LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
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 Shelf ...ySl.. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 A.-H, STDEnARI]; ^, 
 
 THE FARMER POET. 
 
 E.fcnn'nie ir/fh .Judicious r(nr 
 Before i/oiir judgment you declare, — 
 Nor cast aside the goJden eur, 
 Should some imperfect grains appear 
 
 5 
 
 3 
 
 KALAMAZOO: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY TIFE ArTIlOR. 
 
 1880. 
 
 iSOl) 
 
 r 
 

 3^1 
 
 Entered ac.corrling loan Act of Congress in the year 1880, 
 
 Bt a. H. STODDARD, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
 
 C. G. TciwNSENn, Printer, 
 Mail Office, Kalamazoo, Mich. 
 
<nNDExr^^ 
 
 X 
 
 I' 
 
 Go Little Book. 
 Album Lines, 
 
 RlDIJSTG ON THE PlANK, 
 
 Agricultural Poem, 
 
 LiBRRALiST Poem. 
 
 On the Death of Allie Coats 
 
 Ambition, 
 
 Acrostic, 
 
 Grave on the Lawn, 
 
 To Mrs. A. S. Todd, 
 
 Pioneer Poem, 
 
 Album Lines, 
 
 Old Pompey. 
 
 Mercy's Mission, 
 
 Corns on the Toes, 
 
 Silver Wedding, 
 
 Is Man Immortal? 
 
 My Eakly School Teachers, 
 
 Flight of Time, 
 
 Where and What is Heaven 
 
 Memorial on the DEATk of Lu 
 
 Geography, 
 
 The Old Homestead, 
 
 Dedication, 
 
 CY, 
 
 Page 
 3 
 
 6 
 
 8 
 11 
 
 28 
 
 43 
 
 45 
 46 
 
 48 
 50 
 58 
 59 
 62 
 
 76 
 80 
 86 
 88 
 90 
 93 
 95 
 98 
 100 
 
VI. 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 On the Death of Elizabeth, 
 
 
 
 104 
 
 Juryman's Dream, . 
 
 
 106 
 
 Pioneering, 
 
 
 
 123 
 
 Shall We Try? 
 
 
 
 128 
 
 Wine is a Mocker, 
 
 
 
 130 
 
 Old Candle Stand, 
 
 
 
 131 
 
 Pioneering, 
 
 
 
 134 
 
 GtoldenWedding, 
 
 
 
 146 
 
 Free Soil, 
 
 
 
 153 
 
 Old Style Dentistry, 
 
 
 
 155 
 
 Temperance Ode, 
 
 
 
 158 
 
 Old Fashioned Johnny Cake, 
 
 
 
 161 
 
 Grange Poem, 
 
 
 
 163 
 
 Kalamazoo, 
 
 
 
 170 
 
 To Jessie, 
 
 
 
 172 
 
 To Will F. Stoddard, 
 
 
 
 173 
 
 To Rosa, .... 
 
 
 
 174 
 
 To Sarah, 
 
 
 
 175 
 
 To Emma, 
 
 
 
 177 
 
 To Charlie Harrison, 
 
 
 
 177 
 
 To Hattie, 
 
 
 
 178 
 
 To Elidy, 
 
 
 
 179 
 
 Centennial Poem, . 
 
 
 
 • 179 
 
 On the Death of George WINSLO^\ 
 
 1 
 
 190 
 
 My Little Grand-Daughters, 
 
 
 195 
 
 All for the Best, . 
 
 
 
 197 
 
TO MY FAITHFUL AND DEVOTED 
 
 "WIFE) 
 
 AND MY SISTERS, MRS. ELEANOR L. RUSSELL, 
 
 OF BATTLE CREEK, AND MRS. CARRIE E. 
 
 QUAIN, OF WATROUSVILLE, MICH., 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The following poems were not originally in- 
 tended for publication. But the flattering recep- 
 tion they have met with, where they have been 
 presented in the numerous readings the author has 
 been invited to give; and the urgent solicitations 
 of many who have heard them read, have induced 
 him to offer them in book form to the public. He 
 does this with much diffidence, being fully aware 
 that they are not proof against criticism. They 
 have been composed, for the most part, while the 
 author was busily employed in the various duties 
 of farm work, perchance while following the 
 plow, or when, with measured step, he was scat- 
 tering the seed over the furrowed ground. While 
 working he was thinking, and when he had ar- 
 ranged a thought or idea in words and measured 
 lines, he would seat himself on the plow beam ; or, 
 leaning against the nearest fence or stump, trans- 
 fer the same to a scrap of paper, carried in his hat, 
 to be copied in his manuscript book at his leisure. 
 
2 PREFACE. 
 
 They embrace a large variety of subjects, and some 
 may think the humorous too largely predominates. 
 If this is in fact the case, his best apology is, that 
 niirthfulness is an important element of his na- 
 ture, and if frequently seen cropping out in these 
 pages, it is because it would do so. He. has en- 
 deavored, even in his humorous poems, to embody 
 good moral principles and sound maxims, and he 
 flatters himself that the work he is now present- 
 ing to the public may accomplish some good. 
 
 With the hope that it may be acceptable, and 
 fill a vacant place on the literary shelf, it is res- 
 dectfully presented to the reader. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 GO LITTLE BOOK. 
 
 Go, little Book, I send you out, * 
 
 In hope; and yet somewhat in doubt, 
 
 What your success may be : 
 Go to the stranger, and the friend. 
 And the brief messages we send, 
 
 Declare respectfully. 
 
 Go to the countless sons of toil; 
 Bound to the workshop, or the soil. 
 
 To gain their daily bread, — 
 Tell them that labor is the source 
 From which the life-tide takes its course, 
 
 By which the world is fed. 
 
GO LITTLE BOOK. 
 
 Tell them that bread is doubly sweet, 
 To those Avho earn, before the}' eat. 
 
 Because, by labor blest. 
 That he who from his labor goes. 
 Wearied, to seek his night's repose 
 
 Enjoys the sweetest rest. 
 
 That useful labor, never can. 
 And never did degrade a man. 
 
 Whatever be its name. 
 But indolence, and vice, and crime. 
 Will drag us downward all the time 
 
 To misery, and shame. 
 
 Go to the poor inebriate. 
 Victim of circumstance, or fate; 
 
 And rouse his manly might. 
 Urge him to dash that cup away, 
 And save himself, while yet he may. 
 
 By ''daring to do right." 
 
 Go to our country's pioneers. 
 Now bending with the weight of years, 
 And call to mind again 
 
GO LITTLE BOOK. 
 
 In grateful words, and measured lays, 
 The scenes of Pioneering days, 
 To brighten memory's chain. 
 
 Remind them, that these feeble forms, 
 Worn out with toil, and wrecked with storms, 
 
 Will soon be laid aside. 
 That one short emigration more. 
 Will bear them to a fairer shore. 
 
 Beyond the narrow tide. 
 
 Gro where the student at his tome, — 
 Perhaps, in some poor cheerless home, 
 
 By lamp-light, cold and dim; — ' 
 To make his self-dependent way. 
 Has turned the midnight into day, 
 
 Go and encourage him. 
 
 Point to the glittering roll of Fame. 
 Where many a justly honored name. 
 
 In bright array is found; 
 And tell him that the highest there. 
 Are those who climbed, with toil and care. 
 
 From Fortune's lowest round. 
 
GO LITTLE BOOK. 
 
 Go, little book, go everywhere, 
 Where death has made a vacant chair. 
 
 The mystery explain:- 
 That death is but the passing o'er 
 A narrow river, just before 
 
 Where friends shall meet again. 
 
 Ring, at the rich man's gilded door, 
 Knock, at the cottage of the poor, 
 
 Give each a friendly call. 
 If they a friendly hand extend, 
 Leave the brief messages we send, 
 
 With grateful thanks, to all. 
 
 ALBUM LINES TO MRS. J. H. DURFEE. 
 
 PERSEVERE. 
 
 In journeying o'er the the weary way 
 Of life's eventful fleeting day. 
 Whether thy path be bright and fair 
 
ALBUM LINES. 
 
 Or clouds and darkness gather there, 
 What e'er thy state or station here 
 Be this thy motto, Persevere. 
 
 Should fortune with her brightest smile 
 Attend thy pathway for awhile, 
 And round thy steps profusely fling 
 The highest treasures wealth can bring; 
 Let no vain toys allure thee here, 
 Onward and upward, Persevere. 
 
 Or if to gain a bright abode 
 
 Thy feet should tread a weary road; 
 
 Should cold and threatening clouds impend 
 
 And sorrow's darkest storm descend. 
 
 Let not thy spirit faint or fear. 
 
 Onward and upward. Persevere. 
 
 Should every promised joy depart. 
 Should friends that fondly claim thy heart. 
 Struck down by death's untimely doom. 
 Lie coldly slumbering m the tomb. 
 To meet them in a happier sphere, 
 Onward and upward, Persevere. 
 
RIDING ON THE PLANK. 
 
 And when thy last declining sun 
 Tells that thy day of life is done, 
 When spirits wait — a sister band- 
 To bear thee to that better land; 
 Let faith dispel each rising fear, 
 Onward and upward, Persevere. 
 
 RIDING ON THE PLANK. 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE OF THE OLD PLANK ROAD FROM KAL- 
 AMAZOO TO GRAND RAPIDS. 
 
 Did you ever, friend or stranger. 
 Let me ask you free and frank, 
 Brave the peril, dare the danger, 
 Of a journey on the Plank? 
 
 Ever see the wild commotion, 
 Hear the clatter, din and clank. 
 Feel the quick electric motiou, 
 Caused by riding on the Plank? 
 
EIDISTG ON THE PLANK. 
 
 Horses balking, drivers lashing, 
 Wishing all plank roads in— blank — 
 And their owners with them flashing, 
 So it goes upon the Plank. 
 
 Wagons creaking, groaning, crashing, 
 Wrecks bestrewing either bank, 
 Jarring, jolting, jarabing, dashing. 
 This is riding on the Plank. 
 
 Crocks and baskets rolling, smashing. 
 Helpless owners looking blank, 
 Eggs and butter mixing, mashing, 
 Cannot help it on the Plank. 
 
 Hats and bonnets strangely rocking. 
 Leave no space between them blank; 
 Kisses stolen, oh! what shocking 
 Things do happen, on the Plank. 
 
 Fathers swearing, children squalling, 
 Angryjmothers try to spank; 
 Seats upset.and they go sprawling 
 In the wagon on the Plank. 
 
10 RIDING ON THE PLANK. 
 
 Tipping over, mercy on us! 
 Broken ribs, or shattered shank, 
 These afflictions come upon us, 
 Come from riding on tlie Plank. 
 
 Here, if you can save the pieces. 
 Lucky stars you well may thank. 
 Though your doctor bill increases, 
 'Tis for riding on the Plank. 
 
 Ye, with torpid livers sickened. 
 Cold and languid, lean and lank. 
 Needing life-blood warmed and quickened. 
 Try a journey on the Plank. 
 
 Ye, half dead with indigestion, 
 Stomachs cold as Greenland's bank, 
 This will cure without a question. 
 Take one ride upon the Plank. 
 
AGRICULTURAL POEM. 
 
 'Tis winter, and the farmer now 
 Has laid aside the hoe and plow; 
 The stubborn soil no more is stirred, 
 The rattling reaper is not heard. 
 His fields, of vegetation bare, 
 Need not his culture or his care. 
 His summer crops are gathered in 
 And snugly stored in barn or bin. 
 His cellar too. in kinds to suit, 
 Is well supplied with winter fruit, 
 And from his garden, tilled with care, 
 A stock of vegetables there. 
 Here too, we find the porker pig. 
 Where he can neither root or dig. 
 And in some cellars without doubt 
 We'd find a tub of saur-krout. 
 The thoughtful wife with due regard 
 For winter wants, has labored hard. 
 And jars of butter salted down 
 As yellow as Victoria's crown, 
 
12 AGRICULTURAL POEM. 
 
 With crocks of snowy lard to suit 
 And cans of many colored fruit, 
 With pickles sour and pickles sweet, 
 Make the assortment all complete. 
 These unmistakaljly declare 
 What useful things our housewives are, 
 And in their labors such as these 
 May well compare with summer bees, 
 That taught by instinct long before. 
 Lay up each year a winter store. 
 How, brother farmer could we live 
 Without these workers in the hive? 
 Who'd take for us the thousand stitches 
 Needed on jackets, coats and — pantaloons? 
 Who would our lonely cabins cheer 
 And wash and smooth our wearing gear? 
 And who can blame the wife that does 
 When rudely treated,, hum and buzz? 
 Not even should she sometimes drive 
 Her droning husband from the hive. 
 But here, your poet does not dare 
 Their further habits to compare. 
 Lest peradventure he displease 
 The wives, (he does not fear the bees), 
 
AGRICULTUKAL POEM. 13 
 
 For if he should, he greatly fears 
 He'd have them buzzing 'round his ears, 
 And they'd be worse, he has no donbt 
 Than summer hives turned inside out. 
 But w^inter reigns with stubborn will; 
 The summer hives are hushed and still. 
 Our thoughtful wives with timely care 
 Are knitting socks for us to wear. 
 Oh! let us not their lives annoy — 
 Their happiness and peace destroy, 
 Or ever once their wrath provoke 
 With whisky or tobacco smoke. . 
 For smoke, is not a thing to please 
 Or make them quiet like the bees. 
 The cheerful warblers of the spring- 
 Have ceased their mellow notes to sing. 
 And instinct guided for a time 
 Have sought a more congenial clime. 
 We hear no insect's chittering wings; 
 We feel no sharp mosquito stings: 
 The house-fly now in deathreposes, 
 To light no more upon our noses. 
 Or, with their almost useless lives. 
 To tax the patience of our wives. 
 
14 AGEICULTURAL POEM. 
 
 The vile potato bug is where 
 
 He does not need our present care — 
 
 Ready of course to take the wing 
 
 When he shall feel the breath of spring, 
 
 And from his droning flight shall drop 
 
 Upon the first potato top 
 
 That struggling for the light is found 
 
 To lift its head above the ground. 
 
 The timid sheep and sober cow 
 
 Should be well fed and sheltered now. 
 
 We can't afford the extra feed 
 
 That our unsheltered cattle need. 
 
 And let me state this stubborn fact; 
 
 It is a most inhuman act 
 
 To let our cattle young or old, 
 
 Stand out and shiver in the cold. 
 
 That faithful animal, (of course 
 
 You understand I mean the horse). 
 
 That all the weary season through 
 
 Has toiled so faithfully for you; 
 
 Your noblest animal and best, 
 
 May now enjoy a little rest. 
 
 Don't turn him out in some cold shed. 
 
 Give him a comfortable bed. 
 
AGRICULTURAL POEM. 15 
 
 And shelter, feed, and kindly treat him, 
 And never overwork or beat him. 
 Of all the sinful deeds we do, 
 By fiends or devils prompted to. 
 There's little that to me seems worse 
 Than cruel treatment of the horse. 
 For to inflict a needless pain 
 Is simply devlish. to be plain. 
 Were I commissioned to invent 
 A plan of future punishment 
 For him who ^ickedly abuses 
 The faithful animal he uses, 
 Fd send his little hardened soul 
 Where waves of dark contrition roll. 
 And with it send the skeleton 
 Of some old Kate, or Pete, or John, 
 With horrid features fierce and grim 
 To leer, and bite, and torment him, 
 Till he reformed and learned at least 
 To kindly treat his faithful beast. 
 Excuse me, friends, for this digression, 
 Fra not a preacher by profession. 
 But should I ever be a priest, 
 Fll preach humanity at least. 
 
16 AGRICULTURAL POEM. 
 
 Our farming implements together 
 
 Should now be sheltered from the weather. 
 
 We can't afford the great expense, 
 
 The rust and rot of implements, 
 
 By letting them unhoused remain 
 
 Through winter storms of snow and rain. 
 
 While vegetation seeming dead. 
 
 Is sleeping in its wintry bed, 
 
 Ready to waken when the spring 
 
 Its sunshine and its showers shall bring. 
 
 And bursting into life agai^ 
 
 Renew the verdure of the plain; 
 
 And while our farms and fields remain. 
 
 Fettered with winter's icy chain, 
 
 It gives the farmer time and leisure 
 
 For recreation, rest and pleasure. 
 
 But shall he waste in senseless cheer 
 
 This portion of the fleeting year? 
 
 Or like the half unconscious bear, 
 
 Sleep off the winter in his lair? 
 
 What though his barns and bins are filled 
 
 From fields his toiling hand has tilled; 
 
 What though his purse, a shining store. 
 
 Is bloated with the yellow ore. 
 
AGRICULTURAL POEM. 17 
 
 Can we in these atonement find 
 
 For an uncultivated mind? 
 
 Then while the farm and field demand 
 
 No more the labor of his hand, 
 
 Let him his energies direct 
 
 To cultivate the intellect. 
 
 This is a field that he may till 
 
 Largely in winter if he will, 
 
 And to this end he has the range 
 
 Of Farmer's Institute and Grange, 
 
 And teeming gress on every hand 
 
 Like summer sunlight o'er the land, 
 
 And with this object still in view 
 
 The Agricultural College too. 
 
 Then add to these sound common sense. 
 
 With practical experience, 
 
 And these advantages combined 
 
 Should so prepare the farmer's mind, 
 
 As to secure the greatest gain 
 
 "From mingled toil of hand and brain;" 
 
 And let us to our fanning lore 
 
 Add by our reading something more. 
 
 Learn what we may of Nature's laws; 
 
 Learn how to link effect to cause, 
 
18 AGRICULTURAL POEM. 
 
 And in a government like ours 
 
 Where all possess elective povrers, 
 
 Shall we not take and w^armly feel 
 
 An interest in our country's weal? 
 
 And seek by soimd intelligence 
 
 To exercise an influence, 
 
 That politicians understand — 
 
 We are a life power in the land? 
 
 And with the intellectual field 
 
 The moral garden should be tilled. 
 
 Then during winter's long vacation 
 
 Let it be our determination, 
 
 By every influence and art 
 
 To cultivate the head and heart. 
 
 What though we've passed the middle ray 
 
 Of life's eventful fleeting day; 
 
 What though the telling tooth of time 
 
 Has marred our manhood's early prime; 
 
 What though our schoolboy days are done; 
 
 Progression's course has just begun. 
 
 Onward, and upward we must go 
 
 Or sink in ignorance below. 
 
 For view this matter as we will 
 
 There is no point where we stanb still. 
 
AGRICULTURAL POEM. 19 
 
 What though our intellect be less 
 
 Than those more favored may possess, 
 
 Shall we not cultivate and save, 
 
 And make the most of what we have? 
 
 Suppose our only garden lot 
 
 Is but a small, unfertile spot. 
 
 Shall we fold up our arms and say 
 
 We will not dig, it will not pay? 
 
 No! If our talents be but small, 
 
 'Tis wisdom to improve them all, 
 
 And as was wisely said of yore. 
 
 Gain by the using, something more. 
 
 This little field is ours alone, 
 
 And all it yields will be our own. 
 
 Our title deed to every rod 
 
 We hold direct from Nature's God, 
 
 And for its fruit of good or ill, 
 
 We shall be held accountable. 
 
 Though more than three score years have shed 
 
 Their winter suows upon my head. 
 
 While thought and memory remain 
 
 And hold their empire in my brain. 
 
 This brain must w(irk as best it may 
 
 To gather knowledge by the way. 
 
20 AGRICULTURAL POEM. 
 
 For all the knowledge I can gain 
 
 In journeying o'er this earthly plain, 
 
 Is 80 much capital in store 
 
 To start with on the other shore. 
 
 And I would rather for the looks, 
 
 See a supply of useful books, 
 
 And useful papers, kept on hand 
 
 In every farm house in the land, 
 
 And know those books were used and read 
 
 To cultivate the heart and head. 
 
 Than all the trappings ever seen 
 
 To deck the halls of England's queen. 
 
 Then let us take a serious thought 
 
 And ask the question as we ought, 
 
 How to improve as best we may 
 
 The remnant of life's passing day. 
 
 Yes, fellow farmer, let us think 
 
 Not of tobacco and of drink, 
 
 Not how- to get the fleetest horse 
 
 And win perhaps the longest purse; 
 
 Not how to gain the most of gold 
 
 To hold it with a miser hold; 
 
 Not how to cheat our poorer neighbor 
 
 And get unpaid his honest labor. 
 
AGRICULTURAL POEM. 21 
 
 Or liow to get what he may earn 
 With the least possible return: 
 But how to give each good intent 
 Our personal encouragement, 
 Of hope, and help, and sympathy 
 In toiling for his family! 
 And the best way to help a man 
 Is to employ him when we can, 
 And never from the duty shirk 
 To pay him fairly for his work. 
 Think how to culture and possess 
 The most of real manliness. 
 And by that manliness, to make 
 The world the better for our sake. 
 Not how to gain a heaven on high. 
 In some far planet of the sky. 
 But how to make a heaven below, 
 And take it with us where we go. 
 For when we cross that narrow stream 
 The end of life's mysterious dream, 
 Commencing on the other shore, 
 In spirit life for ever more. 
 All of the outfit we can take 
 Will be the characters we make. 
 
22 AGRICULTURAL POEM. 
 
 And ill these duties do we need 
 Accept of this or that one's creed? 
 About these creeds let bigots fight, 
 Give rae his creed whose life is right. 
 While o'er our valleys, hills and plains 
 The hand of desolation reigns. 
 While wintry skies above us scowl. 
 And wintry winds around us howl. 
 There should be one, a quiet spot, 
 Where warmth and sunshine fail us not; 
 A little paradise of ground 
 By warm affection hedged around, 
 To us the dearest spot on earth 
 And prized of such superior worth 
 That wheresoe'er our feet may roam 
 Our hearts will still be liekl at home. 
 Where harmony and love abide 
 And dear ones nestle by our side. 
 Do we exert a constant care 
 To make and keep a heaven there ? 
 Does confidence and love entwine 
 In every plant and creeping vine. 
 And do the parent trees that grow 
 Shelter and cherish all below, 
 
AGRICULTURAL POEM. 23 
 
 Shielding our little paradise 
 
 From every hurtful weed of vice? 
 
 Do we admit the chilly air 
 
 Of jealousy to enter there, 
 
 Or the fierce heat of passion's rage 
 
 To sear our tender foliage ? 
 
 Does not the serpent of the still 
 
 Creep in at times to do us ill ? 
 
 Or do we use our influence 
 
 Against the fiend intemperance 
 
 That plants the most pernicious weed 
 
 That ever sprung from hellish seed ? 
 
 Do we as parents try to make 
 
 A happy home for children's sake? 
 
 Do we supply them in their need 
 
 With periodicals^ to read, 
 
 With books and papers in the main. 
 
 That will instruct and entertain. 
 
 Developing in every ^sense 
 
 Refinement and intelligence? 
 
 Make home attractive and we hold 
 
 Our children there with chain of gold! 
 
 Oh ! parents, ye'who have the care 
 
 Of these young Edens everywhere; 
 
24 AGRICULTUKAL POEM. 
 
 These little stocks of future trees; 
 
 These baby house-plants, if you please, 
 
 That God, or Nature, as you will, 
 
 Has trusted to your training skill; 
 
 Are you, or can you be aware. 
 
 How much depends upon your care, 
 
 The growth they make, the way they bend; 
 
 How high, how wide their arms extend; 
 
 The promises put forth in spring 
 
 Of bud, and leaf, and blossoming'? 
 
 That largely on your grafting skill 
 
 Depends their fruit of good or ill? 
 
 For we as farmers ought to know 
 
 We gather from the seed we sow. 
 
 If on a soil like paradise 
 
 We plant the thorny seeds of vice, 
 
 Thorus in our future pathway spread. 
 
 Will pierce our footsteps where we tread. 
 
 And if on uncongenial ground 
 
 Our plants with thorns are hedged around. 
 
 What kind of fruit can we expect 
 
 From these poor subjects of neglect? 
 
 Stinted and gnarled their fruit may be 
 
 As poison as the upas tree. 
 
AGEICULTURAL POEM. 25 
 
 But if Oil warm congenial soil, 
 And tended with judicious toil, 
 Grafted and trained to perfect form 
 Unscathed by passion's thoughtless storm, 
 Warmed by the sunlight from above, 
 The sunbeams of parental love; 
 Not e'en the frost-king of the tomb 
 Can blight the beauty of their bloom. 
 In view of facts and thoughts like these, 
 Let's make our homes the nuTseries 
 To cultivate, and tend with care 
 All that is lovely, good and fair. 
 Then where's the farmer or his wife 
 Who would exchange for city life, 
 Leaving a certain occupation 
 For one of risky speculation? 
 Is more enjoyment to be found 
 In fashion's giddy thoughtless round 
 Of envy, jealousy and strife, 
 That make so much of city life? 
 From these can more contentment come 
 Than from the farmer's quiet home? 
 I would not take the merchant's care 
 For twice the profits of his ware; 
 
26 AGKICULTURAL POEM. 
 
 Obliged to wear a cheerful grin 
 E'en when he feels as mad as sin, 
 And work with half distracted brain 
 To keep the line of loss and gain. 
 Nor would I ought invest in stocks, 
 Except it were in herds and flocks. 
 Then Ed be suited, bear in mind, 
 With stock of the pure Durhaui kind. 
 And where's the farmer who would care 
 To change his farm for banking ware. 
 And take the banker's restless nights, 
 His horrid dreams of burglar frights, 
 His risky loans for speculation, 
 His ceaseless watching and vexation? 
 But for a bank of real worth 
 Give me a bank of well tilled earth, 
 And in that bank give me a share 
 Made up of diamond iron ware. 
 Beam, landside, mold-board all combined. 
 And handles running out behind. 
 Perhaps you'll call the thing a plow, 
 But that's of little matter now; 
 A thing that if we well attend 
 Is sure to bring a dividend. 
 
AGRICULTURAL POEM. 27 
 
 Some people think, or seem to feel, 
 
 That farming work is not genteel; 
 
 That 'tis a vulgar work and low 
 
 To plow and plant, to reap and mow. 
 
 If vulgar to raise corn and wheat, 
 
 It must be vulgar then to eat. 
 
 And those who make this poor pretense. 
 
 Show most their want of common sense. 
 
 For he who holds the fountain head 
 
 From which the nation draws its bread 
 
 Holds not a secondary station 
 
 To any other in the nation. 
 
 Then let us gain with purpose high, 
 
 What mental culture can supply, 
 
 Fitness with honor to maintain, 
 
 A standing on life's higher plane; 
 
 And from that higher plane to guide 
 
 And to supply the mighty tide 
 
 That is to furnish in its flow 
 
 Life, health, and strength to all beloAV. 
 
POEM. 
 
 READ AT THE LIBERALIST AND SPIRITUALIST CON- 
 VENTION, MAY 12, 1878. 
 
 How oft amid the tangled maze 
 
 Of life's mysterious winding ways, 
 
 Perplexed, in doubt, we halting stand, 
 
 Like travelers in an unknown land 
 
 Looking for landmark, light or star 
 
 To guide our footsteps from afar. 
 
 Have we been cast upon the sea 
 
 Of life's eventful destiny. 
 
 Without a compass, chart or guide, 
 
 To point us o'er its unknown tide 
 
 And lead us to some friendly shore. 
 
 Where doubt and darkness are no more? 
 
 Is there a haven East or West, 
 
 Where weary mariners may rest? 
 
 And is this ever active mind 
 
 For immortality designed. 
 
 Or is it destined to a grave 
 
 Beneath oblivion's gloomy wave? 
 
 Where is the mind that has not brought 
 
 These questions home for serious thought? 
 
LIBERA LIST POEM. 29 
 
 And in our eagerness to know, 
 Why we are here, and where we go. 
 Reason too oft is set aside, 
 Its promptings slighted or denied. 
 And ever prone to superstition 
 We take the teachings of tradition. 
 Founding the faith that we receive 
 On what our fathers did believe. 
 Thus oft in search of truth I fear 
 We look too far for what is near, — 
 To some far off uncertain light 
 To show us what is wrong or right. 
 There is a mouitor within, 
 Hushed but by selfishness and sin. 
 A finger poiut that marks the way 
 From which our feet should never stray; 
 A better guide if we will look. 
 Than mitered bishop, creed or book; 
 A chart that nature's Grod designed 
 To be a guide to all mankind. 
 Not written in an unknown hand, 
 That few or none can understand. 
 Not a mysterious record sealed. 
 By learned priest to be revealed. 
 
30 LIBERALIST POEM. 
 
 But speaks in accents low but clear 
 
 To all who lend a listening ear. 
 
 Of course I understand full well 
 
 This guide is not infallible; 
 
 But for my guidance Nature gave it 
 
 And I will use, but not enslave it; 
 
 But so engrossed the unthinking world 
 
 By passions tempest-tossed and whirled, 
 
 That still small voice, that quiet word 
 
 Passes unheeded or unheard. 
 
 Then take the Bibles of the ages — 
 
 The records of their saints and sages— 
 
 And we may learn from all of these, 
 
 If like the ever active bees 
 
 We cull their sweets; and then again, 
 
 Reject the errors they contain. 
 
 Thus from our Bible we may draw 
 
 Pure principles of moral law — 
 
 The noblest lessons of their kind 
 
 Ever revealed to human mind. 
 
 Especially would I recount 
 
 Christ's glorious sermon on the mount; 
 
 The golden rule ''To others do 
 
 As you would have them do to you," 
 
LIBERALIST POEM. 31 
 
 A rule if every where applied 
 
 We'd scarce need other law beside. 
 
 But I perceive, or think I see. 
 
 The various parts do not agree. 
 
 How shall I reconcile the plan, 
 
 The teachings of the son of man, 
 
 With those dark deeds of blood and crime, 
 
 Commanded in the olden time. 
 
 And was this Christ the very God 
 
 That once on Sinai's summit trod 
 
 And gave this record of His will 
 
 To Israel's tribes, "Thou shalt not kill?" 
 
 And then so quickly abrogated 
 
 That laAv as in the record stated, 
 
 For soon there came, 'Thus saith the Lord," 
 
 Let every man gird on his sword. 
 
 Go through the camp from gate to gate. 
 
 And each, oh! horrid to relate — 
 
 As an expression of God's will — 
 
 His neighbor and his brother kill. 
 
 And as the records clearly say. 
 
 Three thousand men were slain that day 
 
 For worshipping as we are told, 
 
 A calf that Aaron made of gold. 
 
32 LIBEEALIST POEM. 
 
 Had God so soon detected flaws 
 And changed the tenor of his laws? 
 If this be so, how can we trust 
 A God capricious and unjust? 
 Presumption 'to my mind is strong. 
 That here the record must be wrong: 
 But must we with the jewels take 
 Rubbish, and all for Bible's saj^e, 
 Or should we cast the gold away 
 Because of dross in which it lay ? 
 Let us accept as moral food 
 Its truths and use them for our good- 
 Truths that humanity has blessed 
 And leave to bigots all the rest. 
 'Tis said I must accept the whole. 
 As sacred truth infallible. 
 From Genesis to Revelation, 
 Written by God's own inspiration, 
 And that by faith I must believe 
 What otherwise I can't receive. 
 But whence I ask in common sense 
 Comes faifJi except from ecUtenee? 
 Then how can I believe the tale 
 About old Jonah and the whale? 
 
LIBEEALIST POEM. 33 
 
 Allow me in this dissertation 
 
 To give a simple illustration: 
 
 A highly valued friend of mine, 
 
 Invites me home with him to dine; 
 
 A chicken is presented there 
 
 And constitutes the bill of fare. 
 
 Cooked head and entrails, foot and feather. 
 
 As nature inade it, all together. 
 
 I turn disgusted in my seat, 
 
 My stomach heaves, I cannot eat. 
 
 Aye, says my friend, and what's the matter 
 
 That puts your stomach in a flutter? 
 
 Are you not" fond of chicken meat? 
 
 Take hold I pray and freely eat. 
 
 I am, I say, am well contented 
 
 With such when properly presented; 
 
 But there are parts not tit for food, 
 
 I cannot swallow if I would. 
 
 But all is chicken, says my friend. 
 
 And though I'm sorry to offend, 
 
 'Tis all I have to say about it. 
 
 Accept the whole, or do without it. 
 
 Thus Fm required to swallow down 
 
 The bird entire, from claw to crown. 
 
 3 
 
34 LIBEKALIST POEM. 
 
 So with the Bible bill of fare — 
 
 Much I admire recorded there, 
 
 But there are statements 1 detect, 
 
 Reason and common sense reject; 
 
 How e'er combined with what is good 
 
 I cannot credit if I would. 
 
 So I must be as bigots tell. 
 
 Regarded as an infidel. 
 
 Or come at orthodoxy's call 
 
 And swallow Jonah, whale and all. 
 
 But did the breath of inspiration, 
 
 Cease with the Jewish dispensation ? 
 
 Must we to find it, follow l^ack 
 
 Two thousand years on manhood's track? 
 
 Have we not men as good to-day 
 
 As Moses, Paul, or Josliua; 
 
 Whose moral characters would show 
 
 As fair as David's long ago? 
 
 Have n(me since John, in days of yore. 
 
 Seen visions of the other shore? 
 
 Shall we believe, strange thing to tell. 
 
 The raising up of Samuel 
 
 By influence of the witch of Endor — 
 
 Those fearful words to Saul to render — 
 
LIBERALIST POEM. 35 
 
 Slicill we accept of this, but say 
 
 Samuels cannot be raised to-day? 
 
 Has God again detected flaws 
 
 And changed the order of His laws? 
 
 is this rude age so dead in sin, 
 
 Compared with what the past has been, 
 
 That messages of truth and love 
 
 Are sent no longer from above? 
 
 Or have Ave on the upward road 
 
 That leads to goodness and to Grod, 
 
 Attained to that exalted station 
 
 We need no further revelation? 
 
 It cannot be; for nature's law 
 
 Knows neither change, or break, or flaw, 
 
 And with like causes, we avow. 
 
 That like effects, would follow now. 
 
 Idolatry in olden time 
 
 Seems to have been the leading crime. 
 
 And if we credit the narration. 
 
 Received God's highest condemnation. 
 
 But be that matter as it ma}^, 
 
 There's more idolatry to-day, 
 
 And more devotion, too, by half. 
 
 In worshiping the golden calf, 
 
36 LIBEEALIST POEM. 
 
 And more of real guilt, and crime, 
 Than ever was in Aaron's time. 
 We sacrifice upon its slirine 
 All that is manly and divine — 
 Friends, character, e'en life itself, ■ 
 For this, the greedy god of pelf — 
 This juggernaut of modern time. 
 The god of selfishness and crime. 
 And then we have a fashion god 
 And bow before its scepter rod. 
 And costly sacrifices make 
 For this, the god of fashion's sake. 
 We talk of heathen, and deplore 
 Idolatry on India's shore. 
 We send with much expense and care, 
 Bibles, and missionaries there: 
 Seeming forgetful while we roam. 
 That we have heathens here at home: 
 Right here in this enlightened land — 
 Churches and schools on every hand. 
 The God of fashion has more slaves 
 Than ever knelt by Ganges' waves. 
 And greater crowds can alw.iys draw. 
 Than nature's God of love and law. 
 
LIBERALIST POEM. 37 
 
 Than nature's God, where shall we look 
 To read the record of His book? 
 Or where the page to which we turn, 
 The laws of nature's God to learn. 
 Turn to that page of living light. 
 That decks the starry dome of night; 
 Where suns and systems roll in space, 
 Beyond the reach of mind to trace. 
 Learn, too, in the mysterious round 
 That marks the planetary bound; 
 Proclaiming in each rolling sphere 
 That law and order govern here; 
 Or in that more mysterious force 
 That wheels the comet in its course. 
 Learn as the seasons come and go: 
 Read in the tide- wave's ebb and flow; 
 Read in the sunshine and the shower, 
 The mighty oak, the tiny flower; 
 Read in the thunderbolts that fall 
 Alike on church and billiard hall; 
 E'en in the earthquake's dreaded shock. 
 When mountains reel and cities rock: — 
 All these are but efl'ects of cause. 
 Controlled by nature's changeless laws. 
 
38 LIBERALIST POEM. 
 
 Thence we may trace progression's chain 
 From granite rock to waving grain; 
 All through the vegetable line, 
 From worthless weed to towering pine, 
 Where the last link of vegetation 
 Joins to the animal creation. 
 Then still as science clearly traces 
 Through long extinct and buried races. 
 Whose huge and uncouth forms are found 
 Deeply imbedded in the ground; 
 Thence upward, onward, ever tending, 
 Through living species still ascending. 
 In strict accord with nature's plan, 
 Higher and higher, up to man — 
 To man with an immortal soul — 
 The culmination of the whole. 
 These are the way-marks in the road — 
 Leaves in the books of nature's God. 
 And will progression thus begun. 
 Forever onward, upward run? 
 If so. how grand, sublime, the thought. 
 That thus is to our vision brought! 
 Eternal ages stretch before, 
 Creation boundless to explore; 
 
LIBEEALIST POEM. 39 
 
 But how shall finite comprehend 
 
 Or measure that which has no end — 
 
 As well may man attempt to clasp 
 
 The mighty ocean in his grasp. 
 
 Go to the Ocean, take your stand 
 
 Upon its pearly wave-washed strand, — 
 
 Number the drops that roll before; 
 
 Numljer the sand grains on the shore. 
 
 And when as many years are fled. 
 
 Eternity is still ahead. 
 
 But present moments as they fly. 
 
 Are parcels of eternity. 
 
 Then let us to the present turn, 
 
 Life'^ present duties here to learn — ■ 
 
 What faiths, what errors to forsake; 
 
 What paths to shun, what paths to take; 
 
 And must we go to priest or book, 
 
 Or to old revelations look; 
 
 To Calvin's or to Wesley's creed, 
 
 To gain the knowledge that we need? 
 
 We wish to gain a heaven below, 
 
 And shun a hell of vice and woe; 
 
 But what is heaven to you and me, 
 
 But peace, and love, and harmony. 
 
40 LIBERALIST POEM. 
 
 Where all the elements of strife 
 Are tuned to harmony of life? 
 Heaven in the family is where 
 No jarring notes of discord are; 
 And if a heaven we would win, 
 There is the place we should begin, 
 *And make with all our art and care 
 A home-made heaven, and keep it there. 
 For we can make one if we try. 
 Better by far than we can hui). 
 And let us aid where'er we can 
 To make a heaven for every man, 
 By kindly helping those in need 
 And we'll be happier for the deed. 
 But do we need to study o'er 
 Pages of theologic lore, 
 To tell us that in vice and crime 
 We're going hell ward all the time? 
 Does not our reason clearly tell 
 How we can shun a drunkard's hell? 
 There is one way, and one alone. 
 We need no priest to make it known. 
 The blood of Christ, our preachers say, 
 Will wash our guilts and sins away. 
 
LIBERALIST POEM. 41 
 
 However vile oar lives have been, 
 And make all pure and clean within. 
 Perhaps they honestly receive it, 
 As honestly[ I disbelieve it. 
 Each crime will make a moral stain 
 To last while memory shall remain. 
 Through an eternity of time, 
 Unless we can forget the crime. 
 The preacher^ says, prepare to die — 
 Prepare to live, I would reply. 
 And let us live in such a way 
 As to grow better every day. 
 And if we make a hell 'below, 
 That hell will follow where we go; 
 But if we make a heaven here 
 A future hell we need not fear. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF ALLIE COATS. 
 
 I saw a joyous, happy child. 
 
 Lovely, and young, and fair; 
 
42 OH THE DEATH OF ALLlE COATS. 
 
 Bright object of parental hopes 
 That centered fondly there. 
 
 Three suniDiers on his flowery path 
 Their genial showers had shed — 
 
 Scattered their blossoms at his feet, 
 Their sunbeams "round his head. 
 
 But Death had marked that lovely child: 
 
 A fatal arrow sped; 
 Again I saw that fair young form — 
 
 'Twas slumbering with the dead! 
 
 And friends, a weeping train, had met 
 
 Fond memories to recall; 
 For he had been the darling pet, 
 
 The idol of them all. 
 
 I saw the weeping mother stand. 
 
 Where tears like rain drops fell; 
 
 I pressed the mourning father's hand, 
 I knew his heart full well. 
 
 And yet, 'tis but an angel hand 
 
 That culls our choicest flowers. 
 
 Transfers them to a happier land, 
 To fairer climes than ours. 
 
AMBITION. 
 
 When in my early inanhoocVs prime, 
 
 A laudable ambition 
 Induced me to improve my time 
 
 In bettering- my condition. 
 
 Though others, setting out in life. 
 Were furnished horse and saddle, 
 
 I saw that I, in peace or strife. 
 My own canoe must paddle. 
 
 To be the biggest toad that swims. 
 In earth's tumultuous puddle, 
 
 I never did aspire, such whims 
 
 My brain ne'er chanced to muddle. 
 
 And though, among my fellow men, 
 I might be but a green one, 
 
 This was no reason surely, then. 
 That I should be a mean one. 
 
 I had no wealth to boost me up, 
 
44 AMBITION. 
 
 On Fortune's slippery ladder; 
 I had no influential friends, 
 To puff me like a bladder. 
 
 To lead a useful, honest life, 
 
 To gain an honest living, 
 And something more for weans and wife. 
 
 And charitable giving, 
 
 Was all I asked of worldly wealth. 
 For that had few attractions; 
 
 Fd more regard for peace and health. 
 And honorable actions. 
 
 But I would try to store my head 
 
 Somewhat with useful knowledge; 
 
 For there is much to learn, I said. 
 Outside of school or college. 
 
 And so from forest, iield and brook. 
 
 And outside observation, 
 I tried to gain, "b}" hook and crook," 
 
 A little education. 
 
ACKOSTIG. 45 
 
 And now, though three score years IVe seen, 
 
 And age is creeping o'er nie, 
 I find Vm yet a school-boy green. 
 
 With much to learn before nie. 
 
 ACROSTIC. 
 
 Martha, could my best wish avail, 
 Across life's sea thy bark should sail. 
 Rich freighted with celestial grace. 
 Toward Heaven thy final resting place. 
 Heaven's favoring breeze should waft thee o'er 
 And bear thee to its blissful shore. 
 
 Remember 'tis a dangerous sea. 
 
 Eventful in its destiny, 
 
 Ever beset with toils and cares, 
 
 Vice, too, has spread a thousand snares 
 
 Ever alluring. On this tide, 
 
 Seek Bethlehem's star to be thy guide. 
 
THE GRAVE ON THE LAWN. 
 
 'Twas a bright day in summer, the slow sinking 
 
 sun, 
 Far Westward declining, his day's journey done; 
 Threw his last parting glances on hill top and 
 
 town, 
 As seeming reluctant, he slowly sunk down 
 From a beautiful landscape, yet anxious to lave 
 His bright golden disk, in Ontario's wave. 
 His light glancing beams kissed a merry good 
 
 night 
 To the glad dancing waves as he sunk out of sight. 
 
 How fair was the scene from the place where I 
 
 stood. 
 Of orchard and meadow, lawn, garden, and wood; 
 And many fair mansions before me were seen. 
 Their forms half revealed, and half hidden in 
 
 green ; 
 While far to the Northward, as vision could view, 
 Ontario rolled his wide waters of blue. 
 And his slow measured waves broke in murmur- 
 hm roar. 
 
THE GRAVE ON THE LAWN. 47 
 
 As they playfully leaped on a pebble-bound shore. 
 
 I turned from this scene, that my mind will retain, 
 
 A picture of beauty, while life shall remain; 
 
 Then paused for a moiiient, in sorrowful mood. 
 
 O'er a mound, that was formed on the lawn where 
 I stood. 
 
 The chestnut, and ash, their green branches dis- 
 played. 
 
 Encircling the spot, to give beauty and shade. 
 
 Choice flowers formed its border, that tended with 
 care. 
 
 Now breathed their perfume on the mild summer 
 air: 
 
 For here the kind hands of affection had done 
 
 Their last kindly oflice, for brother and son. 
 
 We are tempted to murmur at Death's cruel doom, 
 When the noble and young are consigned to the 
 
 tomb: 
 When those our affections had valued the most. 
 From onr hearts, from our homes, from society 
 
 lost, 
 While the useless, the worthless, the vilest of men 
 
48 THE GRAVE ON THE LAWN. 
 
 Prolong their existence to three score and ten. 
 
 Yet when we conteinphite the world's weary cares, 
 Its toils and afflictions, its trials and snares; 
 I sometimes have almost been led to the thought 
 In reading the lessons adversity tanght; — 
 Who soonest escape from its sorrow and pain, 
 Are more to be envied than those who remain. 
 
 Dear Albert, farewell! But we very well know 
 It is only thy form, that lies mouldering below; 
 Thy pure noble spirit, too pure for our sight. 
 May linger around us in radiant light; 
 Till thy now weeping kindred, shall join thee once 
 
 more. 
 United in love on Eternity's shore. 
 
 PULTNEYVILLE, N. Y., 1874. 
 
 TO MRS. A. S. TODD, 
 
 OF PULTNEYVILLE, N. ¥., ON THE DEATH OF HER 
 DAUGHTER MARY. 
 
 Again the iron hand of fate, 
 
 Has made your hetirthstone desolate; 
 
TO MRS. \. 8. TODD. 49 
 
 And caused your tears to flow; — 
 The last link of aflfection's chain, 
 That held you to this earthly plain, 
 
 Is severed at a blow. 
 
 Mary is gone! Fond heart be still. 
 Nor murmur at the Master's will, 
 
 'Tis love's angelic hands; 
 That takes these plants of Heavenly birth. 
 Too tender for the vales of Earth, 
 
 To bloom in fairer lauds. 
 
 In that delightful summer clime 
 Beyond the bounds of toil and time, 
 
 Beyond the dreary tomb; 
 In vernal bowers forever fair. 
 Your Marj^ lives, you'll meet her there, 
 
 Where flowers immortal Ijloom. 
 
 Mary is gone! She sings no more 
 The songs of earth, as heretofore, 
 
 But in that home above; 
 With golden harp, the Heavenly lyre, 
 She joins with the angelic choir 
 
 In songs of perfect love. 
 
50 PIONEER POEM. 
 
 Afflicted friend, then may yon be 
 Resigned to Natures stern decree, 
 
 Nor let yonr heart rebel; 
 On this assurance fully rest, 
 The Master knoweth what is best, 
 
 And doeth all things well. 
 
 Then let your confidence be strong, 
 The time at longest can't be long. 
 
 Ere we rejoin once more; 
 That dear departed household band, 
 Our kindred in that better land. 
 
 Where they have gone before. 
 
 PIONEERING. 
 
 READ TO THE PIONEER SOCIETY OF KALAMAZOO 
 COUNTY, AT VICKSBURG, AUG., 1875. 
 
 We come to-day with outstretched hand, 
 And words of friendly cheering, 
 
PIONEER POEM. 51 
 
 To meet the remnant of that band 
 That did our pioneering. 
 
 We come, old men, to hear from you, 
 
 In plain unvarnished story; 
 Of times when all was wild and new, 
 
 A wilderness before you. 
 
 And as you here will meet again 
 
 With old familiar faces, 
 'Twill bear you back on memory's chain, 
 
 To well remembered places. 
 
 You will recall among the rest, 
 
 When idl was fixed for starting 
 
 On that long journey to the West, 
 The painful scenes of parting. 
 
 The breaking of those tender ties, 
 That Nature weaves to bind us 
 
 To friends whom we so dearlj^ prize 
 When leaving them behind us. 
 
 Or when from the last hill or nook, 
 
52 PIONEER POEM. 
 
 0, do I need remind you; 
 You turned to take the farewell look, 
 On that old home l)ehind you. 
 
 Then with the thought " 'tis for the best," 
 
 In manly resignation; 
 You turned your faces to the West, 
 
 All this meant emigration. 
 
 Some of you toiled your weary way 
 With ox teams lank and lagging. 
 
 That scarcely fifteen miles a clay. 
 
 Their creaking trains were draafsing. 
 
 't!5&^ 
 
 You will recall the weary round. 
 
 The rough and stormy weather, 
 
 And camping on the cold damp ground, 
 Perhaps for weeks together; 
 
 The miry swamps, the unbridged streams, 
 Your way before you clearing; 
 
 As you look back how strange it seems, 
 But this was pioneering. 
 
PlO]!fEEK POEM. 53 
 
 Then in the forest's solitude. 
 
 Remote perhaps from iieigh1)or, . 
 
 You reared your cabin rough and rude, 
 And there commenced your hibor. 
 
 With hopeful hearts and sturdy strokes, 
 Your toilsome work proceeded. 
 
 The mighty elms, the giant oaks, 
 Before your hands receded. 
 
 Then in those lonely forest shades 
 Wild Indians would be prowling. 
 
 And in their tangled swamps and glades, 
 Wild wolves at night l)e howling. 
 
 Perhaps for iniles you had to go 
 To reach a neighbor's clearing; 
 
 Marked trees your only path to show, 
 But this was pioneering. 
 
 When sickness found your lonely home. 
 
 So often there prevailing; 
 Ah! then the "tug of war" had come; 
 
 Perhaps supplies were failing, - 
 
54 PIONEER POEM. 
 
 Neighbors and doctors miles away, 
 
 Yet bravely persevering. 
 You watched Ijy night, and worked liy day, 
 
 This, too, was pioneering. 
 
 When ague, added to your ills, 
 Your very blood was chilling. 
 
 And when to buy a box of pills, 
 You couldn't raise a shilling; 
 
 The gaunt fiend famine at the door, 
 
 The last corn dodger eaten, 
 'Twould seem that with a "wee touch"' more. 
 
 You surely would be beaten. 
 
 Then didn't the thoughts of that old home 
 Bring feelings rather tender? 
 
 What though a homesick tear had come, — 
 It didn't mean surrender. 
 
 Still to your purpose firm and true; 
 
 In manly persevering; 
 You held your ground, and pulled it through, 
 
 All this was pioneering. 
 
piojCeer poem. 55 
 
 'Tis said by some, and I believe 
 
 They told the truth who said it; 
 
 In work like this, we seldom give 
 Our women proper credit. 
 
 Who suffered more when sickness came, 
 And want perhaps was pinching. 
 
 Than these old mothers we might name. 
 Or bore it more unflinching? 
 
 If Adam could not stand the air 
 
 Of Eden's balmy bowers, 
 Without an Eve to help him there, 
 
 And soothe his lonely hours. 
 
 Tell what these Adams would have done 
 
 In those old forests clearing; 
 Without these Eves to help them on. 
 
 Their lonely labor cheering? 
 
 If these old men had been alone, 
 
 I scarcely would be willing 
 To give, for all the work they'd done, 
 
 A continental shilling. 
 
56 PIOlirEER POEM. 
 
 Tis true their wives didn't plow and sow, 
 Through stumpy stubbles dashing; 
 
 They did the cradleing we know, 
 
 And more than half the thrashing. 
 
 Then let us estimate the sum, 
 And all the credit give them; 
 
 Men wouldn't have stayed, they wouldn't 
 have came. 
 Had not their wives been with them. 
 
 But time, with toil, that everywhere 
 
 His signet seal impresses; 
 Has furrowed brows that once were fair, 
 
 And bleached their auburn tresses. 
 
 And now, of those who shared with you 
 Those hardships uncomplaining; — 
 
 We look around; and 0, how few — 
 How few there are remaining! 
 
 And memory paints full many a scene 
 Of sorrow and of weeping; 
 
 Then follows to the churchyard green 
 Where their cold forms are sleeping. 
 
PIONEER POEM. 57 
 
 Their faults we bury with them there, 
 And let their memory perish; — 
 
 Their sterling virtues, everywhere. 
 Well emulate and cherish. 
 
 Old Pioneers, your work is done. 
 
 Your labors are recorded, 
 The battle fought, the victory won, 
 
 And honor's prize awarded. 
 
 Now look around on this fair land 
 
 Almost enchanted seeming, 
 Its fertile fields, and cities grand, 
 
 With wealth and beauty teeming. 
 
 For all of this you paved the way. 
 
 Through hardships, and privation; 
 
 Accept our hearty thanks to-day, 
 And warm congratulation. 
 
 And may the remnant of your years. 
 
 Be crowned with every blessing, 
 
 That this brief life, of hopes and fears, 
 » 
 Is worthy of possessing. 
 
68 ALBUM LINES. 
 
 And with your last declining sun, 
 
 When Death's dark veil comes o'er you, 
 
 May you receive that good, "Well done," 
 In fairer climes before you. 
 
 ALBUM LINES. 
 
 TO MISS EDITH HUGHES WATSON. 
 
 We search beneath the ocean tide 
 
 For pearls of beauty rare. 
 We pierce the rugged mountain side, 
 
 For golden trinkets there. 
 We delve among Brazilian sands. 
 
 We cross the dangerous main. 
 Explore Golconda's^diamond lands, 
 
 Their sparkling gems to gain. 
 With these the outward form is decked, 
 
 Admiring eyes to win; 
 But moral worth, and intellect, 
 
 Are brighter gems within. 
 
OLD POMPEY; 
 
 OR, "you hurt yoursef de wost." 
 
 Old Pompey was a negro man, 
 Colored of course by nature's plan; 
 But call him colored, he'd say: ""No, 
 Not, ciilud, I was always so!" 
 And I have learned I cannot tell, 
 At best cannot determine well, 
 By curl of hair, or crook of shin, 
 The color of the heart within: 
 Or whether it be white or black, 
 By what one wears upon his back. 
 But be that matter as it may, 
 Pompey was in the field one day, 
 Wielding his hoe with power and skill, 
 The corn to dress, the weeds to kill. 
 When making at a sturdy weed 
 A right smart blow, with little heed, 
 (We all make some mistakes you know,) 
 He missed the weed, but hit his toe. 
 As in accord with Nature's laws, 
 Effect is sure to follow cause: 
 
60 OLD POMPEY. 
 
 It ached of course; how could it fail? 
 
 For he had taken off the nail. 
 
 Old Pompey groaned, and so will you 
 
 When you knock off a toe nail, too; 
 
 Rolled up his eyes, and tried to pray, 
 
 To drive the horrid pain away; — 
 
 His prayers and groans were all in vain, 
 
 To save the nail, or ease the pain. 
 
 He tore a bandage from his shirt. 
 
 And bound it up in blood and dirt, 
 
 As carefully as mortal could; 
 
 But ache that pedal member would. 
 
 His stock of patience now ran low. 
 
 Then glancing at his aching toe, 
 
 "Well ache," said Pompey, "if 3'ou must; 
 
 "You only hurt yoursef de wost." 
 
 Allow me, if you please, to show. 
 
 Although the origin is low, 
 
 A moral, drawn from Pompey's toe. 
 
 When we reject a truth we need 
 
 Because it is not in our creed. 
 
 Through prejudice, and cold distrust, 
 
 Do we not hurt ourselves "de wost?" . 
 
 When we set out with selfish plan 
 
OLD POMPEY. 61 
 
 To wrong or rob our fellow man; 
 
 Using to aid iis in the cheat, 
 
 Hypocrisy and base deceit; 
 
 E'en when successful in our crime, 
 
 We are the losers every time, — 
 
 And in the light of all that's just. 
 
 We'll find weVe hurt ourselves ''de wost." 
 
 The slanderer, with venomed sting, 
 
 At us his poisoned darts may fling, 
 
 Our character he may defame. 
 
 May blight our prospects, and our name; 
 
 Well, let him slander if he must, 
 
 He'll only hurt himself "de wost." 
 
 The libertine, with fiendish art. 
 
 Who trifles with a trusting heart, 
 
 May bring to infamy and shame, 
 
 Ruin the character and name. 
 
 Of those who in his honor trust; 
 
 Still he has hurt " hiuisef de wost." 
 
 'Tis commonly believed and said 
 
 There is another life ahead; — 
 
 A life of spirit being, where 
 
 We shall be known for what we are. 
 
 No matter if we've lived in sin, 
 
62 mercy's MISSION". 
 
 What our profession may have been, 
 
 Wherever we have been unjust, 
 
 We'll find we've hurt ourselves "de wost." 
 
 MERCY'S MISSION. 
 
 POEM READ AT A SOCIAL OF THE DAUGHTERS OF RE- 
 BECCA, AT BATTLE CREEK. FEB., 1878. 
 
 In this rude world of strife and storm. 
 Each has a duty to perform, 
 
 A mission to fulfill, — 
 'Tis man's to grapple in the strife 
 The fiercer elements of life. 
 
 And wield them at his will. 
 
 He, like the river in its course, 
 Moves onward with resistless force, 
 His object to attain; 
 
MERCY'S MISSION. 63 
 
 The forest sinks beneath his hand, 
 The rail car thunders o'er the land, 
 The steamship o'er the main. 
 
 While man controls and regulates 
 
 The bounds of empires, kingdoms, states. 
 
 In governments combined; — 
 Woman, you have a nobler part, 
 To form in every infant heart, 
 
 An empire of the mind. 
 
 This like the twig, the embryo tree, 
 What eer it is, or is to be. 
 
 Is largely in your care; 
 And largely on your training hand. 
 And on your grafting skill, depend 
 
 The fruit that it shall bear. 
 
 How humble is the statesman's sphere. 
 How transient are his labors here. 
 
 How fleetmg is their day; — 
 Woman, the empire you shall form. 
 Shall stand amid the wreck, the storm 
 
 When Earth shall pass away. 
 
64 mercy's MISSION". 
 
 Here is a mission; here a field 
 For woman's efforts, sure to yield 
 
 According as you sow; 
 To you the power is largely given 
 To make this field a moral heaven, 
 
 Or wilderness of woe. 
 
 But fields of missionary ground 
 Open before us, and around. 
 
 Requiring woman's skill; 
 Requiring woman's influence, 
 By every art of soul and sense, 
 
 Successfully .to till. 
 
 Intemperance, like a raging sea 
 With its attendant misery. 
 
 In never ceasing flow. 
 Is bearing on its hellish tide. 
 Sons, husbands, brothers, side by side, 
 
 To ruin and to woe. 
 
 And fashion's gaudy, glittering glare. 
 Weaving on every side a snare. 
 
mercy's mission. 65 
 
 Baited with treacherous art; 
 Displays to our bewildered eyes 
 Its show of vanity and lies, 
 
 To lure the unthinking heart. 
 
 Rise, noble woman, and declare 
 Your independence from the snare 
 
 That fashion's hand has wound; — 
 Move forward, then, with higher aim, 
 And freedom everywhere proclaim 
 
 To sister slaves around. 
 
 Oh! Christian, if you wish to win 
 A world from selfishness and sin. 
 
 Look not too far away; 
 You need not go to foreign climes. 
 You need not wait for better times. 
 
 Begin the work to-day. 
 
 Commence at home, make Heaven there, 
 By every influence, art and care 
 
 That kindly natures know: — 
 Thence like the wave-mark on the tide 
 Extend that circle still more wide 
 In never ceasing flow. 
 
 4 
 
66 mercy's mission. 
 
 Go to the lowest, humblest sheds 
 That shelter erring human heads, 
 
 And strive by every plan; 
 By every w^inning influence, 
 To operate on feeble sense. 
 
 And raise them if you can. 
 
 E'en on the cold, dark soil of vice, 
 Scatter the seeds of paradise. 
 
 Some may find lodgment there, 
 And though on uncongenial soil 
 Take root, and tilled with care and toil 
 
 Celestial products bear. 
 
 Daughters, 'tis your especial part 
 With sympathetic angel art. 
 
 To weeping ones to go; 
 To visit in their deep distress 
 The widow, and the fatherless. 
 
 And sympathy bestow. 
 
 Go where the seeming liand of fate 
 Has made the hearthstone desolate, 
 And consolation bear; 
 
mercy's mission. 67 
 
 Your melting hearts can best express 
 The healing words of tenderness, 
 So largely needed there. 
 
 vFreely extend in every sense 
 A practical benevolence, 
 
 Your sympathy to prove; — 
 Where earthly consolations fail. 
 Then point beyond life's gloomy vale, 
 
 To brighter homes above. 
 
 And to the stricken orphan band, 
 A friendly w^ord, a helping hand, 
 
 A kind protection lend; 
 And while youth's slippery paths they tread, 
 With snares and dangers thickly spread. 
 
 Your guardian care extend. 
 
 Then, daughters, nobly persevere, 
 In this your heavenly mission here. 
 
 And prove the precept true; 
 That making by word and deed. 
 For those afflicted and in need. 
 
 Will make a heaven for you. 
 
68 COENS ON THE TOES. 
 
 Oh! man and woman, then combine 
 Your efforts in this one design, 
 
 Ye lovers of your kind; 
 To bring to this distracted Earth, 
 The fancied Eden of her birth. 
 
 The Eden of the mind. 
 
 CORNS ON THE TOES. 
 
 LETTER OF SYMPATHY TO MISS BELLE SMITH. 
 
 I've known of your afflictions, Belle, 
 And write these hasty lines to tell 
 That in your dreadful misery 
 You have my heartfelt sympathy: 
 Which in your wretched situation, 
 I hope may be some consolation. 
 Life hasUts pains we understand, 
 Its aches and ills on every hand. 
 And wise philosophers have sought, 
 
CORNS ON THE TOES. 69 
 
 By every stretch of mind and thought, 
 To fathom Nature's wondrous laws 
 And trace effect direct to cause, 
 Especially those bitter woes 
 That come from corns upon the toes. 
 In your especial case, dear Belle, 
 These sage philosophers would tell 
 Those cruel toe corns one and all, 
 Had come from wearing shoes too small. 
 That in the nature of the case. 
 The pressure on a certain place, 
 Would cause a callous lump to grow, 
 Which pressing on the nerve below. 
 Would cause a thrill of pain to go, — 
 With which a hornet sting is tame, — 
 Through every fiber of your frame. 
 They'll tell you too, this pain is sent, 
 Not as a special punishment, 
 But the result they strangely teach. 
 Of what girls practice, all and each 
 Of making feet, (don't be offended,) 
 Smaller than Nature had intended. 
 But you, of course, will not admit 
 Your shoes have been too tight a fit. 
 
70 CORNS ON THE TOEvS. 
 
 For wliere's the girl we ever knew, 
 
 Would own she wore too tight a shoe? 
 
 Unless her shoes were coarse cow hide, 
 
 Then they would surely pinch her pride. 
 
 And she would say they pinched her toes, 
 
 Though ferge enough for river scows. 
 
 But if we could find such an one 
 
 'Tis something j^ou have never done. 
 
 Then let us seek some other source 
 
 From which your suffering takes its course. 
 
 And there is one, if we may dare to 
 
 Trace all the ills that flesh is heir to. 
 
 And 'tis a most convenient thing. 
 
 When colic gripes, or toe corns sting, 
 
 Instead of tracing hack the cause 
 
 To Nature's violated laws; 
 
 To say, and make ourselves believe, 
 
 Tis all the fault of mother Eve. 
 
 And if the record we explore 
 
 That men accept as sacred lore ; 
 
 To her we trace the origin. 
 
 Of all the suffering, and sin, 
 
 That in the world has ever been. 
 
 We have no reason to suppose 
 
CORNS ON THE TOES. 71 
 
 That girls had corns upon their toes, 
 Till mother Eve, (the records state it,) 
 Picked the forbidden fruit and ate it. 
 And since that time, as it appears, 
 This Earth has been a vale of tears; 
 With every misery to torment. 
 That fiends, and devils, could invent. 
 Then first and foremost, we suppose. 
 Came cruel corns upon the toes. 
 Fve felt the pains of hornet stings, 
 Wasps, bumble bees, and all such things; 
 But these were trifles, we suppose. 
 Compared with corn stings on the toes. 
 At least I've judged this was the case. 
 From the expression of your face. 
 When you have dropped a stick of wood. 
 That hit a toe com, plump and good; 
 And I've bsen thankful, I declare, 
 I did not have such pains to bear. 
 Now when your toe corns give a twinge. 
 And you're obliged to limp and cringe. 
 Don't pucker up your face and scowl. 
 Don't fret and scold, or groan or growl; 
 Don't talk unkindly to your mother. 
 
72 COKNS ON THE TOES. 
 
 Or take the broomstick to your brother, 
 Should they insist, (perhaps they might,) 
 'Twas all because your shoes were tight. 
 Don't be dissatisfied and say 
 Toes are a nuisance anyway, 
 Or with your own be discontented. 
 And wish they had not been invented. 
 How would you dance, do you suppose. 
 Had Nature made you without toes? 
 Some think these aches of every kind. 
 Are sent to discipline the mind; 
 If so, I hope you'll be resigned; 
 Be thankful, as a Christian should, 
 And may the lesson do you good. 
 Again, it may not be amiss. 
 To take another view like this: 
 When from your toe there comes a pinch. 
 That causes every nerve to flinch. 
 Tell it to ache, if ache it must. 
 '"Twill only hart itself de wost." 
 Another plan I would suggest. 
 Better perhaps than all the rest. 
 And we can bring to sanction it. 
 Authority from holy writ. 
 
CORNS ON THE TOE. 73 
 
 Vd like to know if you have read 
 
 The old commandment, where 'tis said, 
 
 " If your right eye, or hand offend, 
 
 " Pluck out the eye, cut off the hand?'' 
 
 Then why, I ask, should you not go 
 
 And cut off the offending toe; 
 
 And save yourself, for mercy sake, 
 
 From the dread hell that toe corns make? 
 
 Before we leave this toe corn case, 
 
 Let us a simple moral trace. 
 
 How quick we are to see, and show. 
 
 The corn upon our neighbor's toe: 
 
 And to our register transfer, 
 
 The toe corns of his character; 
 
 Which by our prejudice and pride. 
 
 Are often largely magnified: 
 
 While ours, of course, if seen at all, 
 
 Seem to our vision very small. 
 
 How ready, too, we are to labor 
 
 To cure the toe corns of our neighbor; 
 
 Especially the corns that grow. 
 
 We think, on his sectarian toe. 
 
 And tnen his corns political, 
 
 We think need plastering as well. 
 
74 CORNS ON THE TOE. 
 
 Nor do we like to see him flinch, 
 
 However close we pare or pinch. 
 
 But these are tender corns, beware. 
 
 How hard we press, how close we pare. 
 
 Upon the bigot's toe we see, the ugly corn of 
 
 bigotry; 
 He wears a narrow iron shoe, 
 And is not satisfied with you, 
 Unless you'll have a toe corn grown. 
 Patterned precisely like his own. 
 The skeptic, that bare-footed goes. 
 Of course has corns upon his toes: 
 Exposed to every person's view. 
 They're often pinched, that's very true. 
 And many are the plasters proffered 
 By learned doctors, urged and offered, 
 To cure his corns without delay. 
 If he has got the dimes to pay. 
 But, as he cannot fail to see 
 These learned doctors disagree; 
 And limp from corns as well as he: — 
 He lacks the confidence to try 
 Their often failing remedy 
 On his corns, till it can be shown 
 
CORNS ON THE TOE. 75 
 
 Doctors have learned to cure their own. 
 
 A.nd here, perhaps, we ought to mention 
 
 The poet's corns may need attention: 
 
 He feels he has not much to dread. 
 
 Except the cruel critic's tread; 
 
 His ship-shod shoes are fitted loosely. 
 
 But do not pare his corns too closely. 
 
 How easy 'tis for us to show 
 
 A corn upon the miser s toe. 
 
 But if we offer to apply 
 
 The only perfect remedy; 
 
 A plaster, to his corn of pelf, 
 
 He says: "Phj^sician heal thyself." 
 
 Then let us have a little care 
 
 Whose corns we plaster, pinch or pare. 
 
 Until it can be fully shown, 
 
 We have no toe corns of our own. 
 
 Cure our corns first, and kindly then, 
 
 Do what we can for other men; 
 
 And let us this a maxim make. 
 
 That what we give, we also take. 
 
SILVER WEDDING. 
 
 POEM BEAD AT THE TWENTY-FIFTH ANNIVEKSARY 
 
 OF THE MARRIAGE OF MR. AND MRS. 
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 
 
 We meet, dear friends, with you to-day, 
 
 Thanks for the invitation, 
 To offer kindly as we may 
 
 Our warm congratulation. 
 
 We meet fond memories to renew. 
 And social ties to strengthen; 
 
 The chain of friendship to renew. 
 To brighten and to lengthen. 
 
 And fancy's pinions bear us back, 
 
 Where life's great interests merging. 
 
 Led you to take a common track. 
 
 Prom separate paths converging. 
 
 We see you standing side by side. 
 To pledge your faith forever, 
 
 We see the knot Hymenial tried. 
 That only death can sever. 
 
SILVER WEDDING. 
 
 A baud of orphans needed there* 
 A mother's kind relations, — 
 
 The new-made bride assumes that care, 
 With all its obligations. 
 
 And other nestlings have been sent 
 To claim your kind protection, 
 
 And keeps alive the element. 
 Of unalloyed affection. 
 
 They cannot all be here to-day. 
 In family communion; — 
 
 Some have their homes too far away, 
 To join in this reunion. 
 
 But ties wherever they may roam. 
 That distance cannot sever. 
 
 Will bind them to their early home. 
 Their childhood's home forever. 
 
 One plant from the parental stand, 
 (Death culls our fairest flowers;) 
 
 Now blooms in that immortal land, 
 Of never fading bowers. 
 
78 SILVER WEDDING. 
 
 But shade and sunshine, smiles and tears, 
 Mingled with pain and pleasure, 
 
 Success and losses, hopes and fears, 
 Make up life's scant}' measure. 
 
 All these have served life's cup to fill, 
 In mingled draughts, and whether 
 
 That cup had more of good, or ill, 
 
 YouVe shared its draughts together. 
 
 A quarter of a century, 
 
 Its record is completing. 
 And brings this anniversary, 
 
 Of heartfelt, happy greeting. 
 
 We note the busy tooth of time. 
 
 That heeds not state or station, 
 On youthful bloom, and manhood's prime, 
 
 Has made its innovation. 
 
 But though the brows that once were fair, 
 Are furrowed now and faded; 
 
 We trust the spirits beaming there, 
 Will ne'er be dimmed or shaded. 
 
SILVEK WEDDING. 79 
 
 As future years shall roll away, 
 
 May toils and cares grow lighter; 
 
 And may the light of truth each day, 
 Around your paths grow brighter. 
 
 And when at last you reach the side 
 
 Of that mysterious river, — 
 That dark and often dreaded tide, 
 
 That we must all pass over; — 
 
 There may the beacon light of truth, 
 
 Based on the rock eternal; 
 Light you to realms of endless youth, 
 
 In fields forever vernal. 
 
 These worn out forms we lay aside, 
 
 In that mysterious river; 
 Emerging from its narrow tide, 
 
 In spirit life forever. 
 
 There may angelic forms appear, 
 
 To hover 'round and o'er you ; 
 The spirit forms of kindred dear. 
 
 That left earth life before you. 
 
80 IS MAN IMMOKTAL? 
 
 And in that blissful summer land, 
 Where love no more is blighted, 
 
 May you rejoice, a household Ijand 
 Forever reunited. 
 
 ♦Children of Mr. Johnson's first marriage. 
 
 IS MAN IMMORTAL? 
 
 On life's brief journey of a day 
 As we advance along the way, 
 New objects constantly arise, 
 To us, of wonder or surprise. 
 New fields for thought on every side 
 Expand around us far and wide. 
 Till we seem lost, as on a sea 
 Of deep, unbounded, mystery ! 
 Well may we pause, and contemplate 
 Our present, past, and future state ! 
 Have we existed but a day. 
 In these decaying walls of clay ? 
 
IS MAN IMMORT.VL? 81 
 
 Or had we an existence, ere, 
 
 The date of conscious being here? 
 
 Where are we going? What's to be 
 
 The record of our destiny? 
 
 Oh! tell me, is^ this restless mind, 
 
 When this dull form is left behind. 
 
 As worn and useless garments are, 
 
 When no more fit for warmth or wear;— 
 
 These thinking powers so strangely bright. 
 
 These to be quenched in endless night? 
 
 Are all the lessons life has taught, 
 
 All the experience it has brought. 
 
 Gained many times at fearful cost, 
 
 Are these to be forever lost? 
 
 And shall this longing and desire 
 
 For something more, and something higher, 
 
 That life has failed to satisfy, 
 
 Meet no response, find no supply ? 
 
 It cannot be! The Almighty hand 
 
 A wiser, better course, has planned. 
 
 That mighty Power, that formed the chain 
 
 Of being, has not wrought in vain. 
 
 And not a particle shall shall fade. 
 
 Of all the work his hand has made. 
 
IS MAN IMMORTAL? 
 
 In Nature's field, where e'er we range, 
 We trace the law of endless change: 
 Tending in all her realm entire. 
 From lower forms of life to higher. 
 We know the plant, that lives to-day, 
 Will die to-morrow, and decay, 
 And just as true it is, and plain. 
 The plant that dies will live again. 
 The form thereof must pass away, 
 By nature's process of decay. 
 The elements, embodied there 
 Must he returned to earth and air: 
 Severed, perhaps, and scattered wide, 
 By flooding rain or rushing tide 
 Till no two particles remain. 
 Linked by attraction's mystic chain; 
 Or, on the winged winds be tossed, 
 But not an atom shall be lost. 
 Each element shall live again 
 In tree, or plant, or waving grain. 
 This change of death, is but designed, 
 To make its substance more refined. 
 The germ; — the spirit, if you please. 
 Of grain, or plant, or forest trees. 
 
IS MAN IMMORTAL? 83 
 
 Lives in the seed; that Nature's care, 
 
 Has hirgely furnished, everywhere. 
 
 The mighty oak, that braves the storm. 
 
 Has in the acorn first its form. 
 
 What though the acorn must decay 
 
 And mokler in its native clay? 
 
 That germ will burst its prison ring. 
 
 And into life and beauty spring. 
 
 Can we not read from Nature's plan 
 
 The immortality of man? 
 
 What though these outward forms must fail. 
 
 And raolder in the silent vale? 
 
 'Tis Nature's process, to set free 
 
 The germ of immortality: 
 
 And the death scene of labor strife 
 
 Is spirit birth to higher life. 
 
 But will the thinking powers survive. 
 
 When these rude forms have ceased to live ? 
 
 And their identity retain, 
 
 To know and to be known again? 
 
 If this be so, what preparation. 
 
 Will best befit us for that station. 
 
 That waits us on the other shore. 
 
 When Death's dark tide we're ferried o'er? 
 
84 IS MAN IMMOKTAL? 
 
 What form of worship, faith or creed, 
 
 Will serve the purpose of our need ? 
 
 What can we take of worldly ware 
 
 With us to be an outfit there? 
 
 Though all the gold were ours, that shines 
 
 In Colorado's mountain mines, — 
 
 All must be left, as worthless dross, 
 
 When Death's mysterious tide we cross. 
 
 Our characters, and these alone, 
 
 We carry to the world unknown. 
 
 But will the mind expand and grow 
 
 In that new home to which we go? 
 
 And shall we there, as here, pursue 
 
 The paths of science ever new. 
 
 By pure angelic beings taught. 
 
 The universe, our field of thought? 
 
 And can we as on wings of light, 
 
 Range through those constellations bright, 
 
 That deck the starry dome of night? 
 
 Oh! as I sometimes lift my eyes 
 
 In admiration to the skies: 
 
 And trace that Ijurning banner spread. 
 
 In starry brightness overhead, — 
 
 That scroll the Infinite unrolled. 
 
IS MAN IMMORTAL? 85 
 
 In glittering gems of burnished gold; 
 And let imagination run 
 From world to world, from sun to sun. — 
 I've almost wished myself were clear 
 From this clay form, that holds me here: 
 Half fearing, anxious to explore 
 That unknown field that lies before. 
 Hush, restless spirit! Patient wait 
 The revelations of thy state. 
 Why would thou seek another sphere. 
 While yet but half developed here? 
 Why seek, with bold, presumptons eye, 
 In future mysteries to pry? 
 These things shall all be understood, 
 As soon as may be for thy good. 
 Thy future is a record sealed. 
 Only by time to be revealed. 
 Then well and wisely as you may. 
 Perform the duties of to-day; 
 To do those duties everywhere 
 Demands thy talent, time and care. 
 This much is well for thee to know, — 
 ' That living right, brings Heaven below. 
 And just as truly, thou canst tell 
 
MY EAKLY SCHOOL TEACHERS. 
 
 That living wrong, brings present Hell. 
 Then rest in an abiding trust, 
 Tn Him who formed thee from the dust; 
 Do what to thee shall seem the best, 
 And to thy maker, leave the rest. 
 
 MY EARLY SCHOOL TEACHERS. 
 
 How feared in my heart were my teachers in child- 
 hood, 
 As scared recollection recalls them to view; 
 With their long, ugly whips, that were cut in the 
 wildwood. 
 That wild, tangled wood where the tough 
 switches grew: 
 
 From the wide spreading birch, and its ironwood 
 neighbor. 
 
MY EARLY SCHOOL TEACHERS. 87 
 
 From all of the beeches, the red, white and 
 
 blue ; 
 And our poor, flinching backs they were sure to 
 
 belabor 
 For every oifence that our infancy knew. 
 
 Old maids taught in summer, and oh! how they 
 scolded ; 
 Their words came like hail stones I am sorry 
 to tell, 
 And the raps on our heads, (for our heads must be 
 moulded) 
 Made stars fall like blazes wherever they fell. 
 
 In winter, young men were our further torment- 
 ors; 
 , Their fretting and scolding were not quite as 
 bad; 
 Of rulers and ferules they were the inventors. 
 And far more efficient in wielding the gad. 
 
 A noble exception was one of my teachers. 
 
 His heart was affectionate, friendly and kind; 
 
00 THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 
 
 And a smile of good nature illumined his features, 
 That warmed like a sunbeam each juvenile 
 mind. 
 
 But time has rolled on, with its changes and 
 chances, 
 
 Its joys and its sorrows, its hopes and its fears; 
 And scenes once familiar, as manhood advances, 
 
 Grow dim in the distance of fast rolling years. 
 
 But deeply enshrined in my childish affection. 
 
 The name of that kind hearted teacher shall 
 dwell ; 
 Recalled to be honored, in fond recollection, — 
 That friend of my childhood, was Robert 
 Twadell. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 
 
 So silent is the flight of time. 
 
 That years will sometimes seem, 
 
THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 89 
 
 With all their varied changing scenes, 
 E'en as a fleeting dream. 
 
 It seems as 'twere but yesterday, 
 
 Since in my childish joy: 
 I joined my schoolmates in their play, 
 
 A wild and thoughtless boy. 
 
 A few brief years since that bright day, 
 
 On hastening wing have fled; 
 And many of those schoolmates now 
 
 Are slumbering with the dead. 
 
 And pictures, that like rainbow beams 
 
 Were ranged in bright array. 
 Have vanished as unreal dreams. 
 
 In life's advancing day. 
 
 In view of this, my youthful friends, 
 
 In kindness I would say: 
 Life's happy morn will soon be past. 
 
 Enjoy it while you may. 
 
WHERE AND WHAT IS HEAVEN? 
 
 Oft have I asked as I have mused 
 On life's mysterious round; — 
 
 From whence, and where, and what I am 
 And whither I am bound? 
 
 I turn in retrospection back. 
 
 A few brief lines I mark 
 Along life's rugged, devious track 
 
 And all bej'ond is dark. 
 
 I seek to penetrate the shade 
 
 That shrouds my path before; 
 
 A few brief steps along the grade 
 I see — but nothing more. 
 
 Such then is life; a mingled scene 
 Of brightness and of gloom, 
 
 Fills up the little field between 
 The cradle and the tomb. 
 
 T knew a man far, far advanced 
 
WHERE AND WHAT IS HEAVEN? 91 
 
 On Time's mysterious shore; 
 Profound in wisdom, deeply skilled 
 In theologic lore. 
 
 The storms of four score years and ten, 
 
 Had fallen on his head; 
 He seemed as one that stood between 
 
 The living and the dead. 
 
 With reverence for his hoary hair, 
 
 His wisdom, and his age, — 
 I sought his presence, and addressed 
 
 The venerable sage: 
 
 Canst thou not see from thy far stand 
 
 Beyond the cold dark wave, 
 That parts us from an unknown land 
 
 That lies beyond the grave? 
 
 If so, I pray reveal to me. 
 
 What I have longed to learn, — 
 
 The mystery of that bourne from whence 
 No travelers return. 
 
92 WHEEE AND WHAT IS HEAVEN? 
 
 Is there a Heaven of perfect bliss 
 Where happy spirits dwell ; 
 
 In some bright world far, far from this ? 
 And where and what is Hell? 
 
 And when these mortal bodies fail, 
 
 And turn to dust again, 
 Will that which animates, and thinks, 
 
 Its consciousness retain? 
 
 And tell me, oh! in mercy tell, — 
 
 When Death^s dark wave I've crossed 
 
 Shall I embrace those friends again 
 That I have loved, and lost? 
 
 And in a better, brighter sphere. 
 
 With hearts once tried and true, 
 
 Those dear connections severed here 
 With them again renew? 
 
 The sire replied: " 'Tis not for me 
 
 To answer thy request: — 
 These things are hidden from our view, 
 
 'Tis doubtless for the best. 
 
MEMORIAL. . 93 
 
 "But let this truth thy mind impress, — 
 
 Enough to know is given: 
 Where goodness is, is happiness, 
 
 And happiness is Heaven. 
 
 "And here, or in a future state. 
 
 Wherever man may dwell ; 
 With wickedness is misery. 
 
 And misery is Hell." 
 
 MEMORIAL. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Ye verdant fields, ye groves of green, 
 Ye smiling flowers so fair to see; 
 
 I roam o'er each familiar scene 
 
 But now ye bring no joy to me. 
 
94 MEMOKIAL. 
 
 For she is gone who oft with me 
 
 Has wandered o'er these scenes so fair, 
 
 Your bonny bloom, sweet flowers, to see, 
 And breathe your fragrance in the air. 
 
 Thou warbling bird, whose voice so clear 
 Resounds from yonder flowery tree, 
 
 Yovir cheerful notes charm not my ear. 
 Ye need not sing such songs for me. 
 
 Nor yet for her whose voice with thine 
 Has oft been tuned in days of yore, — 
 
 She's gone to join a choir divine. 
 
 She'll sing the songs of Earth no more. 
 
 Then sing not thus, sweet bird, I pray. 
 No more those cheerful notes prolong, 
 
 But tune your voice to sorrow's lay, 
 
 And soothe me with a plaintive song. 
 
 For she is gone: — ^My hope, my pride, 
 The star that on my pathway shone 
 
 Has sunk beneath that cold, dark tide 
 
 That parts us from a world unknown. 
 
GEOGRAPHY. 95 
 
 Then go, sweet bird, with me repair 
 
 To yonder city of the dead. 
 And sing a mournful requiem there 
 
 In sorrow o'er her lowly bed. 
 
 And I will range the wildwood bowers, 
 
 Where spring's first blossoms brightly 
 bloom. 
 
 And when I've culled their fairest flowers 
 
 Will strew them sorrowing o'er her tomb. 
 
 GEOGRAPHY. 
 
 DECLAMATION SPOKEN BY L. H. STODDARD AT SCHOOL 
 PIC-NIC IN COOPER, 1868. 
 
 My friends, 'tis j^lainly to be seen, 
 
 I'm but a schoolboy young and green. 
 
 But there's no telling by my looks. 
 
 How much I may have learned from books. 
 
 And yet, 'tis easy to discern 
 
 There's something more for me to learn. 
 
96 GEOGRAPHY. 
 
 The study of Geography 
 Is full of interest to me, 
 Such wonderful descriptions giving 
 Of this strange world in which we're living. 
 And I sometimes have wished that I 
 Could travel, fast as bird can fly, 
 ' Unharmed o'er continents and seas, 
 To view its wondrous mysteries-; 
 Its unknown regions to explore. 
 Where footprint never was before. 
 I'd like to trace the Nile's proud course 
 E'en to the fountain of its source; 
 I'd like, in daring pride, to scale 
 Earths' highest mountain pinnacle; 
 And from its topmost peak of snow, 
 Look down on the dull world below. 
 
 I'd like to plunge beneath the waves. 
 And search old Ocean's wondrous caves. 
 And there explore, with daring tread. 
 The deep, cold regions of the dead. 
 Yes, deeper still, I'd like to go 
 Earth's central mysteries to know: 
 And, delving down with pick and spade, 
 
GEOGRAPHY. 97 
 
 Fd see how the okl workl is made, 
 Whether its center, dark and dire, 
 Is land or water, rock, or tire. 
 
 Td like to stand, I almost think, 
 On Cotopaxi's awful brink; 
 And see its grand eruptions rise 
 In towering grandeur to the skies; — 
 Flaming, and flashing, wild and dread, 
 A thousand feet above my head! 
 See its vast streams of lava flow 
 From thundering caverns deep below! 
 
 Thence over Northern wastes of snow, 
 Een to the icy pole Fd go. 
 Climb to its top, with hook, and claw; 
 Then, gazing round in giddy awe, 
 Fd swing my cap, and shout Hurrah ! 
 
98 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED ON REVISITING THE OLD HOME- 
 STEAD OF THE RUSSELL FAMILY IN WILLIAMSON, 
 WAYNE COUNTY, N. Y., AFTER AN ABSENCE OF 
 ELEVEN YEARS. 
 
 Again to memory "s magnet true. 
 
 Dear scenes of former pleasure; 
 My steps instinctive turn to you, 
 
 As miser to his treasure. 
 
 But oh ! how changed from days of yore. 
 
 These once familiar places: 
 Familikr forms 1 meet no more, 
 
 See no familiar faces. 
 
 The house is here, the garden there, 
 With places cool and shaded; 
 
 But ilowers that blossomed pure and fair, 
 Are blighted now and faded. 
 
 Here love was pledged with many a vow. 
 
 As kindred hearts united; 
 And ties were fondly formed, that now 
 
 The hand of Death has blighted. 
 
THE OLD HOMESTPUD. 99 
 
 And faithful hearts are cold and chill, 
 That once were warmly beating; 
 
 And tender tones are hushed and still, 
 That gave me friendly greeting. 
 
 And forms so faultless once and fair, 
 
 In yonder yard are sleeping; 
 A sacred soil above them there, 
 
 Its silent trust is keeping. 
 
 But when a few more days of toil. 
 
 My Aveary way shall number; 
 This form shall rest beneath the soil 
 
 Like their's in peaceful slumber. 
 
 Oh ! grant me then. I ask no more, 
 
 Our spirits reunited; 
 To dwell with them on that bright shore. 
 
 Where love no more is blighted. 
 
 And now, dear scenes, again farewell; 
 
 Farewell perhaps forever: 
 Though I in distant lands must dwell, 
 
 Forget ye shall I never. 
 
100 DEDICATION. 
 
 What e'er I am, where e'er I roam, 
 How e'er my fortunes vary; 
 
 My heart shall turn to this, the home 
 Of my once faithful Mary. 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 LINES ON THE PRESENTATION OF A BEAUTIFUL CAS- 
 KET MADE AND PRESENTED BY WARREN WHEATON 
 TO HIS GRAND-DAUGHTER, JENNY <;LARE WHEA- 
 TON. 
 
 In presence of the Powers ahove. 
 In wisdom, justice, truth and love. 
 
 And in consideration. 
 Of the affection that I bear 
 For thee, uiy grand-child, Jenny Clare, 
 
 I make this dedication. 
 
DEDICATION. 101 
 
 This casket made, please understand, 
 By thy paternal grandsire's hand, 
 
 A birthday gift to be; 
 Made when he'd passed his four score years 
 Of earth life, with its hopes and fears, 
 
 He now presents to thee. 
 
 And with this work his hand has wrought. 
 He leaves a few brief lines of thought. 
 
 To prompt thee as they may; 
 In future years, amid the strife. 
 The conflict and the cares of life, 
 
 When he has passed away. 
 
 Oft has he borne thee in his arms 
 To shield thy tender feet from harms. 
 
 And felt a joyous pride; 
 To have thee prattling on his knee. 
 In thoughtless childhood's happy glee, 
 
 Or walking by his side. 
 
 And he would add. e'er passing on, 
 
 To join his kiudred long since gone. 
 
 To ))rigliter homes above; 
 
102 DEDICATION. 
 
 This one more link to memory's chain, 
 For kindred that may yet remani, 
 A token of his love. 
 
 Then please accept, dear Jenny Clare, 
 This casket he has made with care. 
 
 Which he will now deliver; 
 A-nd hold in memory's sacred chain. 
 The giver, and the gift retain, 
 
 A sacred trust forever. 
 
 The four compartments of the same. 
 Truth, Justice, Wisdom, Love, we name. 
 
 In harmony combined; 
 Are four important elements. 
 That constitute the soul, the sense. 
 
 The fabric of the mind. 
 
 May Truth, like an unchanging star. 
 Or friendly beacon from afar, 
 
 Illume thy path alway; 
 While Wisdom, like a friendly guide. 
 Points out the snares on every side. 
 
 That lead so oft astray. 
 
DEniCATION. 108 
 
 May Justice, with perception strong, 
 Balance the scale of right and wrong, 
 
 With ever steady hand; 
 And Love, with pure angelic art, 
 To soften and refine thy heart, 
 
 Jts heavenly influence lend. 
 
 Love, we would have it understood 
 Of all that's no]:)le, pure and good. — 
 
 But shun the poisonous breath 
 Of him who would corrui)t thy heart, 
 Or plant therein with fiendish art 
 
 The tree of moral death. 
 
 The various blocks as understood. 
 Each of a diff^erent kind of wood. 
 
 In harmony combined: 
 Each fill> its own approi)riate sj)ace. 
 Each in the structure holds the place. 
 
 The architect designed. 
 
 So niiiy the Powers that rule above, 
 And work in harmony and love. 
 Assist thee, .lennv ('hire. 
 
104 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 To build as with angelic art, 
 Within the precinct of thy heart, 
 A temple pure and fair. 
 
 When life's reward is nobly won. 
 By life's stern duties nobly done, 
 
 Its cares and conflicts o'er; 
 Thy grandsire, with a welcome hand, 
 Shall greet thee in the spirit land, 
 
 Where he has gone before. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF ELIZABETH, WIFE OF A. H. STOD- 
 DARD, WHO DIED OCT. 4, ]849. 
 
 Were length of days to mortals given, 
 
 Awards of moral worth; 
 Her spirit, happy now in Heaven, 
 
 Had lingered long on Earth. 
 
 But oft we see the purest flower 
 
 That opens to the light; 
 Wither and fade, in one brief hour, 
 
 Forever from our sight. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 105 
 
 And Angel spirits, lingering here, 
 
 Soon seek a better home. — 
 Their's is h highei*. happier sphere. 
 
 Where sorrow cannot come. 
 
 Elizabeth, thou wert to me 
 
 A true and faithful wife; 
 And I had hoped to walk with thee. 
 
 E'en to the end of life. 
 
 But soon, from Death's unerring bow 
 
 A fatal arrow sped; 
 That hope was blighted at a blow, 
 
 And thou wert with the dead! 
 
 But though thou art forever gone, 
 
 On memory's page. T trace 
 A record of thy moral worth. 
 
 That time cannot erase. 
 
 1 read thy virtues in each line, 
 
 In letters bright and fair; 
 But faults, (if faults were ever thine.) 
 
 Have no recording there. 
 
106 THE juryman's DREAM. 
 
 And 0, may the rich boon be mine, 
 The highest boon I crave; — 
 
 To dwell with spirits, such as thine, 
 In realms beyond the grave. 
 
 THE JURYMAN'S DREAM. 
 
 The case had been tedious, the lawyers had wran- 
 gled, 
 The juryman's head had grown weary and tangled 
 With evidence, plain to establish conviction 
 And equally plain in direct contradiction; — 
 With motions, objections, and rulings and read- 
 ings; 
 Presented by lawyers, with intricate pleadings. — 
 Intended — this fact to the juror was i)lain — 
 To mix up the matter and muddle his brain. 
 Till the juryman wished — it was very uncivil — 
 That lawyers and all had been sent to the d — 1. 
 The long, tedious, trial was ended at last; 
 
THE juryman's dream. 107 
 
 The jury retired, and their ballots were cast. 
 The verdict was rendered with little delay, 
 And the now sleepy juror, discharged for the day. 
 With toil- wearied body, and care-wearied head, 
 He sought out his lodo;ing and hurried to bed. 
 Then, covering up to the tip of his nose. 
 Endeavored to settle his mind to repose. 
 But the tangled events of the past busy day, 
 Arose to his mind in discordant array; 
 And thought, linked to thought, in order combined, 
 A train of reflections to bring to his mind. 
 Thus reasoning, thinking, how clearly he saw 
 The general folly of going to law. 
 The heavy expenses, the tedious delay. 
 The issue uncertain, proceed as we may; — 
 For lawyers intriguing, will often prevail, 
 To hinder strict justice from poising the scale. 
 Thus reasoned the jnror profoundly, and now. 
 He thought of the farmers that lawed for the cow. 
 While one at the horns pulled with muscle and 
 
 main. 
 And made his best effort the cow to retain; 
 The other pulled equally hard at the tail: — 
 While two cunning lawyers were filling their pail; 
 
108 THE juryman's DREAM. 
 
 And soon would secure, as was plain to be seen, 
 Not only the milk, but the body between. 
 But pictures like this, by the fancy combined; 
 Grew more indistinct to the juryman's mind; 
 And sleep, gentle goddess, with soft silken chain. 
 Soon wrapped in sweet slumber his care-wearied 
 
 brain. 
 But though his tired body in slumber was still. 
 His spirit, in dreamland was roaming at will. 
 Was roaming in dreamland; — how strangely it 
 
 seems; — 
 Ah, who can account for the nature of dreams? 
 He dreamed he was back in the court room once 
 
 more. 
 The court was in session, the same as before; 
 The judge was presiding with dignified grace; 
 The sober-faced jurors, each man in his place; 
 Each fully resolving, as well as he might; 
 To give his decision for justice and right. 
 A lawyer was pleading a case by his side 
 That the juryman very well knew he belied; — 
 The cause of a black hearted villain, whose name, 
 Was a term of reproach, and a by-word of shame; 
 Whose rum-bloated body, and guilt-tellimg face. 
 
THE juryman's DREAM. 109 
 
 In feature, and form, would a demon disgrace. 
 The lawyer was pleading some technical flaw, 
 To shield his base client from justice and law; — 
 When, off in a moment, ere they were aware. 
 Both lawyer and juror were borne through the air. 
 Some demon of darkness, both active and strong. 
 Had seized them together and bore them along. 
 The lawyer, and juror, both struggled and plead; 
 The harder they struggled, the faster he sped. 
 No word of reply to their questions he deigned. 
 He answered them nothing, and nothing explained. 
 At length, said the juror, whose terror and dread. 
 Were fully aroused by the prospect ahead: — 
 '■ Wherever we go, Vm determined for one. 
 To claim and insist that strict justice be done." 
 "For me,'' said the lawyer, "'tis justice I fear, 
 If justice be done, I shall never get clear." 
 Meanwhile the dark demon, with muscle and 
 
 might. 
 Still hurried them onward, nor slackened his flight. 
 Down, down, into regions of darkness profound. 
 Where eye had no vision, and ear caught no 
 
 sound; — 
 Far, far, from the realms of the bright busy day. 
 
110 THE juryman's DREAM. 
 
 This demon of darkness was speeding away. 
 But once, only once, did he lag on the road, 
 And vainly endeavored to balance his load. 
 The juror remarked, as they hurried along. — 
 The odor of brimstone grew pungent and strong. 
 And now. as some demon-home region they neared, 
 A pale blueish light in the distance appeared; 
 And scarce was there time for a look, or a thought. 
 When into a large vaulted court they were 
 
 brought. 
 With pavement of brimstone, the Hooring was 
 
 spread, 
 A ceiling of brimstone, the arch overhead, 
 Huge columns of brimstone supi)()rted the same. 
 While tapers of brimstone, with pale blueish tlame 
 Illumined the place with a wavering glow. 
 From the ceiling above, to the {)avement below. 
 With claw-hooked lingers, and hoof-cloven feet, 
 (A huge lump of brimstone was used for a seat,) 
 With smoke-heaving nostrils and eye-balls of fire. 
 That glared in their orbits, herce, fearful and dire; 
 With smoke blackened features of horrid import, 
 The grim king of brimstone was holding his court. 
 An ominous roaring arose fr(jni the ground, 
 
THE juryman's DREAM. Ill 
 
 Nor yet did it seem a continuous sound, 
 But rising, and falling, in cadence like roar. 
 Like the voice of the waves, on a surf-l)eaten shore. 
 The demon unclasped from his terrified freight. 
 Right gliid of relief, for his panting was great; 
 And shrugging a shoulder, said he. " I declare 
 These liars, confound them how heavy they are. 
 [ couldn't make them balance, do all that 1 might. 
 That's just what has worried and hindered my 
 
 flight."" 
 He turned to the grim king of sulphur, and said. 
 Presenting the lawyer, and bowing his head: 
 " If your Majesty jjleiise. I have brought you a liar 
 From Kalamazoo, at your special desire; — 
 A shrewd artful fellow, and judged bv his weight. 
 His measure of sinning has been very great. 
 Of all that I bring to this horrid abode, 
 "Tis seldom indeed that I get such a load. 
 I know him right well, and I have not a doubt. 
 Wherever he goes he will stir up a rout.'' 
 His majesty bowed with a gratified grin; 
 The juice of tobacco flowed over his chin. 
 The trembling lawyer he keenly surveyed, 
 "■'rm very much needing your service.' he said, 
 
112 TH?: juryman's dream. 
 
 "And this, you'll admit, is in justice my due, 
 For service I often have rendered to you. 
 In many hard cases where you've been employed, 
 Stern justice against you. by conscience annoyed, 
 Drove into close corners, perplexed and in doubt, 
 I've always found some way of helping you out. 
 And now, I am in trouble, as you will soon learn. 
 And claim for my service a proper return: — 
 In fact I'm puzzled, and you are the man 
 That's able to help me, if any one can. 
 There is one little spot, I am sorry to tell, 
 In the region you worldlings denominate Hell; 
 Wherein by some source of moral invention, — 
 I can't give the place my especial attention, — 
 My subjects are growing so quiet and civil, 
 Inclining to good, and abandoning evil; — 
 Are leading such quiet, harmonious lives. 
 No drinking, no lighting, no beating of wives; — 
 And lately I'm told they have no litigation; — 
 They settle their lousiness by mere arbitration. 
 The boys, it is said, have quit smoking and chew- 
 ing. 
 And my business, I fear, is fast going to ruin. 
 The lazy, no longer are trying to shirk, 
 
THE JURYMAN'tS DREAM. J 13 
 
 The idlers and loafers are going to work; 
 
 Indeed if this state of affairs should prevail 
 
 My chief occupation must certainly fail, 
 
 At least in that section, — and little I doubt, 
 
 If left to themselves that the fire will go out. 
 
 And now I want you, a professional liar. 
 
 To go down among them and stir up the fire. 
 
 Or, what to my mind is a far better plan, 
 
 Stir up litigation as soon as you can. 
 
 Get up all you can of contention and strife, 
 
 Get jealousy up, between husband and Mdfe; 
 
 And this you will see, as the natural course is, 
 
 Will furnish employment obtaining divorces. 
 
 Make honest industry a thing of disgrace. 
 
 Put gambling, and gossiping, into its place; 
 
 Encourage all sorts of extravagant living. 
 
 This leads men to robbing, and lying, and thieving. 
 
 Set each one to hating his neighbor and brother. 
 
 And they'll stir the brimstone to torment each 
 
 other. 
 And when youVe stirred up the contemptible nest. 
 Of course you'll expect to be burned with the rest. 
 For when we set out to make hell for our neigh- 
 bor. 
 
114 THE juryman's DKEAM. 
 
 We too will have hell in return for our labor. 
 
 You have your instructions, and now by the way, 
 
 I give you a moment, what have you to say?" 
 
 " 1 plead a demurrer," the lawyer replied, 
 
 " And move these proceedings be all set aside. 
 
 Allowing me time for a brief explanation, 
 
 ril show a mistake in identification. 
 
 And, doubtless you'll find, at the root of this work, 
 
 Some ignorant novice or blundering clerk; 
 
 Who seeing the lawyer, attached to my name. 
 
 And reading it liar, has copied the same. 
 
 That I am a lawyer, is all very true, 
 
 Attending the circuit at Kalamazoo." 
 
 "A lawyer, a liar," his majesty said; 
 
 He turned to the culprit, nodded his head, 
 
 '■ Pray where is the difference made to appear? 
 
 Those terms 3^ou should know are synonymous 
 
 here. 
 If you are a lawyer it settles the case, 
 We will find for you soon an ap}>ropriate place. 
 Yet candor requires me to make this concession. 
 There's some honest men in the legal profession; 
 Who make it their business, so far as they can, 
 To institute justice between man and man. 
 
THE ^URYMAN-'S DREAM. 115 
 
 And all of my efforts to bribe or seduce. 
 With this class of lawyers, has been of no use. 
 There's some of this class up in Kalamazoo, 
 With such. I of course can have nothing to do: — 
 Fve no place provided for strict honest men, 
 I always return them when brought to my den. 
 But you are my subject, your record is known. 
 Yourself, and your service, I claim as my own. 
 But I have no time to make further oration. 
 My deputy here will assign you your station." 
 A huge, horrid monster, black, fearful and grim, 
 Advanced to the lawyer and seized upon him. 
 Smoke, flashes and flame from the ground seemed 
 
 to rise. 
 Half strangling the juror and blinding his eyes; — 
 With terror half fainting you well may suppose, 
 Great globules of sweat fell like beads from his 
 
 nose. 
 He shook like an aspen with terror and dread: 
 His hair stood like porcupine quills on his head: — 
 But when he recovered his sight, as before. 
 The lawyer was gone and he saw him no more. 
 The lawyer disposed of, the next thing in place 
 The demon presented the juryman's case. 
 
116 THE juryman's T)REfAM, 
 
 He said: "I have no special charges to make, 
 My bringing him here may have been a mistake: 
 But, finding a nuraerons and wrangling crew 
 Of those they call lawyers, in Kalamazoo; 
 And knowing I'd have, as is always the case, 
 The most of their number to bring to this place; 
 It seems to me best, as a time saving plan. 
 To take two together whenever I can. 
 This man was among them, presumption was 
 
 strong. 
 I thought him a lawyer and brought him along. 
 But yet on the way I was somewhat in doubt, 
 Uncertain, at least, how the thing would turn out. 
 But now I perceive, in the light as he stands. 
 His sun-browned complexion, and toil hardened 
 
 hands. 
 And judging by these. I have reason to fear 
 For once I have got the wrong pig by the ear. 
 And yet, T propose we examine his case. 
 We may find this is his appropriate place.'' 
 His Majesty now to the juryman turned; 
 His name, age. and occupation were learned. 
 He was by profession a farmer, he said. 
 And always had worked for his clothing and bread; 
 
THE juryman's dream. 117 
 
 But now was a, juryman, sworn to be true, 
 
 Attending the circuit at Kalamazoo. 
 
 His name, which he'd never had cause to disown, 
 
 On the old bible record was Solomon Stone. 
 
 And as to the legal profession, he said, 
 
 'Twas the last he would enter for gaining his 
 
 bread. 
 Then as to his statements, he'd prove they were 
 
 true. 
 If they would return him to Kalamazoo. 
 The clerk of the court was now ordered to look 
 And see if he found such a name on the book. 
 The record was searched with attention and care, 
 But Solomon Stone was not registered there. 
 His Majesty puzzled, was scratching his head; 
 Then once more addressing the juror, he said: 
 '' From record, or witness, it does not appear. 
 That we had good reason for bringing you here. 
 It seems to have caused you a terrible fright; 
 It may do you good; — but we'll make it all right. 
 And now, as your record seems honest and fair. 
 We've no wish to injure or harm you a hair." 
 Then having occasion his quid to renew. 
 He graciously offered the juror a chew: 
 
118 THE juryman's DREAM. 
 
 And curtly remarked, as he proffered the weed: 
 " This didn't grow on earth, till I planted the seed. 
 It helps very much, I could prove by the showing. 
 To furnish me subjects and keep Hell a goiug.'" 
 The juror the offer politely refused: 
 "Tobacco," said he, "1 have never yet used. 
 For this simple reason, allow me to say, 
 I never believed 'twas a thing that would pay." 
 " Well, well."" said the fiend. "1 won't argue the 
 
 case. 
 Perhaps you will take something else in its place?" 
 He drew from his pocket a flask, as he spoke; 
 Besmeared with hot brimstone, and blackened with 
 
 smoke; 
 And holding it out, with a nod. and a wink. 
 He said: "You of course will have something to 
 
 drink?" 
 'Tis what men call whisky, I'm happy to tell 
 It had its conception and birth-place in Hell. 
 The art of distilling, allow me to mention, 
 I claim most important of all my invention. 
 And, but for its use, in the world overhead. 
 My business would scarcely afford me my bread. 
 But I must admit, I am somewhat afraid 
 
THE juryman's DREAM. 119 
 
 Of the women, — at work in the liquor crusade; 
 
 Should they be successful and rum drinkino^ stop, 
 
 'Twill ruin my business, and shut up my shop. 
 
 In short, my dependence, the product, and sum. 
 
 Of all my success must be based upon rum." 
 
 The juror replied: "I am sorry you think 
 
 111 accept, and partake, of your horrible drink. 
 
 These forty-five years IVe abstained from its use; 
 
 To partake of it now, were a horrid abuse 
 
 Of myself, of my conscience, my children, mv wife, 
 
 The act would torment me the rest of my life. 
 
 And further.*' said he, " I have witnessed enough 
 
 Of the misery caused by that horrible staff. 
 
 Our nation degraded, our credit despoiled: 
 
 The tide of our politics ruffled and roiled; 
 
 The fiercest displays of political strife. 
 
 That aim at the root of our national life; 
 
 Political gambling of every grade 
 
 By vile politicians, who make it a trade. 
 
 Electing, instead of the wise and the just 
 
 To stations important, of honor and trust, — 
 
 The refuse, the filth of political scum: 
 
 All this is the work of your favorite rum. 
 
 Our morals corrupted, our young men decoyed 
 
120 THE juryman's DREAM. 
 
 To dens of pollution, made drunk and destroyed. 
 Our prisons, our jails, and our poor-houses filled. 
 Our grave yards like garden-fields furrowed and 
 
 tilled! 
 Time, talent and treasure, no numbers can tell. 
 All, all swallowed up in this vortex of Hell! 
 While crimes the most horrid, dark, fearful and 
 
 black. 
 Are read in the record rum leaves in its track ! 
 And last, but not least, of the charges I bring, 
 Is the ruin that's wrought in the family ring. 
 Fve seen the old mother, her life nearly done. 
 Weep, over the wreck of her once noble son, — 
 That son her dependence, to steady, and stay 
 Her last fainting footsteps, on life s weary way. 
 I've seen the old father, bent low in despair. 
 Look down to the earth, for a resting place there: 
 For the sons, he had hoped were to honor his name. 
 Rum-wrecked, had gone down with a record of 
 
 shame. 
 And worse than all others, the heart broken wife, 
 Degraded, discouraged, and weary of life; 
 Her heart's best affections, her children, her home, 
 A sacrifice made to the demon of rum! 
 
THE JURYMAN S DREAM. 121 
 
 All these I have witnessed, and can you now think 
 I'll accept, and partake, of your damnable drink? 
 The pledge I have signed, and in peace or in strife, 
 The pledge I shall keep to the end of my life. 
 You speak of the women. Lord answer their 
 
 prayer, 
 And stay this dread torrent of death and despair!" 
 With a horrible scowl, and a shake of his head, 
 The fiend turned around to the demon, and said: 
 "That fellow is crazy; why what shall we think? 
 From Kahimazoo. and refuses a drink ! 
 Whoever before, from that rum-loving place, 
 Has heard of or seen a more singular case? 
 I wouldn't have him here for a twelvemonth and 
 
 day. 
 For all of the money an Astor could pay. 
 He's wild as a windmill; that's perfectly plain. 
 And doubtless belongs where they keep the in- 
 sane. 
 Such preaching as his with a practice to grace 
 Would make even hell a respectable place! 
 Then said, and he gave the poor demon a whack, 
 "You take the old fellow, and carry him back; 
 You certainly got the wrong pig by the ear: — 
 
122 THE JURYMAN S DREAM. 
 
 That crazy old farmer, 1 won't have him here." 
 The words were scarce uttered when lo, with a 
 
 dash, 
 The juror was l)orne through the air. like ths 
 
 flash, 
 Of a swift shooting meteor; — so it did seem, 
 When sweating with terror he woke from his 
 
 dream ! 
 A moment around him, bewildered, amazed, 
 Like one half unconscious he vacantly gazed; — 
 Till reason again, with reflection combined. 
 Resumed the control of his wavering mind. 
 And now, 'twas the task of his much puzzled 
 
 brain 
 The cause of his terrible dream to explain. 
 A lamp unextinguished on going to bed. 
 Threw a glnnmering glare on the juryman's 
 
 head. 
 And this, in accordance with optical law; 
 Would fully account for the light which he saw. 
 A new fashioned garment of feminine wear. 
 Was hung on the back of a neighboring chair. 
 Its bustle, its flounces, its flummeries, all 
 Were fully portrayed on the opposite wall. 
 
PIONEERING. 123 
 
 Its shadowy outline, a horrible thing, 
 
 He doubtless had thought it the sulphurous king. 
 
 He uow turned his thought to that terrible roar- 
 ing, 
 
 That too was explained, — 'twas his bedfellow 
 snoring. 
 
 And now in the way that may seem to you best; 
 
 I leave you, my friends, to account for the rest. 
 
 PIONEERING. 
 
 READ AT THE RE-UNION OF THE KALAMAZOO COUNTY 
 PIONEER ASSOCIATION. AUG., 1876. 
 
 ' Tis not to the victor, returning from far, 
 
 With the spoils of the vanquished, sad trophies of 
 
 war, 
 That we come to give greeting: we see in his train 
 The cottage in ashes, the corpse-covered plain. 
 
124 PIONEERING. 
 
 His god is ambition; fierce, bloody, and grim, 
 WeVe no words of welcome, or cheering for him. 
 But we come to give greeting, and honor, and 
 
 cheers. 
 To you, honored fathers, our old Pioneers. 
 For not like the conquering warrior you come. 
 With flourish of trumpet, and thunder of drum; 
 And the fields you have left are not covered with 
 
 slain. 
 But teeming with verdure and waving with grain. 
 And the homes you have left, are awake and alive 
 With the labors of love, like the bee-buzzing hive. 
 With pride we may tell of the deeds you have done, 
 Of the battles you've fought, and the conquests 
 
 you've won. 
 For you are the men that with death-telling 
 
 stroke. 
 Made war on the high-headed monarchs of oak; — 
 That conquered, and wrought from the forest, the 
 
 spoil 
 Of our beautiful fields, with your sweat and your 
 
 toil. 
 That laid the foundation, and graded the way, 
 For all that our country can boast of to-day. 
 
PIONEERING. 125 
 
 Its beautiful dwellings, on hillside and plain, 
 Where plenty, and peace, and prosperity reign: 
 Its flourishing cities, our own with the rest, 
 Fair Kalamazoo; brightest gem of the West. 
 But the credit we give for this work of your lives 
 Must be equally shared with your brave-hearted 
 
 wives. 
 For this is a fact that you may as well own. 
 You ne'er would have conquered the forest alone. 
 And but for your wives, you had all ran away 
 Or else had gone wild, and been savage to-day. 
 When you went from the conflict, toil-wearied at 
 
 night, 
 Who made your rude cabin look cheerful and 
 
 bright ? 
 And when you lay prostrate with sickness, and 
 
 pain. 
 And your hot, fevered blood rushed like fire to 
 
 your brain, — 
 Who stood by your side, do you think of it now? 
 And smoothed your hot pillow, and bathed your 
 
 hot brow? 
 Nor yet to the pioneer farmer alone 
 Can we give all the credit for what has been done. 
 
126 PIONEERING. 
 
 To all who have worked with the hand, or the 
 
 head, 
 To build lip our country or furnish its bread, — 
 The preacher, who pointed the pathway to God, 
 The honest day worker, who carried the hod, 
 The merchant, mechanic, aye every one, 
 Give credit to all for the good they have done. 
 The dressmaker, even, who rigs up our wives. 
 The stay of our homes, and the light of our lives, — 
 Although in her effort, I very much fear 
 She makes the dear creatures entirely too dear. 
 And here 'tis but justice to mention his name 
 Who built the first house on this beautiful plain. 
 On soil that he gave us, a tribute we'll pay 
 To the memory of old Titus Bronson to-day. 
 And Aunt Sally Bronson, his orave-hearted wife. 
 Give honor to her for her pioneer life. 
 But where are your comrades, who stood by yoar 
 
 side 
 In this war of the wilderness, trusted and tried? 
 Your ranks have grown thin, there are vacancies 
 
 there. 
 Do you point to the churchyard to tell where they 
 
 are ? 
 
PIOKEEKING. 127 
 
 That place does not hold them, its mounds only 
 
 show 
 Where you laid their cokl bodies, to moulder be- 
 low. 
 You have stood by their sides in the chamber of 
 
 death, 
 Where their fever-worn bodies lay gasping for 
 
 breath. 
 And the hand that you held, grew more clammy 
 
 and chill. 
 And its pulses beat fainter, then stopped, and were 
 
 still! 
 Did you see a bright light kindle up in the eye 
 With the last feeble pressure, that l)ade you good 
 
 bye ? 
 And the quiveriug lip, that was powerless to speak 
 As the dew drops of death settled cold on the 
 
 cheek? 
 It burned for a moment, then [)aled and was 
 
 gone: 
 A form lay before you. its tenant had flown. 
 The fire had departed, ''for ever and aye," 
 And you carefully laid its cold ashes away. 
 That light was immortal; that fire was Divine, 
 
128 SHALL WE TRY? 
 
 And will barn when yon sun-god no longer shall 
 
 shine. 
 But where is the spirit? where now does it dwell? 
 Your poet to-day is unable to tell. 
 We hear of a land that is lovety and bright, 
 Beyond the dark river, but just out of sight; 
 Where the angel of Justice shall freely bestow 
 A reward to the good for their labor below. 
 We are nearing that river, Time's fartherest shore, 
 That sooner or later we all must go o'er; — 
 And we trust in that region of beauty and bliss. 
 There'll be a re-union more happy than this. 
 
 SHALL WE TRY? 
 
 Life has its duties, he who will. 
 Can find a useful place to fill 
 In Life's great vineyard ; you and I 
 Can find employment,— Shall we try? 
 
 Life has its trials, everywhere 
 We shall encounter toil and care; 
 On Life's great pathway, you and I 
 Should meet them bravely, — Shall we try ? 
 
SHALL WE TRY? 129 
 
 Life has its sorrows, grief and woe 
 From many bitter fountains flow; — 
 Their source indeed we cannot dry; 
 We may relieve them, — Shall we try? 
 
 Life has its pleasures, happy they 
 Who truly seek, in wisdom's way. 
 Life's sweetest dew-drops; you and I 
 May freely taste them, — Shall we try? 
 
 Life is a mystery, we know 
 Not what the future may bestow: — 
 We know this much, that you and I 
 Can make improvement, — Shall we try? 
 
 Life is a school, where e'er we turn, 
 A useful lesson we may learn ; — 
 Each day life gives us, you and I 
 Ought to grow wiser, — Shall we try? 
 
 Life has its faults, imperfect man 
 Needs to improve as best he can, — 
 We all have failings, you and I 
 Ought to grow better, — Shall we try? 
 
180 WINE IS A MOCKER. 
 
 Life sets before us good and ill, 
 And we may choose the which we will, — 
 The good is Heaven, for you or me. 
 The bud is Hell,— Which shall it he? 
 
 WINE IS A MOCKER. 
 
 Oh, look not on the wine cup fair. 
 Breathe not its poisonous breath; 
 
 An adder coiled, is lurking there, 
 Whose stinging leads to death. 
 
 'Tis but another coil, to suit 
 
 That same old serpent lie; — 
 
 That though we take forbidden fruit, 
 We shall not surely die. 
 
 Thousands have tried its treacherous bait, 
 And tainpered with its snare; 
 
 They've gone, to meet a drunkard's fate. 
 Have gone, oh, tell me where? 
 
OUR OLD CANDLE STAND. 131 
 
 However mild thut cup may seera, 
 
 'Tis fearful in its wrath, 
 And like the mountain lava stream, 
 
 Bears ruin in its path. 
 
 "Strong drink is raging;" touch it not, 
 
 But from its presence flee; 
 Avoid it as you would the spot 
 
 That bears the upas tree. 
 
 For all along the human tide. 
 
 Unnumbered wrecks declare. 
 That where the wine cup has been tried, 
 
 Danger and death are there. 
 
 OUR OLD CANDLE STAND— A DREAM. 
 
 'Tis an old-fashioned round-top and stands in the 
 chamber, 
 A relic of ages departed and gone. 
 Its age. e'en tradition has ceased to remember, 
 'Twas grandmother's mother's, is all that is 
 known. 
 
132 OUR OLD CANDLE STAND. 
 
 I had a strange dream, and propose to relate it, 
 About that same candle stand, dingy and old — 
 
 Though I scarcely expect j^ou'll believe when I 
 state it, 
 So strangely it happened, as you shall be told. 
 
 I dreamed it was evening, that I had been reading; 
 
 'Twas late, — I was thinking of going to bed, — 
 When a strange sounding step, from chamber 
 proceeding. 
 
 Attracted my thoughts to the room overhead. 
 
 Said I, ''That is strange; there is some mischief 
 in it!" 
 I snatched up a chair, and my wife caught the 
 ])room ; 
 The stair door flew open, 'twas all in a minute. 
 And out walked that candle stand into the 
 room. 
 
 There was no person near it to movp it or steer it, — 
 rd heard of stands walking in that way be- 
 fore ; — 
 Thought T, now it may ))e the work of a spirit, 
 I'll ask it some questions, — it moved toward 
 the door. 
 
OUK OLD CANDLE STAND. 133 
 
 Said I begging pardon, pray where are you go- 
 ing? 
 My voice doubtless trembled somewhat in my 
 fright; — 
 Do you hear how the cold, wintry wind is now 
 blowing? 
 Don't venture abroad, 'tis a terrible night. 
 
 A moment it paused,^ — but my words were un- 
 heeded, — 
 Then down came its foot with whack on the 
 floor; 
 The front door flew open; again it proceeded, 
 
 With quick, nervous footsteps the same as 
 before. 
 
 Said I 'tis a spirit; I'm forced to believing, 
 
 By this time my hair stood like stakes on my 
 head ; — 
 Said wife, '' If the old stand is bent upon leaving. 
 Don't let it run oft' with that nice linen 
 spread." 
 
134 PIONEERING. 
 
 I snatched for the stand cloth, but 0! wliat a mis- 
 hap, 
 For just at that moment a half-wakened 
 scream ; 
 And a voice, crying, "What do you want with my 
 night cap?'' 
 Awoke me at once, — it was only a dream. 
 
 PIONEERING. 
 
 READ AT AUGUSTA, 1878. • 
 
 It seems to be a custom of the times. 
 
 At gatherings like this, to call for rhymes. 
 
 And if your servant, with his pen or tongue. 
 
 Can please the aged, or instruct the young; 
 
 His skill poetic, little though it be; 
 
 Shall be employed most cheerfully and free. 
 
 And if in comic lines his numbers run, 
 
 Pardon his lightness and his love of fun. 
 
PIONEERING. 135 
 
 While he shall make a brief attempt to show. 
 Something of times and customs long ago: — 
 Relating facts, as they to him occurred, 
 And something, too. of stories he has heard. 
 And if in scenes of distant, bygone years, 
 Something to wake your mirthfulness appears, 
 In this rude world, so rugged and so rough. — 
 Laugh when you may, there will be tears enough. 
 Then let us backward turn in brief review; 
 Compare old customs with the strange and new; 
 And see if all this change, and onward move- 
 ment 
 Among mankind, is really improvement. 
 In those old times, say fifty years ago. — 
 The world, as we luay say. was moving slow. 
 But in that matter, people were contented. — 
 Railroads with lightning trains, were not in- 
 vented. 
 'Twas thought a big thing, when a man could go 
 In one short week from Troy to Buifalo: 
 And in addition, carry with him there, 
 His wife, his children and his household ware: — 
 And if by chance, the line boat had to wait 
 For change of horses, or to take on freight. 
 
136 PIONEERING. 
 
 People were patient, did not fret and worry, 
 And seldom thought of being in a hurry. 
 But now they go five hundred miles a day. 
 They are impatient of the least delay. 
 And if a streak of lightning they could ride, 
 Manage its course and all its movements guide, 
 They'd run the risk of peril and disaster, 
 And whip and spur, to make it go still faster. 
 Our boys were slow, it took them longer then 
 To get to where they fancied they were men. 
 In fact, they seldom thought they knew 
 More than their fathers, till their whiskers grew. 
 Were early taught to plow, to plant, and sow. 
 And to be patient, though their work went slow. 
 They'd no machines, by steam or horse-power 
 
 dashing. 
 To do their mowing, reaping, raking, threshing; 
 For all such work, of course you understand, 
 In olden' time, was slowly done by hand. 
 This being so, of course it must be plain. 
 Our boys had little tmie for raising Cain. 
 No steel spring buggies tempted them to ride. 
 To spend their dimes, and gratify their pride. 
 Nor did they go to village clothing store 
 
PIONEERING. 
 
 187 
 
 To buy the home-made garments that they 
 
 wore : — 
 But thought themselves respectably arrayed 
 In cloth their mother's hands, perhaps, had 
 
 made. 
 Worked for small wages, managed though to 
 
 clear 
 And save a little money, every year. 
 It was a custom, very common then, 
 Among our young and enterprising men, — - 
 As soon as they had cash at their command. 
 To go out West and buy a lot of land. 
 And, with this object constantly in view. 
 They learned to save their time, and money too. 
 Made small investments, at the liquor bars. 
 And smaller still in purchasing cigars. 
 This thing accomplished in the course of life, — 
 The next thing was, you say, to get a wife. 
 This brought the "tug of war," for you must 
 
 know 
 Our girls were backward then, and rather slow, 
 In forming matrimonial relation; — 
 They wanted time, for due consideration. 
 I know it took me three long years, at least. 
 
138 PIONEERING. 
 
 To get to where I could employ the priest. 
 'Twas long ago, but my good wife and I, 
 Have never thought for a divorce to try. 
 But now. (and it to me seems very queer), 
 They wed, and get divorced within a year. 
 Then when a girl would promise a young man 
 To marry him and go to Michigan, — 
 Would brave the horror of its ague shakes, 
 And dare the danger of its dreaded snakes, 
 It fixed the business, settled it for life. 
 She loved him well enough to be his wife. 
 It took some sparking though with every miss, 
 To get her up to such a point as this. 
 To come up here, say fifty years ago. 
 Was something to be thought of, you should 
 
 know. 
 Why did we call it sparking? Very well — 
 Listen a moment then and I will tell. 
 The open fire-place, now so much abused, 
 Was by our old-time farmers mostly used. 
 And in those happy, well-remembered days. 
 We used to court before its cheerful blaze. 
 And when said blaze would get a little low. 
 And failed to warm us with its ruddy glow, — 
 
PIONEERING. 139 
 
 We would get up with footsteps very spry. 
 And with the poker, always standing by. 
 Would stir the fire, the sparks of course would 
 fly- 
 
 We called it sparking, that's the reason why. 
 Our girls were trained in each domestic art, — 
 To know their duty, and to do their part. 
 Didn't always wait for drudging Ma to call, 
 Hoping she'd get along and do it all. 
 Their simple habits, exercise and air, 
 Had made them healthy, vigorous and fair. 
 To show that the}- were plump, and held out 
 
 weight, 
 A little story let me here relate: 
 On one occasion. Greorge, with prospects bright. 
 Went out to see his girl one Sunday night. 
 They chatted merrily awhile, when he, 
 With much persuasion, got her on his knee. 
 She was a solid lass, for you should ken 
 Girls were not made of cotton batting then. 
 This girl was flesh and blood, and all around, 
 Weighed nearly twenty ounces to the pound. 
 Time, for awhile, passed pleasantly away. 
 She on his lap seemed well content to stay. 
 
140 PIONEERING. 
 
 But he began to feel a strange sensation, 
 As though his blood was not in circulation. 
 He hitched about, and tried to change his base. 
 To shift the burden to another place; 
 Hoping to keep the life blood in his leg, 
 But as for her, she never moved a peg. 
 At length he asked the very happy maid, 
 If she could tell him just how much she 
 weighed. 
 
 His case was fast becoming desperate, 
 Or he would not have asked her of her weight. 
 At last the girl, not meaning to be rough. 
 And thinking she had tortured him enough, — 
 Asked him, in accents very mild and sweet, 
 If she should not get up, and take another seat. 
 ''Oh, no." he said, "you needn't get up; 'tis past 
 all human power 
 
 To save me now, my leg is dead, and has been 
 dead an hour. 
 
 Our girls had little time for making shows 
 Of flounces, ruffles, puckers, tucks and bows. 
 Didn't change with each new mooi:, their style 
 of bonnet, — 
 
PIONEERING. 141 
 
 Thought more of wh;it was in their head than 
 
 on it. 
 There was one kind of bow pleased every miss; 
 It was a young man's elbow, bent like — this < . 
 And I have known them walk for miles, content, 
 To hold to such a bow. if closely bent. 
 They didn't then carry, please to bear in mind, 
 A load of rumpled dry-goods, on behind. 
 And when we got them fairly on the track 
 They'd nothing in their dress to pull them back. 
 There was one fashion, that I will allow 
 Ridiculous almost, as fashions now. 
 It was a horrid puff about the shoulder. 
 And worn by girls, say ten years old, and older. 
 I cannot tell ,you just how large they were. 
 Nearly as large as bushel baskets are. 
 And while their faces looked like bright full 
 
 moons. 
 Their arms and shoulders looked like huge oal- 
 
 loons. 
 These puffs were horrible, I will allow, 
 But not as dangerous as puffs are now. 
 I mean those silly puffs of make-believe. 
 Young men will give to flatter and deceive. 
 
142 PIONEEKING. 
 
 For instrumental music, by the way, 
 
 Our girls were taught on spinning wheels to 
 
 . play, 
 
 And with their cheerful voices, ringing clear, 
 
 Made music that was charming to the ear: — 
 
 Compared with which the organ's soulless tone, 
 
 Is but a lifeless, senseless, drowsy drone. 
 
 The girls are asking why it is young men 
 
 Are less inclined to marry now than then? 
 
 Well, listen then, while I this thing explain. 
 
 And I will try to make- the mattep plain. 
 
 It did not cost, us half as many dimes 
 
 To get a wife in those old-fashioned times. 
 
 A dollar was the old established price, 
 
 For fittmg up a matrimonial splice. 
 
 And when the priest had tied the marriage 
 
 knot. 
 It seldom loosened, or would slip a jot. 
 Indeed, you'll say, "It beats the very Nick," 
 To know how true and close our wives would 
 
 stick. 
 But now, it beats the venerable Harry, 
 To see how very loosely people marrj'^: — 
 And where's the priest, that for a single dollar, 
 
PIONEEKING. 143 
 
 Would fit a couple with a marriage collar? 
 Then, when a woman wanted a new dress, 
 Eight yards would make it — sometimes less — 
 And I have heard a good old lady say 
 'Twas no great thing to make one in a day. 
 They'd no machines, like busy-fingered witches, 
 To take ten thousand worse than useless stitches; 
 Nor did they make a worse thau useless trail, 
 To drag behind them, longer than a rail. 
 Now how much cloth is needed for a dress? 
 From fifteen yards to fifty. I should guess: — 
 Ai^d then to make it, within. bounds to speak, 
 Would doubtless occupy about a week. 
 In view of this, our young men that have senses. 
 Before they .marry stop to count expenses. 
 And clearly see 'twould make a fearful lack, o" 
 Of dimes, with which to purchase their tobacco. 
 In those old times, I'm happy to declare. 
 That cases of insanity were rare. 
 How is it now ? To me 'tis very plain. 
 That half the world at least has gone insane. 
 Our wives are crazed, and here the great dis- 
 tress is, 
 Studying and planning how to rig their dresses; 
 
144 PIONEERING. 
 
 To carry out the all-pervading passion, 
 
 To have them cut, and made, and trimmed in 
 
 fashion. 
 Our men are crazy and hereft of senses; — 
 Devising ways to meet the vast expenses, 
 Our girls go crazy when their hearts are broke; 
 Our boys go crazy on tobacco^ smoke. 
 And so in single life, are doomed to stay, 
 To smoke their senses, and their dimes away. 
 We must return to simpler ways again. 
 Or else the whole concern will go insane. 
 When our young men concluded to invest 
 In matrimonial arrangements, and "go West;" 
 Brave girls were ready to come with them here, 
 And share the hardships of the pioneer. 
 God bless those brave old pioneering wives 
 Who could adapt the order of their lives; 
 Wisely conforming to their situation, 
 Mid scenes of sickness, hardship and privation. 
 Could ride to meeting in their plain array 
 In lumber wagons, — ^jolting by the way. 
 Not drawn by prancing, fiery steeds, as now; — 
 But by the sober brothers of the cow. 
 The rude log cabin, with its scanty fare, 
 
PIONEEKING. 145 
 
 With those they loved, they cheerfully would 
 
 share. 
 Would risk their lives in this malarial clime, 
 Patiently toiling, — hoping that in time 
 Fair homes would rise around them, and invest 
 Their later years with plenty, peace and rest. 
 Some failed to realize their expectation; — 
 Borne down hy sickness, hardship and privation. 
 Many have gone, we trust the better way; — 
 And some, thank God, are with as here to-day. 
 May their descendants realize, and know. 
 To them a debt of gratitude they owe. 
 And strive, by every means, that debt to pay, 
 For countless blessings we enjoy to-day. 
 
GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 READ ON THE FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE MAR- 
 RIAGE OF CAPT. J. R. HENDRYX AND LADY, OF 
 HAMILTON, VAN BUREN COUNTY, MARCH IItH, 
 
 1880. 
 
 Respected friends, we meet with you, 
 
 And join on this occasion, 
 In offering, as is justly due, 
 
 Our warm congratulation. 
 
 In this, we hope to make again 
 
 The lamps of memory brighter, 
 
 To add new links to friendship's chain. 
 And make the old ones brighter. 
 
 For, worthy friends, you pass to-day. 
 With early vows un blighted, 
 
 The fiftieth mile-stone, on the way. 
 From where your paths united. 
 
GOLDEN WEDDING. 14:1 
 
 You've reached a point, by few attained 
 
 In marital relation; 
 And made a record that has gained 
 
 Our highest admiration. 
 
 From this far stand-point on the track, 
 
 Your uiinds instinctive flow 
 Back, o'er your lengthened pathway, back 
 
 To days of long ago. 
 
 Allow us, friends, to go with you. 
 
 And in poetic lays. 
 Recall, and bring again to view, 
 
 The scenes of other days. 
 
 As we have seen two currents flow 
 
 In separate channels on; 
 Till, joining in the vale below, 
 ^ They mingled, into one: 
 
 So, friends, your separate paths we trace, 
 
 By fancy's magic line; 
 Down to that well remembered place 
 
 Where both in one combine. 
 
148 GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 We see you at the altar stand, 
 In youthful bloom and pi*ide, 
 
 Clasping each other by the hand, 
 The bridegroom and the bride. 
 
 We hear your fervent pledges made, 
 Of faith and love for life; 
 
 We hear the solemn service said 
 That made you man and wife. 
 
 We see you start together there, 
 A common path to tread; 
 
 Jointly its good or ill to share, 
 Your motto, "Go ahead.'" 
 
 Success your eflfbrts seemed to crown, 
 Till like an early frost. 
 
 Misfortune's heavy hand came down, 
 And all you had was lost. 
 
 We see you journeying to the West, 
 You came with empty hand, 
 
 Without a dollar to invest 
 
 In house, or home, or land: — 
 
GOLDEN" WEDDING. 149 
 
 For poverty, that meager foe, 
 
 Now held you in his grip; — 
 Your motto now, we're ghid to know, 
 
 Was, ''Don't give up the ship.'' 
 
 Still to your early purpose true, 
 
 A fortune to possess, — 
 You persevered, and pulled it through, 
 
 And made a grand success. 
 
 But mournful memories will rise. 
 
 As we review the past; 
 And scenes that wake our sympathies 
 
 Come thronging thick and fast. 
 
 Five times you've joined the sad array. 
 That moved with measured tread. 
 
 To hear your darling babes away. 
 And lay them with the dead. 
 
 If tender recollections here. 
 
 Should cause a tear to swell; 
 We can excuse the swelling tear, 
 
 We know the cause full well. 
 
150 GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 We, too, have heard a prattling tone. 
 
 That caused our heart to thrill. — 
 The voice of one from this workl gone, 
 
 A tongue forever still. 
 
 But on the brighter summer shore. 
 
 When Death's dark wave we've crossed, 
 
 We hope to clasp those babes once more. 
 That we have loved and lost. 
 
 But you have taken orphans home. 
 
 To give parental care: — 
 These tilled, in part, the vacuum 
 
 Death had occasioned there. 
 
 And when from this cold world we go, 
 
 Of selfishness and sin: 
 Can we a better record show. — 
 
 That good "'well done" to win: — 
 
 Than that we sheltered from its storm. 
 
 The widow in distress. 
 And folded to our bosoms warm 
 Her children fatherless? 
 
GOLDEN WEDDING. 151 
 
 We'd better have this recommend, 
 
 When life's last day is done. 
 Than all the glory ever gained 
 
 By old Napoleon. 
 
 For every act of kindness done 
 
 To those who needed aid, 
 Will smooth our path, as as we go down. 
 
 On life's descending grade. 
 
 May those you've sheltered not forget 
 
 A due regard to show. — 
 But strive to pay the sacred debt 
 
 Of gratitude they owe. 
 
 But. friends, our sun is sinking low 
 
 Behind the Western hill; — 
 A few more tide-wave's ebb and flow. 
 
 Our span of life will fill. 
 
 The rugged oak, that rears its form, 
 
 And lifts its branches high ; 
 May stand erect, amid the storm. 
 
 And lightning of the sky: 
 
152 GOLDEN WEDDHSrCx. 
 
 May stand while empires rise and fall; 
 
 Till centuries are past; 
 But Time, the conquerer of all, 
 
 Will bow its form at last. 
 
 So with ourselves; Time's silent tread 
 Has left his impress now, 
 
 In wintry frost-locks on our head, 
 And furrows on our brow. 
 
 Like cabin of the pioneer. 
 
 These tenements of clay. 
 
 That hold these restless spirits here. 
 Must perish and decay. 
 
 But fairer, better homes we trust. 
 Beyond the narrow tide. 
 
 Await, when these are turned to dust 
 The Bridegroom and the Bride. 
 
FREE SOIL. 
 
 WRITTEN OCTOBER 1880. 
 
 I would not dwell on slave-cursed soil, 
 
 For all the guilty gold 
 That slave-doomed victims ever earned, 
 
 For tyrant hands to hold. 
 
 Though Nature with a lavish hand, 
 Has scattered wide and free, 
 
 Her choicest products o'er that land, 
 'Tis not the home for me. 
 
 I care not though each mountain side, 
 With burnished gold may gloA^; 
 
 I care not though its rivers glide 
 O'er diamond beds below. 
 
 If man, upon those golden shores 
 A cringing slave must be, — 
 
 I care not for its precious stores, 
 'Tis not the land for me. 
 
154 PREE SOIL. 
 
 I care not though its Southern clime 
 Breathe one eternal spring; — 
 
 I care not though its fertile soil, 
 Earth's richest products bring. 
 
 If bound in slavery's galling chains, 
 
 A human form I see; 
 Its favored clime, its fertile plains, 
 
 Could be no home for me. 
 
 I care not though its breezes blow 
 From Eden's fragrant bowers, — 
 
 I care not though sweet fragrance flow 
 From Earth's selectest flowers. 
 
 If tyrant hands have planted there 
 Oppression's baleful tree; 
 
 I could not breathe its slave-cursed air, 
 'Tis not the land for me. 
 
 With me it matters little where 
 The oppressor's power is seen ; 
 
 Whether in rice swamps at the South, 
 Or Erin's fields of green. 
 
OLD STYLE OF DENTISTRY. 155 
 
 Where e'er God's image is oppressed, 
 
 On continent or sea; — 
 Or North, or South, or East, or West, 
 
 'Tis not the home for me. 
 
 I'd rather hear the hitterest storms 
 
 Our Northern mountains know; 
 Though wintry tempests veil their forms. 
 In never-melting snow. 
 
 Though Earth be bound in frosty chains, 
 
 If man himself be free; — 
 The land where most of freedom reigns, 
 
 There is the home for me. 
 
 OLD STYLE OF DENTISTRY. 
 
 In olden times, say fifty years ago. 
 The style of dentistry, as I will show. 
 Was very different from the style to-day: — 
 We got more work, for less than half the pay. 
 With common doctors we were then contented, 
 
156 OLD STYLE OF DENTISTEY. 
 
 These horrid dentists hadn't been invented. 
 We used old fashioned teeth, and they 
 Were nicely fitted and put in to saty. 
 But these new fashioned things, oh fie! 
 You give a sudden sneeze, and out they fly. 
 But ours were fixed so very firm and stout; 
 We'd sneeze almost as soon, our boot soles out. 
 A tooth would sometimes ache, and when 
 We'd tried all remedies, then known, in vain, 
 To ease our anguish and relieve our pain; — 
 Had griped our jaws, and held them firm and 
 
 tight; 
 And walked the floor for hours by day and 
 
 night, — 
 Had kicked the dog and cat, till all was blue. 
 Because they wouldn't have the tooth-ache, too, 
 Had tried to chew and smoke, and this of course, 
 Had only made the matter ten times worse. 
 Had roiled our stomachs, made our heads to reel, 
 And larger than a sack of tangled wool to feel; — 
 At last, with pain, and rage, almost distracted, 
 We'd go and get the horrid thing extracted. 
 No, not extracted, here 1 ought to mention 
 Extracting teeth's another new invention. 
 
OLD STYLE OF DENTISTRY. 157 
 
 Our doctor pulled our teeth, and I will tell 
 How it was done, for I remember well. 
 He had us in a stout, old-fashioned chair, 
 Our heads thrown back in stern but mute des- 
 pair. 
 With skill professional and studied art, 
 He pulled our jaws, like wood-chuck traps, apart; 
 Then with his jack-knife, cut away the gum. 
 Didn't it hurt? Of course it hurt us some; — 
 Now came the turnkeys, — carefully he looked, 
 And felt, to see they were securely hooked. 
 All this was slowly done with circumspection, 
 Griving us time for some sublime reflection. 
 Then came the " tug of war," the which to meet. 
 We clenched our hands, and firmly braced our 
 
 feet. 
 And should have set our teeth, firm in their 
 
 places, — 
 But that he had his cant-hook in our faces. 
 
 Now^ he would pull, and wrench, and twist, 
 
 And lift us from our chair; 
 And when we hit him with our fist, 
 
 He did not seem to care: 
 
158 TEMPERANCE ODE. 
 
 Intent on what he was about, 
 And bound to earu his pay, 
 
 He'd have that horrid grinder out, 
 Ift took him half a day. 
 
 And when we came to settle up, 
 For all this toil and time. 
 
 The generous man would only charge 
 A shilling, or a dime. 
 
 But, oh! these horrid dentists now. 
 Before weVe time to "holler," 
 
 Will jerk a tooth out of our heads. 
 And charge us half a dollar! 
 
 TEMPERANCE ODE— A PARODY. 
 
 From Maine's remotest fouutains. 
 
 From California's strand. 
 To where Columbia's mountains, . 
 
 In' towering grandeur stand: 
 
TEMPERANCE ODE. 159 
 
 The voice of supplication, 
 
 Is borne o'er hill and plain, 
 
 Oh, save our rum-cursed nation 
 From rum's degrading chain. 
 
 Ten thousand hearts are bleeding, 
 
 Are bleeding at this hour; 
 Ten thousand tongues are pleading. 
 
 Against this demon power. 
 With voice like many waters. 
 
 All o'er our wide domain, 
 Oh, save our sons and daughters, 
 
 From rum's degrading chain. 
 
 And shall the demon longer 
 
 In Hellish arts refined; 
 With tighter chains and stronger. 
 
 Our sons and brothers bind? 
 Must faithful wives in anguish, 
 
 Their griefs in silence bear; 
 Must helpless children languish, 
 
 Denied a father's care? 
 
160 TEMPERANCE ODE. 
 
 Our noblest minds are waking. 
 
 And rousing in their might; — 
 Young men the pledge are taking, 
 
 Their motto, " Dare do right/' 
 In numbers still increasing. 
 
 With firm resolve they come, 
 To wage a war unceasing, 
 
 Against the monster rum. 
 
 Rejoice! the clouds are lighter. 
 
 And from our Eastern strand, 
 A better day and brighter, 
 
 Is dawning on our land. 
 We hail with exultation 
 
 The dawning of the day, — 
 That brings to us salvation. 
 
 From rum's degrading sway. 
 March, 1877. 
 
THE OLD FASHIONED JOHNNY CAKE. 
 
 How sweet to my taste was the bread of my child" 
 hood, 
 That fond recollection recalls to my mind; 
 When huns^ry I came, from the school or the 
 wild- wood ; 
 An old-fashioned johnny cake hoping to find. 
 
 The old-fashioned fire-place, the kettle hnng o'er it. 
 Suspended by pot-hook, from trammel or 
 crane; — 
 And the old-fashioned johnny cake baking be- 
 fore it, 
 Are pictures my memory will ever retain. 
 
 How nice, from the amply filled plate to receive it. 
 As piece, after piece, took the road to my 
 mouth ;- 
 There was no other bread could induce me to 
 leave it, 
 Though loaded with sweets from the far sun- 
 ny South. 
 
]62 THE OLD-FASHIONED JOHNNY CAKE. 
 
 How different now from the days of my child- 
 hood ; — 
 I go to my dinner, dejected in mind, 
 From my toil in the school-room, the field or the 
 wild-wood, 
 An old-fashioned johnny cake never to find. 
 
 And all they may cook of their new-fangled no- 
 tions. 
 The rarest and richest that wealth can afford; 
 Can never awaken such pleasing emotions, 
 
 As an old-fashioned johnny cake, baked on a 
 board. 
 
 The moderns may boast of the world's onward 
 movement, 
 Its wondrous advances in science and arts; 
 And talk of refinement, and moral improvement, 
 To mend people's manners, and better their 
 hearts; — 
 
 But give me the health and the social enjoyment, 
 Those old-fashioned customs and times could 
 afford ; 
 
 When men made a living, by honest employment, 
 And fed upon johnny cakes baked on a board. 
 
TO A. F. HAYNES. 163 
 
 When our old-fashioned grandmothers, happy and 
 
 healthy, 
 
 Contentedly lived as their means would afford; 
 
 And cheerfully labored to make themselves 
 
 wealthy. 
 
 And fed upon johnny cakes baked on a board. 
 
 TO A. F. HAYNES. 
 
 AOCEPTAlSrCE OF AK INVITATION TO GIVE A READING 
 OF ORIGINAL POEMS BEFORE THE WATSON GRANGE, 
 
 APRIL 12th, 1879. 
 
 My dear friend Haynes, 'tis justly due, 
 That I present my thanks to you, 
 And to that strange, mysterious band. 
 Called Grangers, as I understand. 
 For giving me a friendly call 
 To give a reading in their hall. 
 
164 TO A. F. HAYNES. 
 
 It does not come within my range 
 
 To say one word against the Grange. 
 
 Indeed, Fve formed the resolution 
 
 Of friendship for the institution; — 
 
 And frequently have thought that I 
 
 Would join the Grange, — at least would try. 
 
 But when I came to look ahead, 
 
 How could I otherwise than dread 
 
 The horrid torture, and vexation. 
 
 Of what they call initiation. 
 
 And then, of course, 1 had a doubt, — 
 
 Perhaps, thought I, they'll vote me out. 
 
 Now Fve a curiosity 
 
 To get inside a Grange and see, — 
 
 That I may learn from inside view, 
 
 If all Fve heard and read is true. 
 
 Therefore Fve had consideration 
 
 Of your most courteous invitation, — 
 
 To read before the Watson Grange; — 
 
 And 3"et I thought it very strange, 
 
 That I, comparably a stranger. 
 
 Who never dared to be a Granger, — 
 
 Should be called out in this relation. 
 
 To read to your association. 
 
TO A. F. HAYNES. 165 
 
 I pondered deeply on the subject; 
 
 For what, thought I, can be their object? 
 
 That they invite me to go there, 
 
 With my poor stock of rhyming ware. 
 
 Indeed, said I, 'tis very strange; — 
 
 Have they no rhymers in the Grange? 
 
 Or have the dull, depressing times 
 
 Dried up the fountain of their rhymes? 
 
 Or do they to this course resort, 
 
 To get me there to make them sport? 
 
 Thinking that from my want of sense, 
 
 They'd have some fun, at my expense. 
 
 Or have they yet another object; 
 
 And do they want me for a subject, 
 
 To put me through in this relation 
 
 The process of initiation ? 
 
 Of which, as I before have said, 
 
 I entertain a perfect dread. 
 
 I couldn't believe you would consent. 
 
 Or give the least encouragement, 
 
 To any purpose, trick or plan. 
 
 Thus to deceive an honest man. 
 
 Or if you would, I didn't believe 
 
 Your old friend Stoddard you'd deceive. 
 
166 TO A. F. HAYNES. 
 
 Now I am cautious, as you know, 
 
 But yet I will consent to go; 
 
 And do in ray rough way, my best, 
 
 To entertain, or interest 
 
 Men, women, children, one and all. 
 
 That shall assemble in your hall. 
 
 And further, I will not disclose 
 
 Your secrets to ray friends or foes. 
 
 Unless to lessen words of strife, 
 
 I may be forced to tell my wife. 
 
 But then, of course, as you must know, 
 
 It will not any further go, — 
 
 For where's the man that can believe 
 
 A daughter of old raother Eve 
 
 Will tell a secret anywhere 
 
 That has been trusted to her care ? 
 
 Then on your part, I shall require 
 
 That you shall furnish hall and fire:- — 
 
 And what's of greater consequence. 
 
 You furnish me an audience. 
 
 Nor do I think it more than right 
 
 That you should keep me over night; 
 
 And treat me, though an outside ranger, 
 
 As kindly as you would a Glranger. 
 
TO A. F. HAYNES. 167 
 
 There is another stipulation, 
 
 That you must make in this relation, 
 
 Please to excuse me when I say, 
 
 I've heard some hard things, by the way. 
 
 Of how they treat (it beats creation) 
 
 Their subjects for initiation. 
 
 I can't consent to be put through 
 
 The course I'm told that they pursue. 
 
 I can't consent, I'll plainly say. 
 
 To be blind-folded, any way. 
 
 I can't get down upon all fours. 
 
 And trot around your slivery floors. 
 
 And carry a two-bushel sack 
 
 Of ruta bagas on my back. 
 
 With the addition of a peck 
 
 Of onions, strung around my neck. 
 
 I can't allow your wives, to spread 
 
 A buckwheat pan-cake on my head; — 
 
 And then to bind in place of hat, 
 
 A fleece of wool atop of that. 
 
 Nor give consent in any wise 
 
 To have the wool pulled o'er my eyes. 
 
 Nor must a lady Granger there 
 
 Sift thistly hay seed in my hair: 
 
168 TO A. F. HAYNES. 
 
 Nor Granger girls in any case, 
 
 With sorghum syrup smear my face; — 
 
 Unless, (in this I must be plain). 
 
 They'll come and kiss it off again. 
 
 I can't be harnessed, anyhow, 
 
 To some strange-fashioned Granger plow; 
 
 And then required that plow to draw, 
 
 With collar made of buckwheat straw; — 
 
 A corn cob bit, and driving lines 
 
 Made up of squash or pumpkin vines; — 
 
 A pumpkin hung to either ear. 
 
 And then spurred round in pain and fear, 
 
 With three-tined pitchf(jrks in the rear. 
 
 Then for a harrow, drag a eat 
 
 Around the floor — tail first at that. 
 
 I'd surely balk, then what a fuss, 
 
 And is it not ridiculous 
 
 To have such doings, when you win 
 
 Some silly-pated greenhorn in? 
 
 You who have passed through all of this. 
 
 Of course know better how it is. 
 
 My person, and the clothes I wear. 
 
 Must be secure and sacred there. 
 
 And if, in their mysterious rites, 
 
TO A. F. HAYNES. 169 
 
 They conjure up demoniac sprites; 
 
 I take this time and way to tell, 
 
 I'll not be held accountable. 
 
 To finish up in this direction, 
 
 You must assure me full protection 
 
 From all the dangers, and the harms, 
 
 That may result from witching charms. 
 
 And furthermore, I briefly note, 
 
 You must protect me from the goat; — 
 
 Must keep him chained, while I am there. 
 
 Or hold him by the horns with care. 
 
 And now, friend Haynes, if it should be 
 
 To these conditions you agree,^ — • 
 
 On April twelfth, you understand. 
 
 If all is well, FU be on hand. 
 
KALAMAZOO. 
 
 AS SEEN FROM MOUNTAIN HOME CEMETERY 
 
 JUNE, 1872. 
 
 How fair is the prospect spread out to my view, — 
 Thy beautiful landscape, fair Kalamazoo. 
 Here nature and art. wealth and wisdom combine, 
 And grandeur, refinement, and beauty are thine. 
 Bright skies bend above thee, warm suns mildly 
 
 glow, 
 x\nd pure winding streams wander gently below. 
 
 Thy hills, crowned with verdure or waving with 
 
 grain. 
 Seem fondly encircling thy beautiful plain; — 
 And sacred among them, the fairest and best, 
 Thy sweet Mountain Home, where the weary may 
 
 rest. 
 
 How fair from their summits thy mansions are 
 seen. 
 
KALAMAZOO. 171 
 
 Thy ranges of shade trees wave gladly between ; 
 How balmy thy breezes, how softly they blow 
 Over garden and lawn, smiling brightly below. 
 
 Thy fair, rolling river, o'er pebbles and sand. 
 Comes joyful to greet thee, and lave thy fair 
 
 strand. 
 Then gracefully curving, moves silent and slow, 
 As if from thy presence reluctant to go. 
 
 Roll on, noble river, — fair Kalamazoo; 
 A thousand bright fountains thy stream shall re- 
 new. 
 Roll on in thy beauty, pure, joyous and free; 
 Lake, valley and hill-side pay tribute to thee. 
 
 And thou, noble city, thy honor maintain. 
 Thy credit for beauty, refinement and gain. 
 May naught of misfortune impede or arrest 
 Thy onward advancement, bright gem of the West. 
 
TO JESSIE. 
 
 Dear Jessie, when I saw you last, 
 And took your hand so kind; 
 
 The sacred memories of the past 
 Came thronging to my mind. 
 
 The cherished memories of one 
 Dear in the days of yore; — 
 
 A much k^ved daughter, long since gone, 
 Gone to the ''shining shore." 
 
 I thought in you that I could trace 
 What I have longed to find; — 
 
 Resemblance of her fair young face, 
 Resemblance of her mind. 
 
 I hope it was not thought amiss, 
 
 That I imprinted there, 
 An almost weeping father's kiss, 
 
 Upon your cheek so fair. 
 
ALBUM LINES. 173 
 
 If strange to j'ou it did appear, 
 
 Your parents, kind, can tell, 
 What caused the almost bursting tear 
 
 Within mine eyes to swell. 
 
 Though wide our future paths may part. 
 
 Upon this earthly plane; 
 Stamped on the tablet of my heart, 
 
 Your memory shall remain. 
 
 TO WILL F. STODDAKD. 
 
 While others seek in foreign war. 
 The world's applause to win; 
 
 Be yours the better conquest far. 
 Subduing foes within. 
 
 For he who conquers state or town, 
 
 May be inferior still. 
 To him who tames his passions down, 
 
 Obedient to his will. 
 
174 ALBUM LINES. 
 
 And tuning into harmony, 
 Those elements of strife; 
 
 That war within, should ever be 
 The highest aim of life. 
 
 That wisdom, peace and purity. 
 Your every step attend, — 
 
 To guide, to bless, shall ever be 
 The wishes of your friend. 
 
 A. H. s. 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 There's dazzling beauty overhead, 
 In evening's starry show, 
 
 There's beauty everywhere outspread, 
 On this green earth below. 
 
 There's beauty in the circling bow, 
 When sun and shower combine, 
 
 There's beauty in the crimson glow, 
 That marks the day's decline. 
 
ALBUM LINES. 175 
 
 There's beauty in the towering pine, 
 
 That ])ends in lofty pride, 
 There's beauty in the creeping vine 
 
 That nestles by its side. 
 
 But star and bow, and tree and skies, 
 
 In beauty all combined; 
 May all be prized, but more we prize 
 
 The beauty of the mind. 
 
 TO SARAH. 
 
 I ask for thee no golden store, 
 
 From California sent; 
 Those that have millions sigh for more,- 
 
 Gold cannot bring content. 
 
 Nor do I ask for sparkling gems, 
 From diamond-lighted cave, — 
 
 I ask for thee no shining pearls, 
 From 'neath the ocean wave. 
 
176 ALBUM LINES. 
 
 Be thine, fair friend, superior wealth, — 
 A will to Heaven resigned; 
 
 Wisdom, content, and hope and health,- 
 And parity of mind. 
 
 Be thine those pearls of greater price, 
 And gems more bright and fair. 
 
 Pearls such as shine in Paradise, 
 Gems such as angels wear. 
 
 And as your bark in life shall sail . 
 
 O'er Time's uncertain sea, — 
 May no rude storm, no threatening gale. 
 
 Be feared or felt by thee. 
 
 But should each source of promised joy. 
 Be poisoned at its spring. 
 
 And thy most warmly cherished hopes. 
 Lie cold and withering: — 
 
 Should friends be severed from thy side. 
 Regardless of their worth. 
 
 And death dissolve the strongest ties. 
 That bind thy soul to Earth: — 
 
ALBUM LINES. 177 
 
 Then may supplies of Heavenly grace, 
 
 In measures large and free, 
 For every needed time and place. 
 
 Be kindly dealt to thee. 
 
 TO EMMA. 
 
 There is a little fertile field. 
 To every one assigned; 
 
 With all the fruit that it shall yield 
 The garden of the mind. 
 
 We have that garden field to till. 
 The seed we plant will grow; 
 
 And future fruit of good or ill. 
 Depends on what we sow. 
 
 TO CHARLIE HARRISON. 
 
 The page before me is so pure and white 
 
 I need be careful how aud what I write. 
 
 A blot, a word misplaced, a stain-mark there, 
 
178 ALBUM LINES. 
 
 Will mar its beauty and its worth impair. 
 Or if it bring no useful train of thought, 
 Vain are my efforts, and my labor nought. 
 
 So on the page of life, a blot, a stain; 
 
 An error made, a blemish must remain. 
 
 Nor can our record ever be as fair 
 
 As though no error and no blot were there. 
 
 Life's page before you is unsoiled and white, 
 
 Be careful, Charlie, what and how you write. 
 
 ALBUM DEDICATION. 
 
 TO THE FRIENDS OF MISS HATTIE S. COPE. 
 
 We make our dedication, 
 
 To friendship's sacred claim ; 
 
 And ask in this relation, 
 
 The favor of your name, 
 
 For names to friendshi]) plighted. 
 While life and thought remain; 
 
 Will form the links, united 
 Of memory's golden chain. 
 
CENTEKNIAL POEM. 179 
 
 TO ELIDY. 
 
 'Tis not for profit or for place, 
 
 Or literary fame, 
 That these few hasty lines I trace, 
 
 And here inscribe my name. 
 
 But to express the wish sincere, 
 
 For you, my fair young friend ; — 
 
 That while you tread life's pathway here. 
 Heaven's blessings may attend. 
 
 CENTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 EEAD AT KALAMAZOO, MICH., JULY 4tH, 1876. 
 
 We hail with pride, as well we luay. 
 
 With joy and exultation. 
 This glorious and immortal day. 
 
 Centennial of our Nation. 
 
180 CENTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 Let party strife be put away, 
 
 Away with care and sadness; 
 
 And let us give our hearts to-day 
 To patriotic gladness. 
 
 From far New England's rocks, that brave 
 The wild Atlantic's dashing, 
 
 To where Pacific's milder wave 
 His golden sand is washing; 
 
 From where Niagara's headlong tide 
 
 Roars an eternal thunder. 
 To where Sierra's peaks divide 
 
 And rend the clouds asunder; 
 
 From Florida's extremest lines. 
 Almost with tropics blending, 
 
 To where Walloostook's waving pines 
 On frosty hills are bending; — 
 
 All o'er our Nation's wide domain. 
 
 Where man has fixed his dwelling; 
 
 From mountain, valley, hill and plain. 
 Glad notes of joy are swelling. 
 
CENTENNIAL POEM. 181 
 
 America's adopted sons, 
 
 Of every name and Nation; 
 From foreign lands, in foreign tongues, 
 
 Join in the acclamation. 
 
 What though they had their birth away 
 
 In lands beyond the ocean. 
 If to our Government to-day 
 
 They're loyal in devotion? 
 
 First to the Giver of all good, 
 
 From grateful hearts ascending. 
 
 Millions of prayers, in gratitude, 
 
 With songs of praise are blending. 
 
 Prayers that Divine protection be 
 
 Kindly extended o'er us. 
 To guide us in the destiny 
 
 That lies unseen before us. 
 
 Then from the history of our sires. 
 
 The fathers of our Nation, 
 We read a record that inspires 
 
 Our hearts with admiration. 
 
182 CENTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 It tells of deeds of valor done 
 
 At old Ticonderogii, 
 At Bunker Hill, at Bennington, 
 
 Yorktown and Saratoga. 
 
 It tells US, seven long years they toiled 
 For Freedom's prize before tliem; 
 
 Tlieir cities burned, their homes despoiled, 
 Ruin impending o'er them. 
 
 Unpaid, half clad, and poorly fed. 
 With Washington to lead them. 
 
 They bravely fought and freely bled 
 To gain their country's freedom. 
 
 And dear to every mother's son. 
 Enshrined within his memory. 
 
 Should be the names of Washington, 
 Of Warren and Montgomery. 
 
 Nor should Americans forget 
 
 To hold in admiration. 
 The memory of the brave Fayette, 
 
 True champion of our Nation. 
 
CENTENNIAL POEM. 183 
 
 But the dark scenes 'mid which they stood; 
 
 Their toils and strife are over; 
 Their gory garments dyed in blood 
 
 Have passed away forever. 
 
 And may the prize, so bravely won, 
 
 By hardships and privations. 
 Descend from father down to son, 
 
 To latest generations. 
 
 All honor to that statesman band. 
 
 Those men of self-denial. 
 That with a firm, unflinching hand, 
 
 Withstood the fiery trial; — 
 
 Against whom bribes could not prevail. 
 
 Whatever the temptation ; 
 Whose principles were not for sale 
 
 Like stocks on speculation; 
 
 Who dared put forth that bold decree, 
 
 That famous declaration; 
 They had the right and ought to be 
 
 An independent nation. 
 
184 CENTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 And in sustaining that decree, 
 On Freedom's sacred banner, 
 
 They pledged their lives, their property, 
 And their more sacred honor. 
 
 A foe with power and skill combined, 
 In stern array before them; 
 
 A horde of savages behind; 
 
 With hatchets gleaming o'er them. 
 
 Brave men, that in that trying hour, 
 Dared sign that declaration; 
 
 Braving the vengeance and the power 
 Of Britain's mighty nation. 
 
 Their's was a patriotism bold. 
 That wavers not nor falters; 
 
 They couldn't be bought with British gold. 
 Nor scared with British halters. 
 
 But to themselves and country true, 
 And true to their descendants. 
 
 They persevered and f ought it through. 
 And gained their independence. 
 
CENTENNIAL POEM. 185 
 
 That glorious birth-right, unalloyed, 
 Has from those sires descended 
 
 To us, their sons, to be be enjoyed; 
 By us to be defended. 
 
 Will we allow that birth-right sold 
 
 For speculative forage; 
 As Esau's birth-right was of old. 
 
 For Jacob's meager porridge? 
 
 Then at your country's altar kneel, 
 
 And swear by the Eternal. 
 To guard that prize from foreign steel. 
 
 And treason more infernal. 
 
 A century has passed away 
 
 Since we became a nation. 
 And our Republic stands to-day, 
 
 A living illustration, 
 
 That a Republic may prevail. 
 With simple institutions; 
 While monarchies and empires fail, 
 O'erwhelmed with revolutions. 
 
186 CENTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 We point you to the past with pride, 
 With warm congratuhitions; 
 
 And to the future, yet untried, 
 With bright anticipations. 
 
 Our wide domain, our fertile soil, 
 Our mountain mines of treasure, 
 
 Yield to the skillful hand of toil, 
 
 Their products without measure. 
 
 Here labor, capital and skill. 
 Each in its proper station, 
 
 May work together in good will 
 And mutual relation. 
 
 Here, too. the poorest child may gain 
 
 A thorough education, 
 And from the humblest state attain 
 
 The highest elevation. 
 
 Here, too, the honest hand of toil 
 Is honored and rewarded. 
 
 And he who owns or tills the soil 
 Has equal rights accorded. 
 
CENTENNIAL POEM. 187 
 
 Our commerce reaches far and wide, 
 
 In ever}' clime protected; 
 Our gallant ships on every tide 
 
 Are honored and respected. 
 
 The flag that waves above our heads 
 
 Has gained a reputation; 
 The freeman loves, the foeman dreads. 
 
 The banner of our Nation. 
 
 Where'er it floats, by laud or sea, . 
 
 We'll guard the dear old banner; 
 And yet its best defense must be 
 
 Intelligence and honor. 
 
 Write on its folds, we will be just — 
 To Union's main-mast nail it; 
 
 And lay the villain in the dust, 
 Whose treason dares assail it. 
 
 And be his name with knaves enrolled. 
 Who 'jieath that starry banner. 
 
 Shall sell himself for paltry gold. 
 And stain his country's honor. 
 
188 CENTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 Our bulwarks and our seamen brave 
 Will guard us from invasion; 
 
 But save my country, ever save, 
 From luxury's contagion. 
 
 WeVe more to fear to-day by far, 
 From slavery of fashion. 
 
 Than from all foreign ships of war 
 That float upon the ocean. 
 
 Our ship of state is strong, but then 
 Corruption may divide it; 
 
 And what we need, is honest men 
 To manage and to guide it. 
 
 And let us fully understand — 
 The only sure foundation 
 
 On which we safely can depend 
 Is, honest education. 
 
 One hundred years have passed away, 
 And we, a mighty nation, 
 
 Four times ten million hearts to-day, 
 Rejoice on this occasion. 
 
CEKTBNNIAL POEM. 189 
 
 And greeting from the fatherland, 
 
 Rejoicing with each other; 
 We meet our friends with open hand, 
 
 As brother meets with brother. 
 
 The hatchet that no more, we trust. 
 The bonds of peace shall sever, 
 
 Is buried deeply in the dust; 
 There let it rust forever. 
 
 And we will put far, far away 
 
 The thoughts of blood and slaughter. 
 And greet with open arms to-day. 
 
 Our friends from o'er the water. 
 
 May nought that is, or is to be. 
 
 Our bonds of union sever. 
 Land of the brave ! Home of the free ! 
 
 Union and peace forever. 
 
 Then let us brighten friendship's chain 
 
 In all our wide relations. 
 Till " Peace on Earth, good will to men," 
 
 Prevail among the nations. 
 
DEATH OF GEORGE WIN SLOW. 
 
 MEMORIAL POEM READ AT A GROVE MEETING AT 
 WINSLOW'S ISLAND, 1879. 
 
 We miss a form to-day, with whicli before, 
 We've been familiar on this ishind shore. 
 The form of one to whom for manhood true. 
 Our highest tribute of respect is due. 
 
 Our brother Winslow, — as we understand, — 
 
 Has passed before us to the spirit land. 
 
 Life's last encounter, bravely fought and won, 
 
 His Earth-life finished and its labors done. 
 
 We bore his body to the burial plain; — 
 
 That poor wrecked form he will not need again. 
 
 With honor due, the last that we could pay. 
 We laid it kindly, carefully away: 
 Its purpose served, its work well done we trust. 
 There to cominffle with its kindred dust. 
 
DEATH OF GEORGE WINSLOW. 191 
 
 'Twas but the casket, laid among the dead 
 From which the ever living man had fled. 
 
 Why should we murmur, when our school-mates 
 
 pass, 
 Fitly promoted to a higher class ? 
 Selfish would be the wish, to hold them back 
 From pressing forward, on progression's track. 
 
 What though above us on the upward grade. 
 Will that prevent their influence and aid? 
 Can they not come, and whisper in our ear, 
 How best to solve life's tangled problems here? 
 
 Yet we shall miss him, — on the busy street 
 We miss the man that we had loved to meet; — 
 He will be missed among his fellow men, 
 Missed as a neighbor, and a citizen. 
 
 The needy widow, with her orphan band. 
 Will miss the bounty of his open hand. 
 'Twas his religion to relieve distress; 
 To aid ''the widow, and the fatherless." 
 
192 DEATH OF GEORGE WINSLOW. 
 
 Was want and sorrow in the humblest shed, 
 He prayed the poor, the needy might be fed: — 
 Then went and took the food they needed there. 
 And thus secured an answer to his prayer. 
 
 He prayed for freedom, and with hand and 
 
 purse, 
 Sped on the fugitive, from shivery's curse. 
 
 We need such men as Winslow, to withstand 
 The thousand ills and wrongs on every hand; — 
 As knavery, of every grade and kind, 
 And superstition that enslaves the mind; — 
 Intemperance, with its wave of dark despair. 
 And priest-craft, with its cunning gull-trap 
 
 snare; — 
 These, and unnumbered other ills to stay, 
 Require such men as Winslow every day. 
 
 We miss him here, and we shall miss still more 
 His words of wisdom on the council floor. 
 We miss his manly, bold denunciation 
 Of every wild and reckless innovation, 
 
DEATH OF GEORGE WINSLOW. 193 
 
 Of those immoral elements of strife, 
 That mar so oft the harmony of life. 
 We miss him much, but can we understand 
 How much the}^ miss him, from the household 
 band? 
 
 The hospitable board again is spread, 
 
 But father Winslow is not at its head, — 
 
 The lonel)^ chamber, desolate and still, 
 
 The vacant chair, that he was wont to fill, 
 
 A thousand sacred memories recall. 
 
 Oh! there they miss him, miss him most of all! 
 
 'Twas brother Winslow's nature to oppose 
 What he believed was wrong, in friends or 
 
 foes. 
 Where duty led him, fearlessly he went, — 
 E'en though the tide of public sentiment 
 Set full and strong against him, in its might, — 
 .Where e'er he saw, or thought he saw, the light 
 Of truth unerring, like a polar star, 
 Lighting his pathway, even from afar, 
 He held his course, nor turned aside to heed 
 Tradition hoary, or sectarian creed. 
 
194 DEATH OF GEORGE WINSLOW. 
 
 Doubtless he had his faults, and who has not 
 On all life's written record made a blot? 
 
 Nor did he think, as many preachers say 
 The blood of Christ could wash all stains away; 
 Making life's page, if blotted o'er with sin, 
 As white as though a blot had never been. 
 
 Our brother Winslow, built his faith's founda- 
 tion, 
 On candid, thorough, full investigation. 
 To him the evidence was full and plain, 
 That though a man may die, he'll live again. 
 
 For truth infallible, he did not look 
 
 To ancient record, manuscript or book. 
 
 But truth accepted, whence so e'er it came. 
 
 In Jesus, Buddha, or Mahomet's name. 
 
 He knew that friends from the celestial sphere 
 
 Had held communion with his spirit here; — 
 
 That, like the daring mariner of old. 
 Whose thrilling story has so oft been told; 
 They had returned; and from the spirit strand; 
 
MY LITTLE GRAND-DAUGHTERS. 195 
 
 Had brought the tidings of a summer laud, 
 Beyond the billows of life's stormy main. 
 Where kindred spirits shall unite again. 
 
 This was a faith, in which he could abide. 
 Firm in this faith he lived, in this he died; 
 With this imperfect tribute, let me say, 
 Give us more men like Winslow here to-day. 
 
 MY LITTLE GRAND-DAUGHTERS. 
 
 CHILDREN OF WILL S. AND CARRIE STODDARD. 
 
 Two little girls, with teeth like pearls. 
 And cheeks like summer roses. 
 
 With eyes of blue, or some such hue, 
 And funny little noses. 
 
196 MY LITTLE GRAND-DAUGHTERS. 
 
 When combed with care, their flaxen hair, 
 Is left in flowing tresses, — 
 
 But by the way, it will not pay. 
 To tell about their dresses: — 
 
 For girls are vain, 'tis very plain. 
 And if their dress v^e mention, 
 
 Would not their pride be gratified 
 By giving it attention? 
 
 These children play, in childish way 
 With dolls and little dishes, — 
 
 Sometimes with hook, along the brook, 
 They catch the little fishes. 
 
 The names you'll find if so inclined. 
 
 Of Lucy, and of Lizzie, 
 If you will look in this my book. 
 
 When you are not too busy. 
 
ALL FOR THE BEST. 
 
 TO MRS. JONES, OF BATTLE CREEK, ON THE LOSS OF A 
 DAUGHTER. 
 
 It seems mysterious and strange, 
 
 When we allow our thoughts to range 
 
 O'er the wide field of toil and strife, 
 
 That forms the theater of life; — 
 
 That from the fount of life, should spring. 
 
 So much of sin and suffering, 
 
 To mingle with its crystal stream, 
 
 Filling so often to the brim. 
 
 The cup our thirsty lips must press, 
 
 With dregs of grief and bitterness! 
 
 Why should so much of crime and wrong. 
 
 Attend this life-tide all along. 
 
 Making the vale through which it flows, 
 
 A wilderness of wants and woes; 
 
 A mingled scene of hopes and fears,. 
 
 Of joy and sorrow, smiles find tears. 
 
198 ALL FOR THE BEST. 
 
 Nor can we better understand, — 
 Why Death, with cold, relentless hand, 
 Like an untimely frost, should sere 
 Our brightest hopes and prospects here. 
 We murmur not at the decree 
 That stamps us with mortality; — 
 For when worn out with toil and age. 
 On Life's incessant active stage; 
 Our part performed, our labor done, 
 Life's weary battle fought and won; 
 Feeble and bending by the way. 
 Our life at best a wintry day, — • 
 'Tis well decreed we should retire. 
 And like a wasted lamp expire. 
 
 Death then should cause us no alarms. 
 Who takes us kindly in his arms. 
 As we receive a weary guest. 
 And bears us gently to our rest: — 
 From which we wake to greet once more 
 Departed kindred, gone before. 
 
 But when we feel the chilling breath. 
 That lays our loved ones low in death, 
 
ALL FOR THE BEST. 199 
 
 And see his icy arms unlock. 
 
 To take the dearest of our flock: — 
 
 The mother, so much needed there, 
 
 For her dear family to care, — 
 
 The father, whose paternal arm 
 
 Supports, protects, and shields from harm, — 
 
 The noble son^ our hope and pride. 
 
 The darling daughter from our side; 
 
 The young, the useful and the gay. 
 
 Torn from our hearts and homes away, — 
 
 We feel to murmur at the fate 
 
 That makes our hearth-stone desolate. 
 
 Then human wisdom seeks in vain. 
 To solve the complicated skein. 
 The tangled net-work of events. 
 That men ascribe to Providence. 
 But let us this conclusion draw 
 'Tis all in harmony with law; — 
 And when this law is understood. 
 We'll see it doubtless for our good. 
 
 We notice now, on looking back. 
 
 O'er childhood's thoughtless, wayward track, 
 
200 All eor the best. 
 
 Where we have often thought we saw, 
 Errors in the parental law; 
 We now perceive in reason's light, 
 Parental law was just and right. 
 
 So when we reach the other shore 
 
 Of that dark river just before; — 
 
 And from its higher plane, review 
 
 The life scenes we have journeyed through, 
 
 With purer, clearer vision blessed, 
 
 We'll see that all was for the best. 
 
 FINIS.