned our lodges and this verdant grove, 
 And built yon palace for our maiden queen ; 
 He trained the life guards of our royal court; 
 Invented drills and signs to use in war, 
 And led to victory our valliant braves. 
 Oh, warriors ! is he sleeping yet? Alas! 
 His last long resting place is finished, done, 
 And he will view no more the rising sun ! 
 Not many moons have passed since Kokowah 
 Led out the warriors to defend our land 
 Against insatiate hordes that came here 
 To burn our wigwams and to take away 
 Our wives and children to be wretched slaves ! 
 
36 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 All unexpectedly we. raised the cry 
 
 Known only when incensed braves of our tribe, . 
 
 Go out to drive invaders from our soil ! 
 
 Oh ! how the maidens danced when Kokowah 
 
 Returned from battle with his braves, and stood 
 
 Before the queen, to tell her that the foes 
 
 Who were not dead, had fled beyond pursuit. 
 
 Impetuous young warriors hear these words: 
 
 Chief Kokowah weighed carefully the cause 
 
 And probable results of ev'ry war ; 
 
 He counseled peace when 'twould protect 
 
 His people and their fathers' graves from harm. 
 
 But if the plotting chiefs of other tribes 
 
 Encroached upon our native grounds to kill, 
 
 Then Kokowah fought with an iron will ! 
 
 Belov'd, he was not faithless in his home ; 
 Nor lacking wisdom and precaution, which 
 Are needful when confirming laws of state 
 Or dealing with those cunning chiefs outside 
 The bound'ries of our native streams and hills. 
 Do not misunderstand my purpose braves, 
 If my encomium should seem devoid 
 Of feeling, when I say, that Kokowah 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 37 
 
 Had many serious faults ; for he was 
 
 An earthly chieftain, and quite liable 
 
 To errors of the head, because of things 
 
 Beyond his sight and far from his control. 
 
 I know that certain vulgar orators 
 
 Are prone to work for men's insensate praise ; 
 
 And seeming to be eulogizing, oft' 
 
 Instead, are making use of glaring lies, 
 
 Quite plain to those who calmly weigh their words 
 
 In justice's scales, and thus obtain the truth. 
 
 O, warriors of the plains, be great and wise! 
 
 For in false words, much of our trouble lies. 
 
 'Twill be of little value now to us 
 To fill our minds with past and sad regrets; 
 So let us think of future problems which 
 Will come to tax the wisdom of our chiefs. 
 O, friends, and brothers! study well your plans 
 And gather with the wisest of your men, 
 For counsel and advice. Invite the chiefs 
 From other tribes to meet in peaceful bands ; 
 And settle their disputes with friendly words, 
 Without the horrors of these bloody wars. 
 Oh, warriors ! there is much that's not in war ! 
 
38 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 And peaceful pleasures are more lasting in 
 Results. So, till the virgin soil beneath 
 Your feet, and build a palace for each home ! 
 Then will the rosy morn dawn on your hopes ; 
 Your fields bring forth abundant grains and roots; 
 And like the happy hunting grounds, much game 
 Will feed upon your plains and in your groves. 
 Give way to peace, braves of the Midland sun ! 
 Attend your dead ; for Keokuk is done ! 
 
 When Keokuk had ended, and the pit 
 
 Was covered o'er with slabs of heavy rock, 
 
 The warriors sang a mournful requiem 
 
 And raised a mound of earth up o'er the grave. 
 
 Immediately to the palace came 
 
 The braves distinguished for their size and strength, 
 
 To hear the orders from the throne and learn 
 
 What lucky chief should counsel with the queen. 
 
 Queen Lomana, with modest etiquette, 
 
 Arose and led the gallant Hawkeye out 
 
 Where all could see his manly form and face; 
 
 And in a clear and mellow voice declared, 
 
 That Hawkeye was to be her counselor, 
 
 And all their people must unite in peace. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 39 
 
 The warriors bowed, and gay the maidens sang ; 
 While peaceful fires illumed the fragrant air. 
 The king and queen went out to view the land 
 And when he saw the rivers and the hills 
 He then enthusiastically exclaimed : 
 " Fair Iowa, the beautiful ! " 
 
40 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 THE ORATION OF NANAMAKEE* 
 
 WARRIORS! arouse! and take no sleep ! 
 You are not puny babes ! Awake ! 
 Does not your fathers' blood cry out 
 For justice and redress? Must squaws 
 Put on the paint and fight the Sioux, 
 While you recline in ease at home? 
 Are you afraid to face the northern foe 
 That those invaders rest upon our soil ? 
 
 Do brave Sac warriors ever count the cost, 
 Or shrink from petty foes in shame? 
 Your long delay has stirred the bones 
 Of aged warriors in their graves ! 
 Are there no braves still left to fight? 
 Why then, do you put off this war? 
 Have you not heard the older chiefs 
 Relate the prowess of our tribe 
 And show the scalps of many Sioux ? 
 
 Think of the wigwams which were burned ! 
 The fields of corn despoiled by rhem ; 
 
 *Nana-ma kee (The Thunderer). Grandfather of Black Hawk. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 41 
 
 While we were journeying from home 
 In search of game for winter use. 
 The Sac must not forget this wrong, 
 Till ev'ry foe has left our groves ! 
 Why do you wait? Prepare for war ! 
 Call up the braves and deck with paint ! 
 
 Begin the scalp dance, men of war! 
 The spirits of our chiefs are here ! 
 List to the ancient war-whoop of 
 Your fathers leading on the dance ! 
 The medicine men have told the chiefs 
 That many scalps will grace the belts 
 Of all our warriors who will go ! 
 
42 POEMS OP THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 THE LAMENT FOR OTTUMWANO* 
 
 THE white men from the east have come 
 And taken all our hunting grounds; 
 They've given but a paltry sum 
 
 For all this land where game abounds. 
 
 We shall not see each pleasant glen ; 
 
 Our native chiefs must no more roam 
 The plains and hills, or see again 
 
 Ottumwano, that was our home ! 
 
 The red men soon will be forgot, 
 
 Like autumn leaves drove by the breeze 
 
 To dwell in some obscure, lone spot, 
 Away from all the mother trees. 
 
 Our fathers' tears did not avail 
 
 To stay the white mm's coming here; 
 
 And so our people moan an 1 wail ; 
 Ottumwano must disappear ! 
 
 ♦O'-tum-wa-no. now called Ottumwa. 
 
 When the time for leaving Ottumwano arrived, a solemn silence 
 prevailed in the Indian camp, and the faces of their stoutest men 
 were bathed in tears; and when their cavalcade wp> put in motion, 
 toward the setting; sun, there was a spontaneous outburst of frantic 
 grief from the entire procession— History of Iowa. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 43 
 
 For us, the sun has no bright dawn ; 
 
 We've but one weary, cloudy day; 
 Our village and our homes are gone ; 
 
 They've come to send us far away ! 
 
 The great High Spirit knows how we 
 Were forced to sell our fathers' land ! 
 
 The white man gave a money fee 
 
 And pointed westward with the hand. 
 
 O, warriors, cease your weeping now ! 
 
 'Tis done and past beyond recall ; 
 And o'er your dead, the white man's plow 
 
 Will turn the sod in spring and fall. 
 
 Array the braves of war once more 
 
 As for a conflict with a foe ! 
 For struggles of the heart wax sore, 
 
 And love of home brines back our woe! 
 
 ■&■ 
 
 A solemn hush stole o'er the camp 
 When all the tribe prepared to go ; 
 
 And stoutest warriors' eyes were damp 
 With tears that did not cease to flow. 
 
44 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 They started west 'mid woeful sighs 
 
 And painful thoughts that filled each mind ; 
 
 They went with mournful tears and cries ; 
 Ottumwano was left behind ! 
 
 Oh, how they strove to beat it back ! 
 
 That overwhelming flood of grief! 
 Which swept along their lonely track 
 
 And tore their hearts without relief! 
 
 The people moved as in a trance ; 
 
 But turning once, they raised a cry : 
 "Oh! let us give one parting glance! 
 
 Ottumwano! good-bye! good-bye!" 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 45 
 
 SONG TO THE MORNING. 
 
 i. 
 
 O birds, wake up and sing your lays 
 Without a sign of fear ! 
 For now, in all rich splendor bright, 
 
 Gay morning doth appear. 
 She'.s rested through the hazy night; 
 
 Her sleep was calm, secure, 
 But now awakes when daylight breaks, 
 With garments clean and pure. 
 
 ii. 
 
 The morning's breath, so sweet, gives life 
 
 And vigor unto all, 
 And hastens on the busy feet 
 
 To duty's urgent call : 
 She sits a queen in fairest robes 
 
 And rules the early hour ; 
 As a maiden fair in looks and worth, 
 
 Doth sway with gentle power. 
 
46 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 in. 
 
 Still strong and young the morning stays, 
 
 No wrinkles on the brow ; 
 While 'bout her throne on ev'ry side, 
 
 The aged world must bow: 
 O, sing to one whose beaming smile 
 
 Is always on her face ! 
 The morning hour in beauty fair, 
 
 That shows such charming grace. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 47 
 
 THE PENITENTIARY. 
 
 WHY are thy massive walls reared high in air 
 And on their tops, men watching with such 
 care ? 
 What mean these pillars strong of solid stone, 
 Those swinging doors of steel that screech and groan? 
 Is there a foe without that seeks thy harm? 
 Ah, no! 'tis foes within that do alarm: 
 Just like the human heart where doth abide 
 Fierce envy, wrath, presumptuous sin and pride : 
 These all must be restrained by strong, firm hands 
 That are joined kindly by love's Christian bands, 
 And thus lead back the erring from his way, 
 Back to bright hopes, good deeds, a happy day: 
 For sinful man may not fall down so low 
 That the omnipotent God cannot go 
 To raise him once again in mercy's name 
 And cleanse his aching heart from sin and sname. 
 
48 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 THE COLLEGE BRIDGE. 
 
 IN memory's rich urn I'll leave a place 
 In which I may in after years retrace 
 My steps once more across the dear old bridge 
 That spans the track from the hillside ridge, 
 And see again those friends of by-gone days 
 Who used to light us up in many ways 
 With pleasant looks, and cheerful, happy words 
 From kind, good hearts free as the singing birds. 
 Delightful spot in which to breathe the air, 
 No place has half the charms or is so fair 
 To those who must a recreation seek, 
 After the long hard studies of the week. 
 F'ast trains that glide so quickly underneath, 
 Send steam and smoke in a long winding wreath 
 High up above to meet the azure sky 
 As onward east and west they swiftly fly. 
 The well-worn boards which form the floor and walk, 
 Could tell many a tale if they could talk, 
 Of friendships formed that life-long lasted, 
 Of fondest hopes that were ruined, blasted. 
 Ah, shall I e'er forget my schoolmates dear, 
 Ne'er send a wreath nor drop a silent tear ; 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 49 
 
 When they have ended their short, earthly race 
 And no more fill their long accustomed place? 
 Oh, no! I cry: Return, return, sweet past! 
 If thou art gone, no future joys can last! 
 The present day with all its cares and woes, 
 Will brighter get by mem'ry's radiant glows. 
 
50 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 i. 
 
 IN a rich state, where great trees wave in air 
 And crystal lakes and rivers everywhere — 
 Seem to be vieing with the flowers near, 
 With singing birds, whose notes are sweet and clear, 
 To put to shame the artist's feeble art 
 By painting living pictures of the heart: 
 Here are seen pleasant homes on fertile farms 
 Where dwells the farmer, whose strong brawny arms 
 Cut down the forest in an early day, 
 And made a home where loved ones all might stay. 
 Here, when the state was young, the woods were 
 
 dense, 
 'Most everybody had a long rail fence. 
 Tis said, the wolf and bear made nightly calls 
 On helpless sheep and cattle in their stalls, 
 And that the deer would feed and sport near by, 
 While busy farmers sowed their wljeat and rye. 
 
 ii. 
 
 There came to this state in an early time, 
 A man and wife, in vigor, youth and prime: 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 51 
 
 They brought three children with them here, 
 
 To bless their home — fond little ones, so dear. 
 
 He was impetuous, yet smart and brave 
 
 And made good money, but he could not save ; 
 
 For when it seemed that all was doing well 
 
 He ceased his work and tried to trade or sell ; 
 
 Yet, nevertheless, till past middle life, 
 
 He still had plenty, (thanks to his good wife). 
 
 His wife was calm, she weighed her actions well, 
 
 And what she said, or did, was sure to tell : 
 
 She seldom crossed her husband in his way 
 
 But patiently looked forward to a day 
 
 When a good, happy home would be their lot, 
 
 Where care and strife should trouble not. 
 
 in. 
 
 This wife was fair and noble, yet not vain, 
 
 But kind, sincere and true — Mary was her name. 
 
 The proud, rich blood of her ancestral race 
 
 Was plainly visible in that calm face 
 
 She had great pride, but showed it not in ways 
 
 That would attention draw to public gaze; 
 
 But in her modest home she took great care 
 
52 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 To keep it pure and wholesome everywhere. 
 
 Her children early learned the way to go 
 
 In which to shun the idle and the low ; 
 
 Because she never counseled aught but peace, 
 
 Fierce strife was stopped and anger soon would cease; 
 
 Like flames that suddenly burst out and roar, 
 
 But soon die out and then are seen no more, 
 
 For lack of material on which to feed 
 
 Their craving appetite and wicked greed. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O, blessed are those saintly ones of earth, 
 Whose lives of purity and perfect worth 
 Do lead the sinful heart to seek its God 
 And follow ways that angels bright have trod ! 
 O, who shall count that truly glorious band 
 Who'll stand for God, led by a loving hand ? 
 Some ideal life, lived over day by day, 
 Hath turned many a sinner from his way : 
 These living sermons not from printed scroll, 
 Are those that touch the heart and win the soul. 
 Like fresh, cool fountains in a lonely place, 
 Found by the hunter in the long, hard chase — 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 53 
 
 So are kind deeds, when we are sick with care 
 And life's fond hopes are gone, we know not where. 
 O, dear, kind hands, your loving earnest deeds 
 Are far more righteous than our long church creeds. 
 
 Time went on, and the Wolverine Lake state 
 Grew up with all her sisters, rich and great ; 
 And when our country saw its darkest day, 
 Her sons marched forth in grand array 
 To duty's call, that said : " Defend your flag 
 And never let your efforts halt or lag, 
 Till armed resistance shall all cease to be 
 And our proud Ensign waves from sea to sea." 
 Right well they served, and then came home at last; 
 The war had ceased ; still was the cannon's blast. 
 A grateful nation sang their praise and worth, 
 And blessed the happy land that gave them birth: 
 The " Union of States " at last prevailed ; 
 No more would the old Flag be assailed ; 
 But peace and happiness would be the lot 
 In a land where fierce woes are soon forgot. 
 
54 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 VI. 
 
 While war was raging, great was Mary's faith 
 
 That God would aid, that freedom would be safe. 
 
 She often said to her despairing friends : 
 
 " God's ways are right and lead to joyful ends." 
 
 Before the war two children joined the flock, 
 
 Just five in all that Mary had to rock. 
 
 The oldest daughter was married and away 
 
 Before the youngest saw her first birthday. 
 
 As years rolled on, grandchildren blessed the home, 
 
 Where Mary and her husband lived alone ; 
 
 With their innocent prattle, mirth and fun, 
 
 The hearts of the old folks they fairly won. 
 
 Thus Mary seemed to live her young days o'er 
 
 With her grandchildren playing 'round the door, 
 
 Or perhaps sitting on grandfather's knee, 
 
 He told them stories while they laughed with glee. 
 
 VII. 
 
 There came a day (that day comes to us all), 
 When Mary answered the " Death Angel's call." 
 Ah, then came bitter tears of sad regret, 
 From those who oft their duty did forget. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 55 
 
 When patient mother still worked hard at home, 
 
 Quite unthought-of, neglected and alone. 
 
 O, for one passing hour in which to say : 
 
 " Dear mother, forgive us, and for us pray ! " 
 
 But no, not till the " resurrection morn " 
 
 Can a loving message to her be borne. 
 
 O, that good deeds were done and kind words said 
 
 While yet our friends could know — before they're 
 
 dead ! 
 Now Mary sleeps unmindful of her cares, 
 Untempted by deceiving, worldly snares ; 
 Truth was her motto, peace was her dream, 
 The Bible she loved, for 'twas her theme. 
 
56 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 "DRIFTED IN." 
 
 i. 
 
 STRANGE are experiences that often come 
 To harass, to perplex, or frighten one ! 
 To you, fair teachers, 1 wish to recall 
 A winter's day? familiar to you all. 
 The sun came up, but showed a chilly face, 
 As if he saw the storm in its mad chase 
 And knew how queer and strange would be the 
 
 plight 
 Of many blithsome hearts ere the fall of night. 
 
 ii. 
 
 With minds quite heedless of the direful storm 
 And wrapped in furs and robes, so snug and warm, 
 A merry crowd of workers on that day 
 Were going to a meeting — strange to say 
 Their thoughts did wander oft from sad to gay, 
 And discussions changed 'round most ev'ry way, 
 Like thistle down when it floats here and there, 
 Directed by the motion of the air. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 57 
 
 ill. 
 
 The cold, white snow came drifting down quite fast 
 Accompanied by the wind's chilling blast; 
 And as the day wore on, the storm grew fierce, 
 Through ev'ry wrap and cover seemed to pierce ; 
 And whirling off the snow from ev'ry hill, 
 It piled the roads with drifts, which lay quite still ; 
 While thick dark clouds brought on the dreary night 
 Like shutters closed at early candle light. 
 
 IV. 
 
 An inward dread came o'er most ev'ry one, 
 
 Which caused a slacking of the mirth and fun ; 
 
 For silent thoughts of what the end might be 
 
 Filled many a heart, and stopped all cheerful glee. 
 
 Yet, some kept up an optimistic show 
 
 And cheered the others with their warmth and glow ; 
 
 As doctors strengthen those sick and in bed 
 
 By cheerful looks, and bright words which are said. 
 
 But faster fell the cutting, icy hail 
 
 And loudly whistled the mad, roaring gale ; 
 
58 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 The horses struggled on, as -well they tried 
 To overcome the drifts on ev'ry side. 
 Soon all trace of the road was lost to view : 
 "We're Drifted In," said all the helpless crew. 
 The poor steeds turned their heads as if to see 
 If there was hope, or what their fate would be. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Some crawled about the teams in drifts waist-deep, 
 Expecting in the snow that night to sleep ; 
 But a cry was raised 'midst the storm so cold : 
 " See! yonder shines a light ! the house will hold 
 Us all : Let's go, no matter what the fees ; 
 'Tis better than staying out here to freeze." 
 And so around the country fireside bright, 
 They told of trips and jokes — far in the night. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And when they could no longer keep awake, 
 Tho' friendly hands gave drowsy heads a shake, 
 They fell asleep and dreamed of early dawn, 
 That when the morning came ihe snow was gone, 
 And happy birds were singing in a grove: 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 59 
 
 A long, deep snore — a stir — too near the stove ! 
 The morning came and soon awoke each one : 
 The storm was o'er ; bright was the cheering sun. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 VIII. 
 
 There are ways in which we might be " Drifted In" 
 
 By public sentiment's fast waving din 
 
 O'ertaking us in fault quite unaware, 
 
 And hauling down our castles from the air : 
 
 Our hopes of progress and of future pay 
 
 All " Drifted In," lost forever by the way ; 
 
 For when the people take your case in hand, 
 
 Then only true and loyal ones can stand. 
 
 IX. 
 
 We've often " Drifted In " by storms of doubt, 
 Assailed by theories false that stalk about 
 And covered up by banks of error high ; 
 While reason fails, unable to pass by 
 Where bold audacious schemes benight the way 
 And Tiide the common sense of our own day, 
 That otherwise might guide us on afar 
 And cause our work to move without a jar. 
 
60 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 X. 
 
 Most ev'ry year great changes come about, 
 We may drift in where some have drifted out: 
 The earnest teacher who has toiled with care, 
 Will be thought of, remembered ev'rywhere. 
 And when in death we rest, so cold and still, 
 With all our faults and erring ways, it will 
 Be said — we've battled well against all sin 
 And won the Crown — and not just " Drifted In." 
 
 Read at the County Association of Teachers, held at Anamosa, 
 Iowa, May 7, 1898. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 61 
 
 DEWEY. 
 
 HURRAH for Dewey ! and our sailors at sea ! 
 Rejoice, America, land of the free! 
 Hurrah, for the wonderful victory! 
 In books of golden deeds their names will stand 
 And songs of praise ring out on sea and land 
 Commemorating this valiant fight so brave 
 Where the defeated foe found a wat'ry grave. 
 Our sailors have avenged with cannon's roar 
 The blood of those who died near Cuba's shore : 
 'Twas Dewey's fleet that sailed to meet the foe ; 
 He gave the word that let the great guns go ; 
 He set on fire and tore the hostile fleet 
 In fragments small, it strewed the deep; 
 Its burning cinders rose up in the air 
 And left Spain's admiral in despair. 
 
 O, Dewey ! you're the ideal man 
 
 That's brought " Old Glory" back 
 To shine once more as in days of yore 
 
 Upon the ocean track. 
 Yes, they shall know o'er all the world 
 
 Where'er our Ensign floats, 
 That America has noble men 
 
 In mighty ocean boats ! 
 
62 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 D 
 
 DON'T FORGET ME. 
 
 ONT forget me ! 
 
 In the walk of busy life, 
 'Mid the trial and confusion 
 In this constant world of strife. 
 
 Don't forget me ! 
 When with troubles you are sad, 
 
 Discontented and down-hearted, 
 Trust your friend, he'll make you glad. 
 
 Don't forget me ! 
 When I'm far away from you, 
 
 I am just as kind and faithful 
 And my heart beats just as true. 
 
 Don't forget me! 
 When you come to Heaven's gate, 
 
 Knock gently for admission, 
 Just inside for you I'll wait. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 63 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 IT is grand music which imparts 
 The inward feelings of our hearts : 
 That gift from God, so good, sublime, 
 A blessing for man throughout all time. 
 
 To David, ancient singer of old, 
 God made a promise and foretold, 
 That His throne should always stand 
 And His son rule o'er all the land. 
 
 When the glad news to earth was giv'n 
 That Christ was born and sent from Heav'n, 
 The angels sang in chorus grand 
 To shepherds in the holy land. 
 
 When Jesus knew his work was done, 
 A final hymn alone they sung, 
 And then with his disciples by, 
 Went forth for you and me to die. 
 
 I hold that music's most divine 
 That strikes the tender cords of love, 
 When purest thoughts control the soul 
 And turn the mind to God above. 
 
64 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 SPEAK FROM THE HEART. 
 
 SPEAK not from the written page, 
 Thoughts purposely acquired ; 
 Speak from the inner soul 
 
 The things the heart inspires. 
 
 Indulge not in idle tales 
 
 That inwardly are false; 
 Let not your mind go wandering 
 
 Like maidens in a waltz. 
 
 The silly farce you're acting out, 
 Is plain to those around you ; 
 
 Your hyperbole is much too large 
 To float in such a narrow gorge. 
 
 Speak out the truth, cut where it may, 
 And better always left unsaid 
 
 Deceitful things, to flatter ears 
 
 That will forget you when you're dead. 
 
 Say pleasant words, but pass on by, 
 Draw the curtains very close; 
 
 Peep not out to apologize 
 
 For having covered up a ghost. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 65 
 
 THE LITTLE PINK. 
 
 O little pink, that came so far ! 
 j As precious as some dainty star; 
 Though but a humble little pink, 
 What memories around you link ! 
 
 When I planted you so far away, 
 
 The heart was sad on that May day; 
 
 For grandma's grave you covered o'er, 
 
 The grandma that the child will e'er adore. 
 
 And now, you've come to bless this state, 
 Grow up and blossom at a rapid rate, 
 
 Cheering the poor, the sick, and sad; 
 
 Making life better, with hearts that are glad. 
 
66 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 SONG OF POETS. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL songs of the poets ! 
 Great thoughts of the ages rehearsed. 
 O, that expression complete, 
 
 Could be giv'n the poets' sweet verse ! 
 The lessons of truth and of duty, 
 
 All told in the loveliest way ; 
 Reminding the soul of the beauty 
 That's hid in the life of today. 
 
 How our hearts throb wild with emotions! 
 
 Some poet recites in his lines, 
 The wonderful deeds of the ages 
 
 Which happened before our times. 
 The stories which are told by poets, 
 
 Are things that men ought to hear ; 
 For parts that will not do good, 
 
 Are blotted with a silent tear. 
 
 Not half of the beauties of nature 
 'Mid life's confusion and worry, 
 Would e'er be noticed or cherished 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 67 
 
 Without poets to write of their story. 
 Sing on, poets of the nations ! 
 
 Your verses are grand and sublime ! 
 You have taught a glorious lesson : 
 
 Our Creator is surely divine. 
 
68 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 THE TEACHER'S GOOD-BYE. 
 
 THE endless chain has ceased to turn, 
 There comes a time when tears will burn, 
 The routine work of many days 
 Must change about in different ways; 
 A long and needful rest — a wistful sigh, 
 We hail the closing hours — good-bye. 
 
 Yet, if again we turn not back 
 To work along the same old track, 
 May others greet us kindly, well, 
 Not heeding what to us befell 
 In bygone days. Still loving good, 
 We'll do our duty as we should. 
 
 Like birds that're sheltered from the storm 
 When dark clouds roll and tempests warn, 
 So children dear in shelter save 
 When passions storm and vices rave. 
 Father, save them from tempting sin 
 That hence in glory they may win. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 69 
 
 O, children, you who love me best ! 
 Think well, when I am laid to rest: 
 Forget your idle words to say, 
 Forget this frail, poor, helpless clay ; 
 Throw off your troubles like the birds, 
 But, Oh, do not forget my words ! 
 
70 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 GET THE THEME. 
 
 YOU should not say a book you've read 
 Unless the theme's found in your head; 
 For he who reads and cannot tell 
 The moral, truth, or what befell 
 The characters within the book, 
 Might oetter never in it look. 
 
 Why wear the leaves and spoil the sides 
 To gratify your foolish eyes? 
 No use to weary by a constant grind, 
 Revolving words through an empty mind. 
 
 'Tis thoughts before the words are said 
 Should come from mind within your head : 
 So work away with steady thinking, 
 Your mind with greater ones keep linking, 
 And deem it wrong in jest or play 
 To treat good books in a careless way. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 71 
 
 FLATTERY. 
 
 A KING is flattery o'er this earth, 
 He rules men's actions from their birth 
 When one dares to dissent from him, 
 His cause will suffer, 'tis hard to win. 
 
 How vain and foolish doth it appear 
 To flatter one while he is near! 
 Hypocrisy then reigns supreme, 
 And things are far from what they seem. 
 
 The truth is sure to be modified, 
 And those who flatter perhaps have lied, 
 When flattering words escape the tongue 
 To win some favor when they're done. 
 
 Kind words, fond hopes and wishes well, 
 Require no lies to express or tell ; 
 But flattery used to influence men, 
 With hateful words rebounds again. 
 
72 POEMS OP THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 TO A WOMAN WHO HAS WRITTEN A 
 WICKED NOVEL. 
 
 O CREATURE of the dust, poor mortal clay! 
 y How will you face your God in judgment, 
 say? 
 What answer will you give for all this wrong, 
 When you come up with all that countless throng? 
 You've lightly dealt with the word of your God 
 And followed evil paths which are not trod 
 By those who meekly strive to do what's right, 
 And be well pleasing in their Maker's sight. 
 
 Can anyone measure the fearful cost, 
 
 Or count the souls that harmful books have lost ? 
 
 Your book may please some careless, wicked man ; 
 
 Some idle boy or girl your lines may scan, 
 
 But all the noble men and women good 
 
 Will shun your book, and leave you as they should: 
 
 'Tis said that men are weak and bad, forlorn — 
 
 Why? Because by women they were born. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 73 
 
 There are grand women pure, with merry hearts 
 Whose ev'ry look sends love with cupid's darts : 
 With gentle words, quick wit, a winning way, 
 The hearts of gallant youths they capture, slay. 
 And mothers true, in whose sweet beaming face 
 No sign of wicked novels you can trace. 
 Oh ! pray that more may be good mothers, dear, 
 Who'll bless the home and fireside all the year. 
 
74 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE 
 
 FROM 
 
 FIVE TO SEVENTY-FIVE. 
 
 DELIGHTFUL was the night when little Fred 
 Tripped lightly to his trundle bed : 
 The tired hands and weary feet must rest, 
 While Santa Claus at midnight does his best 
 To fill the stockings with all they will hold 
 For little Freddie, the five-year-old. 
 
 O, bright and happy thoughts of days gone by ! 
 
 Like rainbow colors that appear in sky 
 
 Enjoyed but a moment, then die out ; 
 
 Our former expectations put to rout. 
 
 None but the child knew the gladness within 
 
 Or had the pleasure experienced by him. 
 
 When he was ten, " old Santa Claus " he knew; 
 Boys at school all said : " No such thing, 'twasn't 
 
 true, 
 'Twas father and mother bought children things ; 
 All of their handsome toys, sleds, dolls and rings." 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 75 
 
 He looked in cupboards, on the butt'ry shelf 
 To find the presents they'd bought for himself. 
 
 He hurried to the Christmas tree at night, 
 Brim full of mischief, grinning left and right ; 
 Spoke " Night Before Christmas," but had to stop, 
 tn the midst of his piece his lines he forgot. 
 But the people spatted and jumped their feet 
 As Fred went to the aisle to take his seat. 
 
 At fifteen years of age they called him bad, 
 Though Fred was simply an over-grown lad ; 
 Called " rough and lazy," and a " careless Turk" 
 Who'd rather hunt most any day than work : 
 He borrowed his brother's horse and sleigh 
 To take his girl out riding the next day. 
 
 When scarcely twenty Fred was deep in love 
 
 And called his sweetheart "pet," "dearie" and "dove." 
 
 They went to the "tree" in the highest style 
 
 And proudly walking up the long church aisle, 
 
 Took front seats in a conspicuous place, 
 
 Where each could see the other's smiling face 
 
76 
 
 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 When Fred was about twenty-five years old, 
 
 Children were " teething " and his wife would scold ; 
 
 They didn't go a step to the Christmas tree, 
 
 To furnish a howling concert free, 
 
 But stayed at their home by the fireside bright 
 
 And rocked the children till far in the night. 
 
 Thirty years to Fred had now come about, 
 
 He and his wife looked hearty and stout; 
 
 They bought for their two children, Ted and Nan, 
 
 Costly presents rare, and made ev'ry plan 
 
 For the bountiful time on Christmas Eve, 
 
 When all should be joyful with naught to grieve. 
 
 Thirty-five, forty years, 'twas much the same ; 
 Forty-five years, a double wedding came 
 To break the circle of the family home 
 And leave father and mother all alone: 
 Miss Nancy this Christmas Eve is a bride 
 And afar on a wedding tour will ride. 
 
 Ted tries his fortune in the distant west, 
 And is leaving the home that he loves best ; 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 77 
 
 While the merry company are glad with cheer, 
 
 Father and mother drop a silent tear ; 
 
 And emotions strong that fill each sad heart, 
 
 Will choke down the words when they come to part. 
 
 Fifty years — Fred and wife are getting gray, 
 Children are coming home, now on the way ; 
 The front rooms are lit up with greatest care 
 On Christmas Eve ; glad hearts are everywhere: 
 The grandchildren climb up on grandpa's knee, 
 While he recites about the Christmas tree. 
 
 Fifty-five, sixty winters have rolled by : 
 
 Oh, how the days, months and years seem to fly! 
 
 The cheeks are hollow, and shrunken the skin ; 
 
 Weak is the once strong frame, now old and thin ; 
 
 The eyes are not bright as they used to be 
 
 At ten, when he spoke at the Christmas tree. 
 
 Some sixty-five years had passed over Fred 
 When his faithful wife lay on her death bed: 
 On Christmas Eve, when the world seemed so gay, 
 She was breathing her last and died next day. 
 
78 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Affliction's strong hand brought sorrow and gloom 
 To the poor old heart, so sadly and soon. 
 
 The bells are ringing at the Christmas tree; 
 Young hearts will beat with joy and happy glee: 
 Grandpa has reached his seventieth year ; 
 The allotted time he has lived out here : 
 They try to wake him, raise the poor old head 
 But, alas ! dear grandpa is cold and dead. 
 
 Children and grandchildren in five years meet 
 With a warm affection and welcome greet : 
 United family, good is their lot ! 
 They've not disbanded, nor have they forgot 
 The Christmas Eve, with memories rife, 
 Made so by father and mother during life. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 79 
 
 AFFLICTION. 
 
 AS comes a wind cloud, thick and dark 
 Rolling o'er earth with a mighty sway, 
 Appalling the mind and the heart; 
 So doth affliction in its day. 
 
 And, moving on with awful force, 
 
 Appears no recess for escape ; 
 As roll the wide folds worse and worse, 
 
 The soul sinks down to wait its fate. 
 
 On, on, the jet black lines unfold ! 
 
 Fierce the wild winds death-like roar! 
 Oh, agony, so great, untold ! 
 
 Will affliction hold forever more ? 
 
 The lightning flashes streak out past, 
 The thunder peals forth from its shroud 
 
 While heavy hail 'mid rain drops crash, 
 Quaking the earth, the sky, and cloud. 
 
 Down, down, in sinking mind and soul 
 The last sustaining hope goes out ! 
 
 O, may Providence take control ! 
 
 Revive the hope, the heart make stout. 
 
80 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Now comes the infinite command 
 
 To tempest's fierce and roaring wrath: 
 
 " Stay, stay, thy cruel, wasting hand, 
 No right to kill, affliction hath ! " 
 
 11 There's other work this soul must do; 
 
 I have a useful place for him ; 
 He shall to self henceforth be true; 
 
 I'll cleanse his heart from deadly sin." 
 
 The storm ceases, tempest is still, 
 The dense fog of affliction clears ; 
 
 Winds and waves have obeyed His will, 
 Calmed and subdued are all the fears. 
 
 Then a peace, as when God is near. 
 
 Creeps softly o'er the sad, worn frame, 
 The tender heart forbears not a tear, 
 
 And heaven wipes away the same. 
 
 The drooping head by angels raised, 
 Looks up to heaven's righteous Son 
 
 And sings aloud : " Now God be praised, 
 Affliction's o'er and I have won !" 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 81 
 
 I SAID, " FAREWELL." 
 
 1SAID " farewell " with tremulous voice, 
 Fought back the inward feeling, 
 Tho' painful thoughts in heart and mind, 
 Like drunken men, were reeling. 
 
 I said " farewell," I know 'tis true, 
 Hard words had passed between us, 
 
 For fiery tongues and tempers too, 
 Are ever ready for a fuss. 
 
 The idle words all uncontrolled, 
 Like mighty floods went sweeping, 
 
 Tearing out bright friendship's ties 
 While the inner soul was weeping. 
 
 I said " farewell," yet, fondly hoped 
 That some day we'd both feel better ; 
 
 The outside nature easily ruffed, 
 Would be held with an iron fetter. 
 
 When passion's storm had passed away, 
 'Twas then we took a brighter view; 
 
82 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Resolved that vengeance would not pay, 
 That each his duty better do. 
 
 We met again, farewells were o'er 
 And the friends once more united, 
 
 Declared they'd quarrel never more 
 And their troubles thus were lighted. 
 
 Farewell no more, the trouble's o'er, 
 Shake hands, make up, be merry; 
 
 We're better friends than e'er before 
 And not so stubborn and contrary. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 83 
 
 CRUMBS OF TRUTH. 
 
 LIKE some bright rosebud which unfolds its bloom, 
 Developing rich colors and sweet perfume ; 
 So let your lives good deeds, fond hopes, unfold 
 More precious than mere wealth of lands or gold. 
 May you, like heroes of the Trojan War, 
 Be read and known in distant lands afar; 
 Be it in war or peace where duty calls 
 Let your true banners float high o'er the walls ; 
 A symbol of the victories you've won, 
 An honor to the land that calls you son, 
 Time shall point out the hour and name the day 
 When smiling fortune shall o'erspread your way; 
 He's found in workshops or in busy streets ; 
 The slothful man he rarely sees or greets ; 
 Though sought by all, he's but a cruel foe 
 When found by those who fail to feel or know 
 The value of his presence when he's near, 
 The awful loss when he shall disappear. 
 
 Ah, may your throbbing hearts ne'er feel the smite 
 Of cruel ingratitude and like that knight, 
 
84 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Firdausi, bard of ancient Persian fame, 
 
 Whose measured lines received a deathless name, 
 
 For he wrote sixty thousand couplets long, 
 
 The story of his native land in song ; 
 
 And then, in sorrow he received — Oh, bitter thing! 
 
 The envy of a haughty, vicious king. 
 
 How true ! we all are sinners more or less ; 
 
 Facts are the same, but errors bad digress, 
 
 Mislead the fruitful mind, the heart, the soul ; 
 
 We look at parts but fail to see the whole. 
 
 He that by admonition and good deeds, 
 
 Tries well to better life and help the needs 
 
 Of those about his way on ev'ry side; 
 
 Will find when stemming Jordan's mystic tide, 
 
 That all the loads of sin much lighter seem 
 
 When he recalls these in his dying dream. 
 
 Do not inscribe your sermons to the dead, 
 But rather to the living have them read ; 
 Nor practice strange, incantation songs, 
 As did the old Egyptian, pagan, throngs ; 
 For spirits, myths, and dead men's bones 
 Are seldom known to leave their proper homes, 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 85 
 
 But drink much at the fount of that queer maid 
 Whose four swift chargers white in air parade ; 
 Who springs so quickly out from some high peak 
 And madly rushes down the incline steep; 
 Arrayed in flowing mantle of rich gold, 
 Her crown a hundred sparkling gems doth hold ; 
 For she, strange figure of an ancient class, 
 The same that fills up Nectar's foaming glass. 
 
 Uncertain as the ways and life of man, 
 So is each thought; each confidential plan 
 Until it's tried by rigid, careful test 
 That'll prove the value of the good, the best. 
 When we attempt to view life's work complete, 
 'Tis like the mist o'er blue waters wide and deep; 
 The vast and wondrous sea of human thought 
 In which the problems of the day are wrought, 
 Scarce deigns to ripple when a small affair 
 Plunges 'neath its surface henceforth to share 
 The surging of its mighty rolling waves 
 Where all the world's great learning sways. 
 
 Can man so weak, full of conceptions wrong, 
 When evils spring up near and 'round him throng, 
 
86 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Search out, yea, fathom to the perfect right 
 
 Without a helper strong to aid his sight? 
 
 No, no, there must be had a royal chart 
 
 Whose maker knows the universe by heart ; 
 
 A tested guide that's sure and cannot fail 
 
 When man's small bark 'mong shoals and rocks 
 
 must sail ; 
 Yea, when his spirit's tossed and thrown about 
 By overwhelming seas of fear and doubt ; 
 He surely needs that steady, guiding Hand 
 To hold him up till he can reach the land. 
 O, boastful man, how small and vain you seem! 
 So proud, so inconsiderate and mean ! 
 Not worthy of high heaven's loving care 
 Nor half the blessings which you daily share; 
 When will you change your hateful, wicked way 
 And to the Lord of Hosts due reverence pay? 
 
 Be there much at stake if he gain or lose, 
 Gross vice and sin must not inflame the muse 
 Of the fair singer's heart that sets on fire 
 The mind that governs life with love or ire ; 
 For the true fire of eloquence and love 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 87 
 
 Is given to the poet from above ; 
 
 He's but a clouded mirror that reflects 
 
 The works of art wherein his Lord directs. 
 
 He lifts his head to wait for lyric lays, 
 
 To catch some anthem sweet or song of praise 
 
 That only his listening soul can hear 
 
 When the vibrations are floating near. 
 
 Hark! now a beautiful, angelic theme 
 
 Awakes the muse as from a pleasant dream ; 
 
 He glories in this blessed, happy state; 
 
 He loves his God, his home, and country great ; 
 
 And hardly deems his poor, unworthy frame 
 
 Fit to repeat its Maker's holy name; 
 
 O, that lines could in some faint way express 
 
 The great sublimity of God's righteousness ! 
 
 When youth has gone, with its aspiring mind, 
 
 Then, gray old age will come, at last we'll find 
 
 The goal of joy that we strived hard to gain, 
 
 Was but an empty dream whose thoughts were vain. 
 
 'Tis best to pause before we journey on 
 
 And consider what our hopes are built upon ; 
 
 Lest crafty persiflage turn us aside 
 
88 POEMS OP THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 And we give over to false truths and pride. 
 Unscrupulous perversions ne'er will pay 
 The interest, on time lost in such a way; 
 So let us seek for truth, for wisdom, right, 
 Nor falter in the work, but in our might 
 Break down the dogmas that infest the land, 
 Uproot false theories on which men stand, 
 And then a happiness will come to us 
 If we've been faithful, to man been just; 
 Our contradistinction from the wrong 
 Will be recorded by the angel throng. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 89 
 
 WORLDLY PLEASURE. 
 
 OCOME, with worldly pleasure let us fill ! 
 While strains of music all our senses thrill ; 
 While we remember naught but the gay world 
 In which the fashions of the time are whirled. 
 On with the dizzy dance, the gliding waltz ; 
 To mirth be true, but to conscience false. 
 Now, join your hands with drunkards, thieves, and 
 
 all; 
 Stop not with trifles, on with the merry ball ! 
 
 Hurrah, boys ! down to the pool-room gay, 
 " We're in for a time," " Real sport today"; 
 Though disputes may arise about the game 
 And men with horrid oaths the place defame, 
 Deceivers lie in wait to take the last cent 
 Of the hard-earned wages, so meanly spent ! 
 And fierce fights occur before it's done ; 
 Stop not with trifles, go on with the fun ! 
 
 " Here's to your health, boy, don't be afraid, 
 Drink up the bright wine ere its colors fade; 
 Oh, yes, my hearty, drink plenty, my lad; 
 
90 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 'Tis time for pleasure, so away with the sad i" 
 Care not for troubles, burning sin and woe, 
 Or the drunkard's grave in which he'll go ; 
 Though he's hung for crime in years to come, 
 Stop not with trifles, but on with the fun ! 
 
 Let's have a merry sociable gay 
 
 And all the latest styles display; 
 
 Let ev'ry lady with her neighbors vie 
 
 To break the record and to dazzle the eye 
 
 With decorations in sumpt'ous array 
 
 And dress as only the wealthy may; 
 
 Of course, the poor have no business to come ; 
 
 Don't halt o'er trifles, go on with the fun ! 
 
 On Sunday morn, perhaps to church we'll go 
 
 Provided our seat's in a fashionable row 
 
 And we can listen to the birds of song 
 
 As they chant anthems that are loud and long. 
 
 The sermon's a lecture, a rhetorical affair 
 
 In which the people are unable to share, 
 
 Rich styles and dress shame the poor man's son ; 
 
 Never mind such trifles, on with the fun ! 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 91 
 
 The church that is most popular today 
 
 Is the one that has very little to say 
 
 Of the evils of life, the wicked man's wav; 
 
 But speaks of our great men, the world at large, 
 
 Blind to the scripture's positive charge, 
 
 It preaches its members to heav'n away 
 
 Forgetting the fact of a Judgment Day; 
 
 Though they're preaching to please, and the "Word" 
 
 they shun, 
 Why think of such trifles? on with the fun ! 
 
92 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 THE JUDGMENT. 
 
 Rev. 1-7: " Behold He cometh with clouds 
 And every eye shall see Him." 
 
 THE seven angels with their trumpets loud did 
 sound 
 And hail with fire and blood, on earth came down! 
 Great clouds of smoke did black the sun and air; 
 A voice cried "Woe, Woe!" to sinners 'round : 
 Yet, they of all their evil ways repented not ; 
 And when the seventh angel cast his vial 
 In air, full of the righteous wrath of God, 
 'Tvvas sounded out from the throne "Tis done!" 
 No more by wicked ones shall earth be trod. 
 
 Behold, the lightning shines from east to west ! 
 
 The earth doth tremble and rock to and fro ; 
 The mountains fall 'mid earthquake's awful roar! 
 
 Men into dens and caves make haste to go : 
 Hut look ! the heavens roll up as a scroll ! 
 
 The thick, black, rolling clouds change dazzling 
 bright, 
 Lit up with awe-aspiring colors grand, 
 
 Resplendent and sublime with holy light. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 93 
 
 A mighty angel cries with lifted hand, 
 
 Proclaims in awful tones o'er land and sea 
 To ev'ry living creature in the world 
 
 That time has run its course and ceased to be ; 
 Four angels standing on the doom'ed earth 
 
 Hold fast the rushing winds that they blow not; 
 Dumb with amazement, prostrate, sick with fear, 
 
 All eyes seem focussed on that brilliant spot 
 From whence the crashing, roaring thunders peal 
 
 That break the rocks and shatter works of steel. 
 
 Hold now! a glittering cloud floats from the east ! 
 
 Ten thousand, thousand angels 'round it sing, 
 Ten thousand of his saints with him appear 
 
 And all their ancient glory with them bring ! 
 His throne is like a fiery flame of light; 
 
 His chariot wheels are like a burning fire ; 
 Before him spreads a crystal sea of glass 
 
 On which the saints, the hosts that never tire, 
 Assemble to give praise and glory to his name, 
 
 The righteous one, forevermore the same ! 
 
 O. God! is this the Lamb whose blood was shed, 
 Whose face outshines the noonday's brightest sun? 
 
94 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Is this the " King of Kings and Lord of Lords?" 
 0, save us, save us, from the wrath to come ! 
 
 The islands of the sea have fled away, 
 
 The hills and mountains seem to melt like wax, 
 And saintly hosts in beauteous array 
 
 Are gathering around the throne of God 
 To welcome on the Resurrection Day. 
 
 The saints of God, so long in tombs asleep, 
 But now awake to everlasting joy 
 
 No more to sorrow and no more to weep. 
 
 Hark! the solemn tones of the last trumpet sound! 
 
 In but a moment's space — a short delay — 
 The faithful put on their immortal gowns 
 
 And rise to meet the Savior high in air, 
 To rest with joy on that bright crystal sea 
 
 And henceforth all his glory freely share : 
 The sea and land gave up their sleeping dead, 
 Their souls returned from whence in sleep they'd fled. 
 
 The wicked stand before the Judgment Seat, 
 
 The books are opened and examined, read; 
 Alas ! the search is made with tearful eye ; 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 95 
 
 " Found wanting," the recording angel said : 
 O, God, I thought I had escaped from Thee ! 
 
 I thought that all was o'er when I was dead ! 
 My wickedness, my shame, and all my wrong 
 
 Laid bare before these saints and prophets old : 
 Can not the door of mercy ope' again? 
 
 O, that I had heard what thy servants told ! ! 
 
 For holy work, thou didst not strive nor care; 
 
 Thou art not fit to live with saintly bands ; 
 Thou couldst not in their glory join or share ; 
 
 For satan did thy deeds in life control, 
 And won, yea justly claims thy wicked soul ! 
 
 The mighty men cry bitterly and moan ; 
 
 And kings of earth call for the rocks to fall 
 To hide them from Him that sits upon the throne ; 
 
 The wicked fall upon their knees and cry: 
 " Thou art the Christ, the living son of God ! 
 
 Yea, it is just, that we should perish, die ! !" 
 
 " Behold it is come, and it is done !" 
 
 " This is the day whereof I have spoken !" 
 
 The hour of the Lord's fierce anger is here ; 
 
96 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 For to avenge the prophet's holy blood ; 
 To make the unbelieving tremble, fear ; 
 To do away with satan and his works 
 And burn as chaff the place where evil lurks. 
 
 The world is stunned by earthquake's awful roar! 
 
 And melts and burns as stubble with the heat ; 
 Winds take the ashes and they're seen no more ; 
 
 But a new earth appears in view complete, 
 And the new heavens stretch far out in space! 
 O, glorious, divine ! O, happy place ! 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 97 
 
 SONGS TO " THE LAMB." 
 PART I. 
 
 SONG OF THE TWENTY-FOUR ELDERS. 
 
 We'll sing to Thee, our Lord, 
 
 Yea, thanks shall never end, 
 For holy is Thy word ; 
 
 To Thee our knees we bend. 
 Thou art most holy, just and true ; 
 Great is Thy might and blessing, too. 
 
 All glory is to Thee ; 
 
 On Thee, Great King we call, 
 For now Thy saints are free 
 In praise before Thee fall. 
 Thou art most worthy, Lord, to claim 
 A kingdom in Thine own great name. 
 
 Thy kingdom shall ne'er cease ; 
 
 Nor sorrows come again ; 
 But universal peace 
 
 Shall bless our fellow men ; 
 And all the tribes of men will see 
 In Christ, the one, who makes them free. 
 
98 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Take, Lord, our golden crowns, 
 
 We cast them at Thy feet ; 
 In heav'n, Thy glory sounds ; 
 On earth, Thy work's complete; 
 Thou didst Thy children all reclaim 
 And no more in their graves remain. 
 
 Thy face shines as the sun ; 
 
 For righteous deeds are Thine; 
 Thou art God's only Son, 
 Most holy one divine : 
 Thou hast redeemed us by Thy blood 
 And saved us from sin's awful flood. 
 
 We give Thee thanks, O, God, 
 
 Which art and was to be ; 
 Thou hast the billows trod 
 And calmed the angry sea : 
 O, Lord, we glorify Thy name 
 Because Thou art fore'er the same. 
 
 Let all the angels sing 
 Thy praise forevermore, 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 99 
 
 And saints their riches bring ; 
 For they have much in store. 
 'Gainst those that have Thy works assailed, 
 O, Lamb of God, Thou hast prevailed ! 
 
 PART II. 
 
 SONG OF THE ANGELS. 
 
 We'll strike the harps and sing - 
 
 With holy music grand 
 Our songs with praise shall ring, 
 For we are heaven's band. 
 O, God, Thy praise shall never cease ; 
 All glory to the " Prince of Peace." 
 
 Take now, the golden harps 
 
 And touch their sacred strings ; 
 The grandeur of the parts 
 Resounds in sweetest rings, 
 Divinest strains in chorus bring : 
 O, hallelujah to the King! 
 
 Sing on, O, joyful souls, 
 
 In measured accents sweet ; 
 
100 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 We have no fun'ral tolls, 
 
 For men have ceased to sleep : 
 Let all the powers that 're above, 
 Sing of the great Redeemer's love. 
 
 O, glory to our King ; 
 
 Adore the Master great 
 With hallelujahs, sing, 
 For this our happy state : 
 O, strike the mellow hearts of love, 
 All things are harmless as a dove. 
 
 To Thee, O, Lamb, most high, 
 
 Our songs shall ever be ; 
 For we shall never sigh 
 Nor any trouble see ; 
 But joy will crown all time to come, 
 Sing hallelujah to the Son. 
 
 O, make a joyful sound ! 
 
 Sing of His might and grace 
 To all the hosts around, 
 And fill each holy place 
 With music from the sacred throng 
 Who've waited long to join our song. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 101 
 
 Bright angels, chant on well, 
 
 Fill heaven with your praise ; 
 For man has risen that fell, 
 And blest are all his ways : 
 Yea, sweetly sing your lyrics grand 
 To Christ, who stands at God's right hand. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 SONG OF THE MULTITUDE. 
 
 Before Thy throne we bow; 
 
 All nations sing Thy praise ; 
 We'll chant Thy glories now 
 And bless Thee all our days. 
 O, sing, Redeemed, with loud acclaim 
 The grand and glorious refrain ! 
 
 We shall not hunger more 
 
 Nor ever thirsty be ; 
 The Lamb will blessings pour 
 As waters in the sea : 
 No night will come to mar our joy 
 Nor evil thoughts our souls annoy. 
 
102 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 All tears He's wiped away, 
 
 And wicked things are gone ; 
 The light of God's fair day 
 Shines forth in early dawn : 
 O, Lord, how cheerful is our home ! 
 No more in sorrow we shall roam. 
 
 Our hearts are Thine to keep 
 
 Throughout eternity; 
 Thy mercy we'll repeat, 
 But not adversity: 
 The skies with melodies resound, 
 The weary rest, the lost are found. 
 
 In adoration fall 
 
 Before the mighty Prince ; 
 For Zion's harps, we'll call ; 
 Again, they're playing, since 
 We've been redeemed and purified 
 And by the fire of God been tried. 
 
 O, holy, holy band ! 
 
 Our hearts in joy unite ; 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 103 
 
 We're in the Father's land 
 In robes of purest white : 
 O, join our hymn, blest angels near 
 And sing " The New Song " that's so dear! 
 
 O, chant the chorus grand ! 
 
 Let heaven's bells ring out ! 
 Thine is the glory, and, 
 So now Thy people shout : 
 " O, alleluia to the Son ! 
 Thrice ever blessed faithful One !" 
 
104 POEMS OP THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 TWO SONNETS. 
 IN MEMORY OF B. D. R. 
 
 No. 6. 
 
 O HAPPY hour when first we met as friends ! 
 Dear boy, how oft' my heart some message 
 sends 
 To you once more again, but that is all. 
 No more we'll tramp the woods with sledge and mall 
 And hunt for shingle bolts to cut and sell, 
 Or draw the cross-cut saw and stories tell ; 
 For earnest work caused us to leave our home, 
 Now, you are gone, and I still wander, roam. 
 Oh, then, we little thought 'twould thus be so! 
 Alas, of future things we do not know. 
 A Father's loving hand that's great and wise 
 Veils future sorrows from our earthly eyes ; 
 For 'tis enough for us below to bear 
 The weary trials that each da)- we share. 
 
 No. 7. 
 
 Ah, comrade, friend of youthful bygone days, 
 In loving tones I sing these heartfelt lays ; 
 For 'tis a morsel sweet, indeed, to think 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 105 
 
 Of some days that in life's chain form a link; 
 
 And we that comprehend the holy way 
 
 Will bless the loyal friendships of today. 
 
 Let's have more faithful hearts that ne'er will change, 
 
 That ne'er grow old with age and distant, strange ; 
 
 For they will truly serve us much the best, 
 
 So firmly cling to them and you'll be blest. 
 
 When a forsaken world seems trying well, 
 
 To crush your hopes to ring your dying knell, 
 
 And darkest night shuts off the day from you, 
 
 What inward joy 'twill bring to know they're true ! 
 
106 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 SOX NET NO. I. 
 
 1SING these lines to heaven's works so fair, 
 I get them from the earth, the clouds and air; 
 I sing, for now my heart is flowing o'er 
 With love for God who's blessed forever more. 
 The fairy clouds which circle over head 
 Or form the background for the sunset red, 
 Imbue me now with God's most holy plan 
 Wherein the world, at first, was made for man. 
 And when I think of air, so pure, so good, 
 Of fertile land that gives to us our food, 
 Of roaring seas which give up treasures rare, 
 And mountains filled with riches which we share, 
 I bless the righteous hand that gave it all 
 And down before His throne in meekness fall. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 107 
 
 A DIREFUL SONNET. 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 HOW strange ! that men should use a harmful 
 weed 
 And to their lives and health give little heed ! 
 The dangers of this poison leaf are great ; 
 Oft' old and young have found out, when too late, 
 That it takes life, takes strength, breaks down the 
 
 nerves 
 And makes a slave of the poor man it serves. 
 In all its forms, no health or strength is found ; 
 It blunts the nerves and makes the mind unsound ; 
 The brighter thoughts give 'way to darker frown, 
 Caused by the weed which drags the creature down: 
 Their hearts that need to be so active, strong, 
 May fail and weaken by this awful wrong, 
 Then if great excesses have ruled, they die 
 And soon in early graves their forms will lie. 
 
108 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 TWO SONNETS 
 TO YOUNG MEN. 
 
 No. 4. 
 
 EAR boys, we meet you on the roads and streets 
 
 D 
 
 And oft' at church receive your friendly greets; 
 We love you, but our hearts are often sad 
 To see bright youths with habits foul and bad. 
 Oh, how can you be good, and pure, and fair 
 When your breath with narcotics scents the air? 
 How can you meet your kind, good mother's face 
 When you are low, a shame and a disgrace? 
 Be valiant heroes of the human race, 
 Try not to be found in a wicked place ; 
 Your companions in sin throw 7 to one side; 
 Give up narcotics for your health and pride 
 Or, soon like raindrops from the clouds of God, 
 You'll be thrown with the trash, under the sod. 
 
 No. 5. 
 
 Fair boys, in morning's dawn of busy life, 
 How soon will come the world's sad cares and strife! 
 Weigh not your glad young hearts with useless care 
 Until life is a wreck and hopes despair: 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 109 
 
 Nor deem that life i3 a " Butterfly's Ball," 
 Where showy colors must be worn by all : 
 Feel that an earnest work is to be done 
 And do not halt 'til the battle is won ; 
 For discouragements come that try the will 
 And you must o'ercome them with manly skill ; 
 Forgetting not that a great, mighty hand 
 Can guide you on to a much fairer land. 
 Young men and boys, be kind, be true and tried, 
 In years to come, be called the nation's pride. 
 
110 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 THE IRON HORSE. 
 
 OLET me sing to the horse of steel ! 
 Though his iron heart no song can feel, 
 Perchance some friendly heart that's true 
 May hear my song and feel it, too ; 
 For marksmen bold oft' miss their aim 
 Yet, by this fault find greater game. 
 
 So powerfully strong you stand 
 That just a movement of the hand, 
 You gather up your forces well ; 
 You rush o'er plain, through leafy dell 
 And hasten along at a rapid rate 
 The progress in each growing state. 
 
 When on the straight and narrow road, 
 How smoothly onward moves your load ! 
 Your wheels glide 'round in circles swift 
 And fiery cinders high upward drift; 
 While all along your royal way 
 Your coming's hailed with joy each day. 
 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. Ill 
 
 But when you leave foundation strong 
 And pass o'er tot'ring bridges long, 
 Or madly rush 'round winding curves 
 Then fate gives what the act deserves : 
 All progress gone, your force is stopped, 
 Down by the roadside you are dropped. 
 
112 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 HOW strong should be the Christian heart 
 And always ready to do its part, 
 To follow out its Lord's command 
 And show God's power in the land ; 
 To let the sparks of truth shine nigh 
 That all may live and none may. die. 
 
 The straight and narrow road is sure, 
 Along its way the streams are pure ; 
 No deadly germs infest the air, 
 But purity is everywhere ; 
 The Lord himself directs the wax- 
 That leads into a perfect da}'. 
 
 The word of God is the solid rock 
 And worldly theories harm it not ; 
 For Christian trains with mighty power 
 Pass 'long its highway ev'ry hour, 
 And carry with them God's elect, 
 Regardless of the world's neglect. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 113 
 
 HYMN. 
 No. 2. 
 
 GREAT is our God, His mighty voice is heard 
 Calling " Come back" to dear ones who have 
 erred. 
 O, wonderful and infinitely grand 
 Are all His dealings with frail mortal man. 
 
 Sing to the Lord and rejoice in His name 
 Ring out o'er earth the beautiful refrain ; 
 For the Lord will bless each one's endeavor, 
 Christ is our king forever and ever. 
 
 Teach us, dear Father, how to live and do, 
 Incline our hearts to all Thy words so true ; 
 For ev'ry one that to the Cross will look, 
 Shall find his name in the great record book. 
 
 In Thee, O, Lord, I'll ever put my trust, 
 Thou hast prepared for all the pure and just 
 A home in Thy rich Kingdom where 'tis well, 
 There all Thy people shall forever dwell. 
 
114 
 
 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 GRANDMA'S GRAVE. 
 
 IT seemed so sad and lonely 
 When today I halted near 
 Where two years ago tomorrow 
 Was buried grandma dear. 
 
 How can I express my feelings, 
 
 How can I tell you now, 
 Of old-time memories that rushed 
 
 So strangely to my brow? 
 
 I stand here by her grave, 
 
 I talk, she cannot hear me now; 
 
 But the wind brings back the echo, 
 O'er her grave, rose-bushes bow. 
 
 The pinks that 're on her grave, 
 The birch sticks that are crossed; 
 
 Seem sadly to be reminding me 
 Of the grandma I have lost. 
 
 I'm thinking, as I stand here, 
 Of the many acts so kind 
 
 That she did here in her lifetime 
 For those she's left behind. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 115 
 
 Dear grandma, your battle here is o'er; 
 
 But I'll meet you over there 
 When I have fought the fight 
 
 And won forevermore. 
 
 But hush ! she is sleeping now 
 
 With a calm and sweet repose, 
 To rise with Christ, her Savior, 
 
 When the Final Trumpet blows. 
 
116 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 SWEET SLEEP OF THE DEAD. 
 
 HOW sweet the sleep of the silent dead ! 
 Where's resting many a tired head, 
 Where many true hearts are still and cold, 
 Free from all sorrow and pain, we're told. 
 
 How sweet the sleep ot the silent dead ! 
 When near their graves, pray lightly tread ; 
 Disturb not their calm and peaceful sleep; 
 For those at rest, mourn not nor weep. 
 
 How sweet the sleep ot the silent dead ! 
 
 While others toil on in their stead, 
 
 While the world doth war and volcanoes are gap'd, 
 
 They in unconscious sleep are wrapped. 
 
 They rest, yes, silently they sleep ! 
 And angels' guard their watch will keep; 
 While lifeless bodies moulder 'way to dust; 
 As all mankind invariably must. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 117 
 
 WHEN I LAY ME DOWN TO DIE. 
 
 THE sorrows, aches, and troubles 
 That are mine in this short life; 
 I trust will all forgotten be 
 
 When the tomb shall end the strife : 
 I'll pass away in joy without a sigh, 
 When I lay me down to die. 
 
 May the happy birds be singing 
 
 In the air so light and free ; 
 Let all of my friends be present, 
 
 All of their faces I must see ; 
 Let them smile and hush the cry, 
 When I lay me down to die. 
 
 Gather round my bedside softly, 
 You, that are my friends so dear, 
 
 Sing a hymn quite low and gently; 
 Let the music reach my ear. 
 
 Sing softly on as the moments fly, 
 
 When I lay me down to die. 
 
118 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 O DEATH, how soon thy icy fingers come 
 To pluck away our comrades one by one 
 And cast them downward to their earthly clay 
 There to await God's final judgment daw 
 We do not hear thy treacherous footstep soft 
 Nor feel thy awful presence with us near, 
 Until thy heavy shrouds have fallen down 
 And caught some merry friend, some loved one dear, 
 Ah, then, hearts ache, we see thee face to face; 
 Yes, you have come, O, enemy of our race! 
 How ruthlessly you tear them from our homes 
 And listen not, to our sad cries and groans. 
 They'll sleep for a time in an earthly tomb 
 There to await a triumph or a doom. 
 Sleep on, sleep on, in peace, O, fair ones rest! 
 O'er guarded by pure angels ever blest, 
 Until the Lord of Hosts shall come to claim 
 Those saintly ones that in the grave remain : 
 Their sleep will seem but a short rest from care, 
 Eternal glory they shall henceforth share. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 119 
 
 WILL MY GRAVE NEGLECTED BE? 
 
 WHEN this life with me is ended 
 And my face you cannot see, 
 When years have passed that I have slumbered ; 
 
 Tell me, shall I be forgotten, 
 Will my grave neglected be? 
 
 Will the earth that covers me o'er, 
 Be grown to briars and to weeds ? 
 
 Have I friends that will come ever 
 To shed a loving tear o'er me, 
 
 Or will my grave neglected be? 
 
 Life is fleeting and uncertain, 
 
 Troubles flock 'round thick and fast ; 
 
 When death has set me free, 
 Ah, shall I be remembered? 
 
 Oh, will my grave neglected be ! 
 
120 POEMS OP THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 RIVER OF DEATH. 
 
 O GURGLING river swift, so dark and black, 
 How awful seems the surging of your waves! 
 And how we mourn o'er wrecks along your track ; 
 Poor barks ! knew not the myst'ry of your ways. 
 
 Bring hither all the powerful lights, yea, 
 
 All of the scientific means of earth 
 And let us view this flood of moving clay; 
 
 Perchance we'll see the nature of our birth. 
 
 Alas ! we cannot see through muddy streams, 
 
 The surface only to the eye appears 
 And all the rest's a fancy, as in dreams, 
 
 We stand in false positions, times, and years. 
 
 We know not what awaits us just ahead, 
 
 That's why we fear so oft' the unknown deep ; 
 
 We pause ! we shudder ! at thought of the dead 
 And we dread to think of the last long sleep. 
 
 What ! must we cross the raging, stormy deep 
 Without a knowedge of the rocks below? 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 121 
 
 Can science or " chance-work" perform the feat 
 And land us safely where we'd like to go? 
 
 There's only one true guide that knows the way; 
 
 He'll make the angry waves calm and serene 
 And with his help some happy, future day 
 
 We'll cross and view the glories now unseen. 
 
122 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 WHAT means this sound of beating drums 
 And church bell's solemn peal ? 
 Where march these soldiers all in line 
 With glittering guns of steel? 
 
 My son, it is the soldiers brave, 
 The loyal men that saved our flag 
 
 In times of dangers vast and great, 
 Who've come today to pay respect 
 To those who shared less happier fate. 
 
 We've met to honor those who've fell, 
 Who in the graveyard rest in sleep 
 
 And those in graves where none can tell ; 
 Angels their vigils o'er them'll keep ; 
 Today, America will weep. 
 
 'Tis not a day for loud hurrahs; 
 
 Nor should we mirth and glee display; 
 We've met for patriotic cause, 
 
 And 'tis a solemn, holy day 
 
 Because of dear ones laid away. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 123 
 
 Today the soldier's fife and drum 
 Recalls the battle-field of old, 
 
 Brings back the glory that was won 
 
 And thoughts of comrades still and cold: 
 Our warriors brave ! Our warriors bold ! 
 
 All people 'neath the flag unite 
 
 To bless the boys who saved us when 
 
 Our foes would 've crushed us in their spite : 
 America hath reared brave men 
 As brave as any e'er have been. 
 
 The vet'rans left some day will hear 
 The bugle's call no more below; 
 
 A few short years, we'll miss their cheer; 
 Tott'ring footsteps and forms bent low 
 Tell us too plainly they soon must go. 
 
 We'll deck the graves with flowers today, 
 See that the flag on each one waves 
 
 While rustling leaves will seem to say: 
 " Sleep on in peace most noble braves 
 While we with garlands deck your graves." 
 
124 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 They loved our country and their flag ; 
 
 They fell in the fierce battle's roar; 
 Long as the Stars and Stripes shall wave 
 
 Their deeds of valor shall upward soar ! 
 
 Honor to their names ! forevermore. 
 
126 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 EVENING SONG. 
 
 (To be read at the close of the day). 
 
 ONCE more the sun hath slipped away 
 And twinkling lights appear; 
 The shining rays from restful moon 
 All 'round are bright and clear. 
 
 The herds are resting on the hills 
 'Mid bluegrass green and deep ; 
 
 Afar on yonder farm is heard 
 The call of some stray sheep. 
 
 The faithful dog lies near the door; 
 
 And on the post near by, 
 The cat is purring sleepy tunes 
 
 In answer to the hootowl's cry. 
 
 Old Speckle's brooding all her chicks 
 Close by the dooryard gate ; 
 
 The robin, in the large elm tree, 
 Is chirping to his mate. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 127 
 
 All nature seems to love her own, 
 
 To cherish well her young ; 
 And he who studies out the art 
 
 Can understand her tongue. 
 
 We cannot count the brilliant stars 
 
 That're gleaming overhead ; 
 Nor can we view the unknown space 
 
 Where all their paths have led. 
 
 We do not know when fate will say, 
 
 " Your time has now gone by, 
 And all your future plans are naught; 
 
 The time has come to die !" 
 
 So let us live that when our time 
 
 Has run its course below, 
 That death shall have no terrors and 
 
 We shall not fear to go. 
 
 Yes, let us live that our lives may 
 
 Reach out to those around 
 And help the world, years after, we 
 
 Are cold beneath the ground. 
 
128 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Much of the trouble of this life 
 
 Could all be done away 
 If we could bring ourselves to see 
 
 The blessings of today. 
 
 Too short, by far, our days are here 
 
 For holding on to hate ; 
 'Tis best to blot the thought clear out ; 
 
 Lest we receive like fate. 
 
 Religion's surely not an end ; 
 
 Nor learning's hall the goal ; 
 It is the rescue of mankind, 
 
 The saving of his soul. 
 
 Soon now, upon our beds, we'll lie ; 
 
 We know not when we'll rise ; 
 It may not be until we meet 
 
 Our Savior in the skies. 
 
 Again, pay to our God above, 
 
 Around whose throne we'll meet : 
 
 " Care for us, Father, while we rest, 
 Let angels guard our sleep." 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 129 
 
 THE GIFT. 
 
 THIS little gift accept of me, 
 In memr'y let it dwell ; 
 In future days to come 
 
 To you its truths 't will tell. 
 
 In weary hours or gloomy days, 
 
 Read o'er the noble lines 
 Wrought out by men of honest birth 
 
 With earnest hearts and minds. 
 
 Perhaps in some small nook among 
 
 The poems of our time, 
 With trembling heart and bated breath, 
 
 Some day, you'll read of mine. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 131 
 
 BRIDGE OF INSPIRATION. 
 
 WHERE bends the road around the curve, 
 The long bridge spans across the flat ; 
 'Neath it runs water fed by springs ; 
 Near by the green frog croaks and sings 
 While leafy trees along the creek 
 Give charming shades that lovers seek. 
 
 Here matrons old and maidens young 
 Resort when mid-day's work is done ; 
 And many tales these pretty maids 
 Rehearse within the quiet shades 
 Of trees, which never, never, tell 
 What's said inside the silent dell. 
 
 And oft' some gallant youth is seen 
 Making his way out to the green. 
 He's going out to view the park, 
 Perhaps his future wife to "spark;" 
 And knowing not what else to say, 
 Talks on about a wedding day. 
 
 O, village boys, and village girls ! 
 What does time bring as on he whirls ? 
 
132 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 What joys has he in store for you 
 When each receives his own just due? 
 Oh, think, and act, that it may be 
 Blessings will come as floods from the sea. 
 
 On Sunday morn for inspiration, 
 Goes he who preaches of Salvation, 
 Out to the long bridge on the flat 
 To ponder over this and that, 
 To turn his sermon till it's done 
 In early morning's cheerful sun. 
 
 Then when his mind has soared to heights 
 Above the earth's dim, shallow lights ; 
 Good things God always has in store, 
 And thoughts that never came before, 
 All come now, like a proclamation 
 Out by the Bridge of Inspiration. 
 
 Yes, it is well, a faithful token ! 
 That pastors have with nature spoken ; 
 For when we know of nature's plan, 
 We know the will of God to man ; 
 Better for all of us to heed 
 The law of love than any creed. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 133 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 WE live not for ourselves 
 For nothing stands alone; 
 We're linked to other lives 
 
 In school, in church, and home. 
 
 Let us then remember 
 
 That others need our care ; 
 
 Need a kind and gentle word 
 When the heart is in despair. 
 
 For the morning of our lives 
 
 Soon will pass and noon be here; 
 
 A little more of toil and strife 
 Then the evening will appear. 
 
 O, well for you and me ! 
 
 When death's night settles down, 
 And still our hands upon our breast ; 
 
 If we have won the crown. 
 
134 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 THE CREED. 
 
 (To a Lady). 
 
 TO you, most noble lady, 
 These lines I will consign, 
 The thoughts expressed in simple verse 
 
 If worthy of a moment's time 
 Note well, and kindly read 
 Precepts of friendship's creed. 
 
 I hold that they who love the good, 
 
 Enjoy the beautiful, 
 As one that's great and noble should, 
 
 Are always ones from which to choose 
 Our intimate, trusted friends, 
 Such ones as heaven sends. 
 
 They who despise not, nor scorn 
 
 The music of the soul, 
 Some things that in the heart are born, 
 
 Some thoughts beyond the heart's control, 
 These select from all the rest ; 
 They will honor you the best. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 135 
 
 Who loves his neighbor well, 
 
 Does as the scriptures tell, 
 Who keeps his word at any cost, 
 
 No matter what is gained or lost, 
 Deserves a worthy praise 
 As sung in grand majestic lays. 
 
 Beware how you do trust ! 
 
 The surface straws which float 
 About, and change their coat : 
 
 Drifted 'round by a stormy sea, 
 These fair-day friends are found to be ; 
 
 Shun those who idly say 
 That friendships never pay. 
 
 Select those hearts that fear 
 
 A silent thought or tear, 
 Unselfish, faithful, earnest souls ; 
 
 True till the last tie breaks that holds 
 Their life with ours on earth ; 
 For great's their strength and worth. 
 
136 POEMS OP THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 DEATH OF A LITTLE BOY. 
 
 OH, little boy, so young ! 
 Yet pure as lily white, 
 We miss you, dearest one ; 
 No longer now in sight. 
 
 The sweet voice now is hushed ; 
 
 The playful hands are still ; 
 Yet sorrow here we must ; 
 
 Since 'tis God's blessed will. 
 
 We left you, dear one, there ; 
 
 You're resting, sleeping, still ; 
 Given o'er to angel's care 
 
 Out on the graveyard hill. 
 
 Your little grave we'll deck 
 With flowers bright and rare ; 
 
 And think some day you'll beck 
 Your parents over there. 
 
 O, weep not for the child ! 
 
 That was prepared to go ; 
 In whom there was no guile 
 
 And will meet the Savior so. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 137 
 
 THERE IS ONE WHO HAS MY HEART. 
 
 A STRANGER wandered by one day; 
 He seemed to have no friends at all — 
 No one that he could hope to win — 
 
 And none his friend that he could call. 
 When asked if he in love had been, 
 Replied : " In life we'll never part, 
 Yes, there is one who has my heart." 
 
 Yes, there is one who has my heart, 
 In cares and sorrows always shares ; 
 
 That one will love me when I'm old, 
 Will weep when I am still and cold : 
 
 I'm blessed through life till death shall part 
 
 That friend from me who has my heart. 
 
 There's always one that loves us best, 
 
 Who listens with a willing ear 
 To all our trials great and small, 
 
 Who stills each little doubt and fear; 
 The one that saves us when we fall : 
 
 A mother, wife, or other friend 
 
 Stands by us till our life doth end. 
 
138 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Though all the world seems heedless, yet, 
 There's always one who cares for us ; 
 
 We may not know what heart it is; 
 Some day a friend that's true and just, 
 
 Will brighten up our weariness : 
 Then we with joy fulness can say, 
 " There's one who has my heart today." 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 139 
 
 CHRISTMAS SHOPPING. 
 
 AGAIN the merry, merry Christmas chimes 
 Begin to ring out joyous, happy times : 
 Frosty and cold the air 
 With white snow ev'ry where. 
 The sleigh bells jingle, jingle, 'long the road, 
 The foaming steeds prance with a jolly load. 
 
 Along the city streets in style they come ; 
 
 In gay robes and bright feathers, now for fun ! 
 
 Dashing by the "slow pokes" 
 
 And telling funny jokes. 
 They stop in front of some great bargain store 
 And over all the fancy treasures pore. 
 
 Some dainty little things to put away 
 That never can be used on any day, 
 Are paid for, ordered sent 
 To friends, who then give vent 
 In tones of great disgust, or much amused : 
 " Why didn't they send something that could be 
 used ?" 
 
140 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Now, honest Farmer Pete, on Christmas week, 
 Thinks best to market some of his spring wheat, 
 
 Therefore begins to "quiz" 
 
 His faithful helpmate, " Liz." 
 She says tonight the churning will be done 
 And they must start by the morrow's sun. 
 
 At eve, says Farmer Pete, "See to it, John, 
 That both of the new bridles are put on ; 
 
 And ruffled hairs, my son, 
 
 I must not find a one 
 On good old Fan and frisky old nag Tweed ; 
 Put in some hay, and corn, and oats, for feed." 
 
 The butter is churned, patted out in rolls, 
 " Liz " gets her brown dress down and smooths the 
 folds, 
 
 Mends quickly here and there 
 
 Some broken stitch or tear. 
 The shawl that she's had since her wedding day 
 Is brought out from where it was put away. 
 
 Pete winds the clock, puts cats and dogs outside 
 And thinks of his trip and the long, cold ride: 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 141 
 
 Looks up his neckscarf red, 
 
 Sends Frank and Tom to bed, 
 Saying, " Your mother and I must get 'roun' 
 And early in the morning start for town." 
 
 Next morning just at four, both nags are fed, 
 The wheat and the butter put into the sled. 
 
 The steeds prance 'round and rear, 
 
 Keen is the frosty air; 
 But Pete and " Liz" care not for frost and cold 
 When the wheat and the butter must be sold. 
 
 "Our John must surely have a red necktie, 
 Or Jane Rose Stubbings may pass him by." 
 
 So muses " Liz" to Pete, 
 
 Sitting on the load of wheat. 
 "Frank's boots are old and worn out at the toes, 
 He needs some heavy ones to wade the snows." 
 
 Liz'beth must have a nice, new dress and hat, 
 Tommie a jumping jack, for he'll like that ; 
 
 For Ann, a doll, let's see — 
 
 Oh, yes ; candy for a tree. 
 Be sure to get some crackers and some cheese, 
 I'll heat the foot-stone so our feet won't freeze." 
 
142 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 In town — show windows beautiful and bright, 
 Old Santa Claus seems ev'rywhere in sight. 
 
 "Oh, ' Liz,' look, here's a bear! 
 
 Ye — s, but just see — ah, there!" 
 Old Fan and Tweed jumped at the "stuffed affair," 
 " Liz" mashed the butter that she had to spare. 
 
 Farmer Tom Gibbins meets his neighbor, Pete, 
 And asks the price of hogs, old corn and wheat 
 Thinks we'll have a big storm, 
 " The weather's been so warm." 
 " Liz" runs across the middle of the street 
 To give Sade Gibbins a warm, hearty greet. 
 
 I 
 
 All Jay the busy clerks must hurry, hurry! 
 
 'Mid great confusion and a constant worry: 
 " How to do," " What's for you?" 
 " Right this way's something new," 
 Goods returned, ruined and spoiled, "didn't fit;" 
 People waiting, standing, no room to sit. 
 
 Pete and " Liz" prepare to start for home 
 And thus leave all the tired-out clerks alone. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 143 
 
 The horses, Fan and Tweed, 
 
 Paw to go, "feel their feed." 
 At last the bundles are stored in the sleigh ; 
 Hurrah, they're ready now, for Christmas day! 
 
144 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 ANOTHER DAY HAS FLED. 
 
 WITH setting sun a day has fled, 
 'Tis past beyond recall ; 
 It warns us that the day of death 
 Soon comes to one and all. 
 
 And as the twilight deepens on, 
 The shadows darker grow; 
 
 'Till all at once from out a cloud 
 The moon's rays gently flow. 
 
 God's promises like moonbeams bless 
 And throw lights 'round the soul ; 
 
 They cheer us when we're in despair, 
 When seas of sorrow roll. 
 
 Were it not for God's holy book, 
 What would our wisdom be? 
 
 Or where, indeed, would mankind look 
 For true security? 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 145 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 7 'ELL me, kind hearts, what's life ahead? 
 What will they say when I am dead? 
 Will all the world rejoice and say, 
 " 'Tis better that he's passed away?" 
 
 Why do my friends oft' pass me by 
 And cause my heart to mourn and sigh? 
 Are they quite heedless of the care, 
 The sorrow which all souls must share? 
 
 What're my desires in days to come? 
 How many victories will then be won? 
 Oh, say! will all be lost to me, 
 My hopes all wrecked on a stormy sea? 
 
 Why do I scorn God's creatures here 
 And shun the souls so precious, dear? 
 Have I a different robe of flesh to wear 
 And so must not with others share? 
 
146 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Do I to God give thanks and praise 
 And honor justice in all my ways? 
 Will sad regret o'er these wasted years 
 Cause my life to end in bitter tears ? 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 147 
 
 REVERIE BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 MOONLIGHT ripples wave on gently 
 In the balmy summer air, 
 Fancy's calling back my childhood 
 And I sit in memory's chair. 
 
 Now I'm just a little fellow 
 Playing, singing, all the day, 
 
 Mother's saying "Now my darling, 
 Come and put your toys away." 
 
 Happy dream of early school days ! 
 
 Now the highest room is gained 
 Here the future's inspirations 
 
 Led me on while I remained. 
 
 Now I'm with my comrade walking, 
 
 He's a boy that's manly too, 
 Yes, we're planning for a party, 
 
 Going with a jolly crew! 
 
148 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 "All is gone and never'll come back" 
 
 Says the wind with mournful sighs : 
 I wake, startled from my dreaming ! 
 Each fond hope is broken, dies ! 
 
 Oh ! it must not be I'm waking: 
 
 Surely that could never be ! 
 All my comrades gone and left me, 
 
 Youthful joys no more to see? 
 
 No, I will be young and happy 
 While I live in years to come ! 
 
 Age shall not mar golden pleasures 
 Nor take 'way all my boyish fun ! 
 
 Trees sigh, wave in gentle murmurs, 
 
 Liquid rays of crystal light 
 Overcome my wild emotions 
 
 And my dream's a future sight. 
 
 Standing near the crossroads, talking, 
 Ah, I see my boyhood friends ; 
 
 They have reached the place for choosing 
 And should know where each road ends. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 149 
 
 Some are careless and indifferent, 
 
 Knowing not what's on ahead ; 
 Only wasting precious moments, 
 
 Heeding not what friends have said. 
 
 Now, they're parted for life's journey; 
 
 Some have read the danger signs 
 And have taken royal pathways 
 
 With no crooks or faulty winds. 
 
 Oh, call them back! Some are going 
 Where the lions watch by the way, 
 
 Glist'ning serpents charm their eyesight 
 And they'll fall an easy prey. 
 
 What is this? My dim sight wavers ! 
 
 Groaning creatures in despair! 
 Rolling in the filthy gutter, 
 
 Are my comrades once so fair ! 
 
 "They are lost and gone for ever!" 
 
 Says the world with woeful pain : 
 "Always thought they'd end in trouble, 
 
 Let them suffer long the stain!" 
 
150 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 No! no! I love them yet, harsh world ! 
 
 It shall not be as you have said ! 
 I'll go trusting in the God of love 
 
 And bring them back to the Fountain head. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 151 
 
 WAPSIPINICON SONG. 
 
 GLIDE, skaters, glide on the Wapsipinicon, ho 
 Glide, skaters, glide, the ice is free from snow 
 In merry rhyme our skates keep time, 
 Hi ! click'ty ho ! now on we go ! 
 In joyous play, we sail away : 
 Hurrah ! for fun that's now begun ! 
 We'll beat the best and leave the rest 
 To follow after, one by one. 
 
 Glide, skaters, glide on the Wapsipinicon, ho ! 
 Let's all fall in, line up, get ready, go ! ! 
 
 For frosty air we little care ; 
 
 The moon is bright, a lovely night ! 
 
 And the sport's nice on crystal ice: 
 
 'Tis skaters run, look out ! they come ! 
 
 They onward swoop and sing and whoop ; 
 
 This is the way to have your fun ! 
 
 Glide, skaters, glide on the Wapsipinicon, ho! 
 
 Slip, slide, turn, glide, away, away we go! 
 Now swiftly turn with quick discern 
 And moving 'round with sudden hound, 
 
152 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Write out your name and date the same. 
 Glide in, glide out. the ice is stout: 
 To left, to right, a happy sight ! 
 O, hear the friendly youngsters shout! 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 153 
 
 WE MAKE OUR FATE. 
 
 OTHAT the young could now but dimly see 
 The opportunities which are to be! 
 If they but knew the value of a day, 
 All energies would strive for learning's ray. 
 
 'Tis wasted hours, misspent and aimless years 
 That bring regrets and bitter, mournful tears. 
 Oh, wake them up! our coming generation; 
 For they must rule each powerful nation. 
 
 Boys and girls are just what they make themselves! 
 Honored, respected, and beloved, bright elves; 
 Or hated and despised by all their kin ; 
 Because of ignorance, deep vice, and sin. 
 
 Men who have written books of rarest song, 
 Those who have ruled the world in vigor long, 
 Yea, all the great ones that have lived on earth, 
 Have made their own rich fortunes, fame and worth, 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 155 
 
 THE QUARRIES; OR, "FROM SUN TO SUN." 
 
 DEDICATED TO MY FRIENDS ON THE WAPSIPINICON. 
 
 SUNRISE. 
 
 Where breaks the morning clear and cool, 
 
 Soft breezes sighing over hills 
 Whose tops first catch the glist'ning sun 
 
 That sparkles on the Wapsipinicon, 
 A wide river bending in its course 
 
 Runs on in steady constant flow ; 
 Reminding us that we, like it, go 
 
 On to our fate, our silent doom, 
 Drifting onward in a turbulent stream 
 
 Oft' times awake, oft' times in a dream. 
 For tides wash out the shallow sand 
 
 On which one's trembling feet doth stand, 
 Warns all to place them on solid rock 
 
 Where rolling waves harm not the "flock," 
 
156 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 II. 
 
 NATURAL SCENERY. 
 
 O, grand is the scene from a hill-top's view ! 
 
 When rocks smile with June's latest flower, 
 And looking across from some high peak 
 
 Houses and trees in the distance tower. 
 Here comes the seeker of nature's lesson 
 
 To learn how she reigns supreme in the arts, 
 And to see the glow her magic imparts 
 
 To far stretching landscape on Iowa soil ; 
 For tourists who care not for trouble and toil, 
 
 Will be amply rewarded by scenery fair, 
 Few places near that can compare. 
 
 The oak and hickory's branching limbs, 
 Reaching far over the ledges' rims, 
 
 P\irnish a secure and convenient spot 
 For birds' nests to be bothered not. 
 
 Here many a robin or bluejay chatters, 
 Not caring for the busy clatters 
 
 Of the ceaseless shouting of men and boys, 
 The stone cutters adding to the noise, 
 
 Or the steady chugging of Channeler drill 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 157 
 
 The clanging of tools of finest steel ; 
 
 Nor will they stop one note of song 
 At the sound of bell or dinner gong. 
 
 III. 
 
 MAJESTY OF GOD AND NATURE. 
 
 O frail, indeed, is mortal man ! 
 
 He knows it when his eyes doth scan 
 The mighty hills, the valleys deep, 
 
 The great stone ledges sharp and steep. 
 Who has conceived the stupendous plan 
 
 Of shaping mountains, rocks and sand? 
 We see our maker in everything 
 
 E'en as the echoes through the gorges ring. 
 And scenery grand which never dies 
 
 But on the summits multiplies 
 Gives one a thrill of admiration 
 
 Yes, God-like thoughts of inspiration. 
 Exquisite and fragrant nature's perfumes 
 
 Rise o'er the hills, while merry birds' tunes 
 Fill the air as they circle around 
 
 Above the hill tops far from the ground ; 
 
158 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Or in the low grass 'neath leafy shade 
 Pour forth melodies in a serenade. 
 
 IV. 
 
 WILD FLOWERS AND VINES. 
 
 Pure odors rise and fill the air, 
 
 And sweet the scent of the clover there, 
 The white heads pointing toward the sun 
 
 While the eager, happy children run 
 To find the four-leaf lucky stem 
 
 Which always means so much to them. 
 And mandrakes blooming under cover 
 
 Of long grapevines, whose strong scents hover 
 About and make the woods so sweet out door 
 
 That one could wish for it evermore. 
 Twining and climbing on tree-tops tall 
 
 The grapevines hang up over all. 
 Wild flowers beautiful and rare 
 
 Hold up their heads in the pleasant air. 
 The blackberry's snowflake blossoms dot 
 
 Each cottage lane and garden spot. 
 All nature here seems trying her best 
 
 To far out-rival all the rest. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 159 
 
 V. 
 
 THE TOWN AND QUARRIES. 
 
 When strangers inquire for the town 
 
 'Tis pointed out on the hills around : 
 For nestling closely in cozy shade, 
 
 Or near the ledge's rugged glade, 
 The workmen's homes so bright and free 
 
 Far as the eye has power to see 
 Dot the hills and valleys afar 
 
 And shine at night like the evening star. 
 When nearing town from an eastern side 
 
 Through rocks and quarries the train doth glide, 
 Then dashing out in an open space 
 
 A large store meets the engine's face. 
 In a half-circle to the right 
 
 Great stone ledges appear in sight. 
 The tank and bridges on the river 
 
 As trains pass over shake and quiver. 
 The word "Columbia" meets the eye 
 
 In the sunlight on a building high ; 
 This structure as a monument stands 
 
 Erected by the workmen's hands, 
 
160 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Taken out of the solid rock 
 
 It stands secure 'gainst any shock 
 
 Of raging storm, or tempest blow, 
 
 And will stand as years come and go. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE TOWN AND QUARRIES. 
 
 High on an elevation rests 
 
 A handsome dwelling, one of the best, 
 The means and material that form its worth 
 
 Were taken out of the fertile earth, 
 For out of the earth men of the place 
 
 Their property and values trace. 
 And farther on to greet your eye 
 
 On either side more quarries lie. 
 A winding brook meets you here 
 
 Speeding on to the river near. 
 Overhanging rocks shade the path 
 
 And save from an untimely bath 
 People traveling to the store, 
 
 Caught in a thunder shower's pour. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 161 
 
 The old mill-dam, near by the mill, 
 
 Save the rippling of water, all is still ; 
 
 Years ago it ground out the grist 
 
 Now it \s mouldering in the foggy mist. 
 
 VII. 
 
 COMMENCEMENT OF THE DAY S WORK. 
 
 When the morning bell gives out its call 
 
 The men and boys, both large and small, 
 Commence the daily, weary task, 
 
 Sometimes with heavy powder blast 
 To break the solid rocks apart 
 
 And give the workmen a better start. 
 Then click, click, steel strikes the stone, 
 
 The derricks swing 'round, the cables groan, 
 The lazy horse winds up the thread 
 
 Until the stone is high in the sled ; 
 Then swinging the boat o'er truck or car 
 
 The stone falls down with a heavy jar. 
 And oftentimes the workman's hurt 
 
 By caving in of rocks and dirt ; 
 
162 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Lame shoulders, bruised hands and feet, 
 Are every day the laborer's treat. 
 
 Thus the early hours are passed in work, 
 
 The foreman shouting to those who shirk. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 SCHOOL WORK. 
 
 Teachers and pupils stroll on. to school 
 
 In the early morning while it \s cool ; 
 Many a subject, sad, solemn, or gay, 
 
 Is discussed with energy upon the way. 
 Oft' the master walking alone, 
 
 From school returning to his home, 
 Ponders over his work with care, 
 
 Notes the advancement everywhere, 
 Battle 'gainst it hard as he may 
 
 He sees the failures of the day. 
 But when he thinks of life at best 
 
 Disappointment leads all the rest, 
 Like bubbles blown in happy glee 
 
 Glide up, and soon will broken be ; 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 163 
 
 So our fond hopes in life doth seem 
 
 To pass 'way like a midnight dream, 
 
 Yet, when ambition's shining star 
 
 Glows brightly 'cross our path afar, 
 
 We brush our troubles all aside 
 
 Renew our efforts to stem the tide. 
 
 IX. 
 
 CLOSE OF THE DAYS WORK. 
 
 At the joyful hour when sun declines, 
 
 Falls back behind the brush and vines, 
 The quarry-bell chimes in joyous tones, 
 
 Long lines of workmen go to their homes 
 Traveling up long, steep, stony roads ; 
 
 Some cheerful, others in gloomy moods, 
 Hungry and tired, but soon they '11 rest 
 
 Happy with those who love them best. 
 Then when cool evening's balmly breeze 
 
 Sighs sleepily 'mong the verdant trees, 
 The whip-poor-will on some distant log 
 
 Sings his notes in the gathering fog. 
 
164 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Just where the waters ripple, glide, 
 
 There jumps the fish with sparkling side: 
 
 Right in the bend of the river, hark ! 
 
 There comes a shout from the base-ball park. 
 
 X. 
 
 RECREATIONS. 
 
 Around the station at evening tide 
 
 The boys, who near the town reside, 
 Come out to have their sport and play 
 
 After the hard labors of the day. 
 They jump, throw — as athletes vie, 
 
 To beat the town boys, hard they try. 
 After the mail is given about 
 
 And the lights are all put out, 
 The stories stop, the boys go home, 
 
 Sometimes in crowds, sometimes alone. 
 Now all is quiet save here and there 
 
 The night-hawk dips in the summer air; 
 And the watch-dog gives a mournful howl 
 
 Answering the distant hooting owl. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 165 
 
 The moon looks down with its solemn face 
 
 As if trying to picture or to trace 
 The rocks and scenery that 're near by 
 
 On some feathery cloud in the distant sky. 
 
 XI, 
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 The slumbering town dreams on 
 
 Of future days that 're yet to come. 
 Each cottager will own his place, 
 
 His wife's best gown be trimmed with lace, 
 His children all to high school go 
 
 And ne'er be counted with the low. 
 Of contracts great the quarryman dreams 
 
 Everybody just now it seems 
 Wants stone for bridges, walls and houses; 
 
 In the hurry he 'most arouses. 
 Then settling down to sleep again 
 
 He dreams his men so good have been 
 He'll give them each an extra day 
 
 And add a dollar to their pay. 
 
166 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Now comes a sound, refreshing sleep, 
 
 To weary souls 't is good and sweet, 
 For the tired brain gets needful rest 
 
 When Morpheus hovers o'er the nest, 
 Like a mother-bird when clanger 's near 
 
 Flies swiftly to her loved ones dear, 
 So God doth send His angels down 
 
 To breathe His spirit all around 
 Among His' people here below 
 
 As to and fro in earth they go. 
 
 XII. 
 
 FROM MIDNIGHT TILL SUNRISE. 
 
 Calm is the midnight hour and still 
 
 Only the rippling of some brook or rill 
 Disturbs the quiet serene repose 
 
 As over eddies and rocks it flows 
 The gray, cold stone reflects the light 
 
 Of the moon's pale beams in the silent night, 
 While stars that twinkle all alone 
 
 Look down upon the piles of stone. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 167 
 
 The plants and trees on dew-drops feast 
 
 'Till Old Sol rises in the east, 
 Then moon and stars all disappear 
 
 For radiant light again is here. 
 
168 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 A BOY'S DUTY. 
 
 O FICKLE boy, despise not good 
 In early youth and manhood prime £ 
 Remember what the wise man said : 
 
 There '11 come a final reck'ning time. 
 
 Think not, O boy, in merry glee, 
 
 That you have nothing left to do: 
 
 "For youth is the time to serve the Lord" 
 And the Lord requireth it from you. 
 
 "Despise not holy things," 'tis said, 
 
 By Him who holds your life in trust : 
 
 For hymns and prayers oft have led 
 The soul to seek the Father, just. 
 
 So be not careless in God's work, 
 But stand a valiant hero tried ; 
 
 If you would reap the Great Reward 
 And with the saints at last abide. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 169 
 
 SONG. 
 
 WE love the kind hearts of our friends, 
 Those who regard the laws of right, 
 Who strive to live "The Golden Rule" 
 
 Each day within their Maker's sight. 
 
 The angels bright rejoice to fall 
 
 Before the throne of God on high, 
 
 To follow out His great commands 
 Beneath His ever watchful eye. 
 
 Then let us think the purest thoughts 
 And do our best in kindest deeds ; 
 
 For better lives with grander hopes 
 
 Are what the world at present needs. 
 
170 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 INTELLECTUAL SOCIETIES. 
 
 OMIND of mortal beings, thou dost tread 
 Where angels in their beamy flight are wont 
 To pause and listen to thy cares and joys ! 
 None but the messengers of God can grasp 
 The secrets which thou hast concealed within, 
 Or fathom to the depths where thou hast been 
 In midnight wanderings with self alone. 
 
 When companies of spiritual thoughts 
 Assemble 'round thy dwelling place to bring 
 Estrangement cold between thy soul and earth, 
 The glories unrevealed are brought lo view ; 
 And through the curtained windows of the soul, 
 A better life is seen just on beyond. 
 
 The cultivation of the mind requires 
 
 A systematic placing of ideas 
 
 That come and go like mystic spirits from 
 
 A far off world of thought that's unexplored. 
 
 The brilliant dreams of life flit 'way unseen, 
 
 While only stragglers of a small degree 
 
 Are caught in meshes of the inky pen. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 171 
 
 'Tis inner thoughts and not our words that tell 
 The past and future story of our lives ; 
 Words are but erring servants of the mind 
 Unable to transmit the complex scenes 
 Of human life filled up with joyous hopes, 
 Or darkened by unfortunate despair. 
 
 The objurgations heaped upon our friends 
 That fall so heav'ly on their hearts, are caused 
 By misinterpretations of their thoughts 
 And fatal willingness upon our part 
 To see the darker side of petty wrongs. 
 
 To have a predilection of your own 
 For certain rules of form and etiquette 
 Not found in formal books designed to tell 
 The proper things society demands, 
 Is to bring imprecations on your head, 
 To be misjudged by many of your kin, 
 And scolded by a frowning world because 
 The inward nature will not stoop and bend 
 To baneful follies that infest the groups 
 Of literary dens whose mission is, 
 To light the universal home of thought. 
 
172 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Book culture is to thinking minds, a feast 
 Enjoyed for its mental strength and light, 
 What food is to the body's urgent needs 
 When taken at the proper time and olace 
 And chosen from substantial meats and grains. 
 Too much book lore is worse than none ; for then 
 The whole is lost, and weakness comes to rent 
 The vacant halls where wisdom lately dwelt. 
 
 Some incorporeal currents that control 
 The pen, are not quite understood by those 
 Who ransack through an author's book to find 
 The key of secret thoughts and thus unlock 
 Forbidden rooms to gratify their whims, 
 Or satisfy a base and selfish end. 
 
 O erring mortals, how can you divulge 
 The secrets which alone belong to God? 
 Have you been granted leave to peer within 
 The sacred temple of the living God? 
 Then let your vain imaginations cease, 
 Learn that which was intended to be known 
 And waste not precious hours in fruitless search 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 173 
 
 For things which heaven will surely bring to light 
 When proper reasons for their use appear. 
 
 Ah, note the selfishness that fills the hearts 
 Of human souls who tread the walks of life ! 
 Each for himself would praise and glory get 
 And after that, perhaps he '11 tolerate 
 Some little credit to his vanquished foes, 
 Who were his rivals in the worldly marts 
 Where power wins regardless of the way 
 In which the potent strength has been acquired. 
 
 Societies should have their proper place 
 
 Which is to elevate the noble hearts 
 
 That God has placed within the breasts of men ; 
 
 To bring about a pure and righteous life 
 
 So Paradise may open wide its doors 
 
 And gladly let the weary pilgrims in, 
 
 To join in everlasting songs of praise 
 
 And live in peace where joy forever reigns. 
 
174 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 DIVINE MUSIC. 
 
 O MUSIC, how it stirs the soul! 
 Arouses all that's good and true; 
 It touches chords beyond control 
 And brings fair heaven so very near 
 That we can feel and know its charm 
 And live in peace secure from harm. 
 
 Celestial glories hover 'round ; 
 The air is fragrant with their breath, 
 And teeming with the magic sound 
 Of instruments divinely played 
 By skillful hands with masters' art 
 So thrilling to the human heart ! 
 
 O, lead me to the fountain head ! 
 Where music flows in constant streams ; 
 There let this longing heart be fed 
 With lyrics from the ancients' dreams ; 
 Then gloomy night will fly away 
 And joy will bring a cheerful ray. 
 
176 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 THE LAKE. 
 
 SPARKLE and shine, O, lake of the forest"! 
 Gayly your waters dash up their white spray; 
 Naught but light breezes can touch your clear waves; 
 No evil tempest in here ever raves. 
 
 Plainly the clouds upon thee are mirrored, 
 Darkly their shadows creep over thy face ; 
 The waterfowl comes to recline on your breast; 
 Here is the haven of seclusion and rest. 
 
 Weary and careworn with life's cares hanging, 
 Swinging like branches torn by the winds, 
 We come to the lake for a peaceful rest, 
 And to stay for a while as nature's guest. 
 
 O, how refreshed are the drooping spirits ! 
 Life seems worth living and cares are all gone ; 
 Home then returning with renewed courage strong, 
 Our hearts are lighter, our lips breathe a song. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 177 
 
 CLOSING ODES. 
 ODE I. 
 
 O CHANGEFUL world, take this, my book, 
 Your judgment I must bear ; 
 So meekly let your critics scan, 
 And of their faults beware. 
 
 I fain would gather up my thoughts, 
 
 Poor children of my brain, 
 And place them in a hidden vault 
 
 Where none could see again. 
 
 'Twould not be brave to falter now, 
 
 To shrink from public gaze ; 
 For others have this trial borne 
 
 And died without your praise. 
 
 ODE II. 
 
 We measure out excessive cares, 
 
 When fashion's rigid forms decide 
 
 The doubtful questions of our life ; 
 
 And sense is humbled low through pride. 
 
178 POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 
 
 Yet, pride 's consistent in its place, 
 Deserves a candid hearing when 
 
 We sit in judgment to define 
 
 The rights and privileges of men. 
 
 'Tis pride that stimulates the young 
 
 When slothful thoughts would interfere. 
 
 And crush the energetic plans, 
 
 Or stay their progress year by year. 
 
 ODE III. 
 
 An apothegm may cause some one to pause 
 That's speeding headlong on a doubtful road ; 
 May change the ebullition to a cause 
 Quite worthy of a tender, human soul 
 That feels a lofty sentiment condole. 
 
 The feelings of an earnest mind will rise 
 Within their covered walls and cushioned cells, 
 And longing for a broader field, devise 
 Some way to reach the outer world of life 
 And mingle in its pleasure and its strife. 
 
POEMS OF THE MIDDLE WEST. 179- 
 
 The silken bands that bind the soul's desire, 
 Are loosened from their tightened folds 
 When noble thoughts of truth and right aspire 
 To reach a wider plain and help along 
 Our fellow trav'lers in the passing throng. 
 
 ODE IV. 
 
 Know this : That when the fog of life has cleared 
 
 away 
 And intellects are broadened by the light of day, 
 That vengeful spirits of the earth will disappear, 
 In order that meek souls may long inhabit here. 
 
^ 
 
 
 > v 
 
 
 IX 
 
 
 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 1 1 1 Thomson ParV Dnve 
 Cranberry Townshtp, PA 16066 
 (724)779-2111 
 

 € 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 A 
 
 ■ 
 
 ¥1 
 
 ?v- 
 
 
 gnS 
 
 ■ K '* 
 
 jk± 
 
 -^.