USA > Indiana > Wayne County > Poems and sketches: consisting of poems and local history; biography; notes of travel; a long list of Wayne County's pioneer dead, also many names of those who lost their lives in defense of their country during the late rebellion > Part 2
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So wilt thou be complete in all That the Supreme decreed for thee ; Let superstition's shackles fall, For truth alone can make thee free.
By energy and faith, I trow, And self-reliance, most divine, Thou canst compel the world to bow And worship at thy chosen shrine.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Then " be not like dumb-driven cattle : Be a hero in the strife ; " Press onward in the din of battle, And evolve a nobler life.
God has meant that every being Should grow stronger in the right, And at last attain perfection, For acceptance in His sight. NOVEMBER 15, 1893.
THE BELL AT ST. PAUL'S.
Full many a time thy tones I've heard Ring out, in years gone by, And listened till my heart was stirred, And echo made reply.
Thy sad, sweet notes have wondrous charms, In every peal and swell, And fill my soul with joy so full That language fails to tell.
I've loved thee well, and loved thee long - In truth, I love thee still, As thou dost call the careless throng To worship, if they will.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Thou art to mne a cherished friend, Cemented by long years, And mayest sometime mark my end, · In sadness, if not tears ;
For often dost thou sadly toll For some dear friend or brother ;
Some cherished sister, passed away, Or dear, devoted mother.
Oft have I heard from stately towers, In regions far away, Sweet bells ring out, in morning hours, In joyous clang and play ;
But nowhere else on earth, to me, Have such sweet notes been rung As flood the vibrant air from thee, And issue from thy tongue.
Still ring the call to praise and prayer, As oft in days of yore, Till hope invites to climes more fair, Beyond this mundane shore.
Aye, ring in tones distinct and clear, Melodious, sweet, and long, Till every sin-sick soul has cheer, And faith in God is strong.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
And when thy mission is fulfilled - Should that good time e'er come - And truth from error is distilled, Then, only, be thou dumb.
And now, farewell, thou dear old bell ; Ring for the thoughtless world ; Ring loud and long, His mercies tell ; Love's banner floats unfurled.
SUNDAY, JANUARY 7, 1894.
NIAGARA.
Thou wondrous marvel of the world ! Whose floods for ages have been hurled Into far depths, unseen, below, From whence thy surging waters go !
Thou art sublime in might and power, And, flowing on through time's long hour, Hast rolled impetuous o'er these rocks, And dashed to foam, in deafening shocks.
Thy roar - a never-ceasing sound - Ascends from hidden caves, profound, Where boiling waters seethe and foam, And mist and fury find a home.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Amazed at sight of thee, we feel An awe that words cannot reveal ; A shrinking fear, wrought by thy frown, As mighty torrents pour them down.
Full many a luckless wight, long dead, Since fleeting eons hence have sped, Has drifted down, in dire dismay, To thy deep, yawning gulfs, away.
The Indian, in his frail canoe - To all his native instincts true - Pursuing hind, or fallow deer, Across thy bosom, year by year, Or vengeful foe, in horrid hate, Has met, upon thy brink, his fate.
So his white brother, far less rude, Has ventured forth, in thoughtless mood, To where thy restless waters flow, And, leaping, thunder down below.
Nor these alone, but Nature's throng, Whom instinct blindly leads along And lures to death, upon thy wave, Beyond the power of help to save.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Pour down thy floods while time shall last, Tremendous torrent, swift and vast, Far into mystic depths below, And rear aloft thy radiant bow.
Triumphant work of Nature's God, Evolved ere man the earth had trod ! Emblem of power and might, for aye, Sublimely grand, Niagara !
MAY 10, 1894.
LINES TO A LATE NOVEMBER BUTTERFLY.
[ On Thursday, November 13th, while out driving, the day being warm and pleasant. I saw, at a short distance in advance of me, a very beautiful butterfly, sporting in the sun as in the early days of Summer.]
'Twas the thirteenth of November, And a day to long remember, For the sun was shining brightly, And my team was tripping lightly, As we traveled down the road.
I was musing o'er the past, And the shadows it had cast, When I lifted up my eyes, And I saw, with glad surprise, What the circumstance bestowed.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
'Twas a miracle, indeed, That the season seemed to breed, In its solar warmth and light, And, with marvelous delight, I beheld a butterfly !
Happy spirit of the air, Flitting lightly, here and there, Like a harbinger of bliss, . Come to beckon us from this To some fairer world on high -
Cheer us ever, beauteous thing ; Hover round, on sportive wing ; Pleasant thoughts forever bring : Youthful fancies, boyish dreams, Flowering meads and babbling streams, Of the golden days now flown.
When a romping, gleeful child, Many an hour have I beguiled In pursuit of such as thou, Whose fair presence charms me now, Though to manhood I have grown.
Ignis fatuus fancies flit, Still, across my brain, and sit, Just as thou art wont to do, On some object strange and new ; And as quickly come and go.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Given still a score of years In this vale of joys and tears, We may never chance to see Other winged sprite like thee Linger till the cold winds blow.
Such a charm, in chill November, We shall cherish and remember, For like seasons come not often, Its asperities to soften, That we dare forget them soon.
And the soul that is not better, When to Nature it is debtor For its charms, to mind or eye, E'en of bird or butterfly, Must be sadly out of tune.
NOVEMBER 13, 1890.
D
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY THE CLOSING YEAR.
And now another year is past, A twelvemonth more of life is sped,
Borne onward to that ocean vast Where all preceding time has fled.
Like atoms on a flowing river, Humanity is drifting on
To find its goal - returning never - Till all now living shall be gone.
The thought is sad, yet Nature's laws Are absolute, as were the Medes', And if the contemplation awes, 'Tis the most kindly of His deeds.
In youth a buoyant spirit reigns, And we are confident and strong ; At middle age strength still sustains, And promises a voyage long.
Old age appears to us at last, With sunken cheeks and grizzled hair, And tells us that our prime is past - A truth our feelings all declare.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
With steps uncertain now, and slow, A staff required for our support, We totter on, as down we go - Of circumstance and time, the sport.
Worn out, at last, we sink to rest,
From life's concerns and troubles, free ; At peace with all the world, and blest Throughout a vast eternity.
As forest trees grow old, and die, And younger forms arise instead, So, reader, will both you and I Go hence, ere many moons are sped.
Deplore it not, for Nature's ways, Like justice, are the ways of God ; Probationary years and days Lead homeward, and by all are trod.
Life here prepares us for the skies - If, happily, such heavenly spheres Await - to which we may arise, Triumphant, through our toils and tears.
Rest, surely - if naught else - is ours, In dreamless and unending sleep : Blest gift of the supernal powers, For souls quiescent cannot weep.
DECEMBER 20, 1893.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
ROBERT BURNS.
Truly, the youthful Burns was gay ; A happy reveler in his day ; His years were ever June or May, And bloomed with love.
He knew not care, but everywhere Had amours with Eve's daughters, fair, Who seemed inclined his flame to share, In cot or grove.
A rustic, all unschooled, and free, With native wit, in full degree, Endowed with wondrous sense to see, As well as know.
A peasant born, he wrote with skill, He plowed and planted at his will, And on himself the most of ill He did bestow.
But, after all, his soul was great, And far beyond his low estate, Which was too humble to elate So clear a mind.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
He stood alone and had few peers, And none, for opportunity and years ; And later times will greet with cheers Aught he designed.
He was dear Scotia's noble son ; Lowly and lofty, all in one ; The friend of all, the foe of none Except the proud.
He loved the right, despised the wrong, And hurled his pointed shafts of song, In language keen, as well as strong, At the vile crowd.
He was the child of Nature, too ; To all its loving instincts true, And celebrated all he knew Of its fair charms.
Long may his nobler thoughts endure - The tender, sympathetic, pure, The heritage of rich and poor - Through time's alarıns.
JANUARY 30, 1894.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
THE LUNATIC, THE LOVER, AND THE POET.
" The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact ; "
We write it that you read it and may know it, For the saying is not questioned as a fact.
The vagaries and visions of the lover Tell of heaven upon earth unto him,
For the joys of his heart we discover Welling up, through the soul, to the brim.
So the lunatic, in mental aberrations,
Hath visions of magnificence and glory,
Though descended through the lowliest of stations, Or the scion of a king famed in story.
While the poet, no less ardent, taketh flight To the starry and the distant fields of air, For the lofty and the beautiful delight,
And his spirit ever seeketh what is fair.
So he pictureth a world aglow with bloom, And his sky becomes as radiant as heaven ; While a ceaseless longing doth his soul consume As he pleadeth that his weakness be forgiven.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
" The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact ; " We write it that you read it and may know it, For the saying is unquestioned as a fact.
JULY 24, 1893.
TO A DEPARTED SISTER, AGED SIXTEEN YEARS.
God, in his goodness, placed thee here, With sisters dear and brothers, To glad the heart of thy fond sire, And cheer a doting mother's.
But short, alas ! thy earthly stay With those thou lov'dst so dearly, For Heaven's decree ne'er brooks delay, And thou hast passed thus early.
Twas hard, indeed, to give thee up, E'en for that brighter shore, Whose holier joys, shall fill thy cup, Than earth e'er held in store.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Farewell ! my sister ; life has cares Too rude for human flowers ; Transferred to fairer climes, thy soul May bloom in happier bowers.
A sweet remembrance thou shalt yield While life to us is given, And at its close we trust to meet With thee, dear one, in Heaven.
TUESDAY, JANUARY 16, 1855.
ABANDON.
Give to me the hawthorn's shade On a hot and sultry day, A novel of some interest To read, when down I lay ; A brown " Havana roll " to puff, A "lucifer" ignited, And after all, a good, sound sleep, And I shall then be righted.
A. D., 1850.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
INDOLENCE.
I was languid and aweary, For the day was long and hot, And though I sought amusement, . Its resources I had not.
I had read and read, and pondered, Till a stupor filled my brain, And I sat and read, and wondered If I had not best refrain.
So I yielded to the promptings, And sought a shady nook, With the air and sun about me, A pencil and a book.
And to beguile the moments, As in silence they went by, At some poetic stanzas I thought my hand to try.
So while the breeze was wafting Its coolness o'er my brow, And song-birds trilled their laughter, I undertook my vow.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
I framed these simple verses As you behold them here, Without a special object - That seemeth very clear ; And if they lack perfection, Or energy or wit, Or seem to want direction, It comes from lack of grit.
For Summer's heat and indolence Deprive us of our powers, And this must be mny sole defense In these oppressive hours.
Perhaps when Autumn days return, Fresh vigor they may bring,
With inspiration that shall burn Till loftier strains we sing.
So, fare you well, for we must go, A duty to perform : The clouds are rising in the west, With promise of a storm ;
And should a cyclone sweep our path, It would be "versus" then ; So I had better cease, or wrath May wrest this scribbling pen.
TUESDAY, JUNE 20, 1893.
NOTE .- A storm was actually arising at the time this was being written.
POEMS AND SKETCHES.
DEPARTING SUMMER.
"The harvest is over. the Summer is ended."
Now forests wave a long and sad adieu, And trembling leaves, in sorrow, seem to sigh, Because of thy departure, and alas ! to view, Not distant in thy train, chill Autumn nigh.
Thou comest and thou goest like a dream, And earth bewails her Summer beauties, flown ; While Time moves onward, like a passing stream, And seasons vanish, but go not hence alone :
For man and matter, all that Nature knows, Tends to the final goal - Eternity ; Each living thing a debt to Nature owes, Both great and small of earth's fraternity.
Then, wherefore should we sadden at thy leaving ? For thou again mayst cheer us with thy rays ; But when poor mortals are called hence, no grieving Will ever render back departed days.
NOTE. - Written August 31. 1848; re-written and amended July 28, 1891.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
THE SNOW.
" Here we come, and there we go," Say the little flakes of snow ; " Down we fall, at Nature's call, Silently or in a squall.
" Children greet us, glad to meet us ; To their merry cries they treat us ; Happy days and gleeful plays, Romping in their childish ways."
They enjoy the snow, at least, Coming from the north or east ; Coasting here, and gliding there - Splendid sport, I do declare.
See them rolling up a ball - Now so large, at first so small ; Then, again, they pile it high, And to form a man, they try.
And anon they build, in sport, What they term a snowy fort ; Then they rear a monument, Till their slender strength is spent.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
And, at last, too cold for play, Cease to revel for the day, And, with hasty steps, retire Homeward, to the cheerful fire.
E'en the cold, ungenial snow Makes the childish heart to glow ; While to those mature in years Its enchantment disappears.
DECEMBER 2, 1893.
SOME COOL REFLECTIONS ON A GAS FIRE.
I sit and freeze, I sit and freeze ; I shake and shiver, yawn and sneeze ; I pray for heat -instead, I freeze ; I almost swear - and yet I freeze.
I long for warmth of sun or breeze, And yet I freeze, and yet I freeze ; Confound the gas ! I wish I could Convert its vapors into wood.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
That genial warmth might cheer my soul, And give my chattering teeth control ; Revivify my powers of life, And end this frightful frigid strife.
But, lo ! a chill pervades my frame, With dire forebodings, ill of name, Because I'm cold, so very cold - The fire burns low - so cold, so cold.
We pray the powers that be for aid, And trust that help be not delayed ; We pray for honest, righteous pressure, And less of daily scanty measure :
That we through future times remaining Shall have less cause for just complaining.
DECEMBER 31, 1892.
THOUGHTS,
Suggested by the Ever-Thronging Multitude About Fountain Square, Cincinnati, Ohio, September 5, 1894.
Come, thou, with me, and see the world go by, And mark its phases, while the moments fly ; Its ceaseless turmoil and its endless strife, To seek a fortune, or sustain a life.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Like ocean's tides, in constant ebb and flow, It surgeth hither, and doth yonder go ; Some aim or purpose every act declares, And in pursuit, nor toil nor labor spares.
While hope of gain is urging some along, The love of pleasure seemeth full as strong ; So all go headlong, as their wills incline, To Mammon's altar, or to Folly's shrine.
Some speed on foot, and some on flying cars Propelled by cables or electric bars ; While here and there, and back and forth they rush, In one mad conflict and unheeding crush.
Each rising morn beholds the fray begun, At dewy eve it is not wholly done ; So we, poor humans, in this restless world, Are ever onward and still onward hurled,
Till our sad lives are weary, worn and wan, And gladly yielded, that we may be gone : For pleasure-seeking and pursuit of gain Are disappointing and invite to pain.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1894.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
THANKSGIVING OF THE POOR.
Give thanks - and for what? For a year of hard times ? For numberless strikes and for countless crimes ? For murder and robbery, arson and theft, By graceless scoundrels, whose hands were deft ?
For squalor and poverty, pinching the poor, Who cannot keep want away from the door ; Whose labor has lessened and wages reduced, Good morals degraded, and virtue seduced ?
For law-makers pandering unto the rich, And aiding in schemes the gist of which Meant millions of money to combine and trust, Thus filling their coffers, and pampering lust ?
For evils like these, and multitudes more, We are asked to give thanks and forget to deplore The wrongs that we suffer, and crush out the life Of the poor and the lowly, in unequal strife.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Nay, never, we cannot give thanks for our lot, So long as the comforts of life we have not ; It is all very well for the rich man to tell Of his gold and his gains, in a way that is "swell:" But, alas ! we have sorrows, and cause to complain Of the tyrannous rich and monopolists' reign.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1894.
AIMLESS THOUGHTS.
-
This is an hour of idleness, With scarcely any aim in view ; Alone with self can I express My aimless thoughts to even you.
I write that time may swiftly fly - However fruitless what I write - And therefore will not seek to try To make of worth what I indite.
My thoughts are circumscribed and pent, And neither range aloft nor far, And if on some high mission sent, Would fail to greet the nearest star.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
They could not mingle with the spheres, Nor compass all of Nature's laws ; Nor gain the triumphs due to years, Explain results, or state the cause.
" Will not some power the 'giftie gie ' us" To soar aloft from earthly clods,
And from our mental shackles free us, To think and act the part of gods ?
SUNDAY, JANUARY 14, 1894.
SCENES AND REFLECTIONS AT "YEARLY MEETING."
[This Sketch is almost literally true, and is preserved not for any literary merit (for it possesses none), but simply as a memento of the times. This scene occurred at the old brick meeting-house north of the railroad, on Sunday, October 1, 1854.]
Behold that moving image there - That rosy, buxom, country fair ;
She struts with honest pride of face, But sadly lacks the art of grace.
She proves, at least, her limbs are strong, As she divides the yielding throng ; And if her mind is not well stored, Her head has freight enough aboard.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Its gear is venerably old - A sight well worthy to behold ; Its plumes and ornaments, once gay, Have sadly paled and drooped away.
Her dress is of a gaudy hue, For nothing else, of course, would do ; While from her waist a ribbon, fair, Floats out upon the breezy air.
About her neck a strand or two Of showy beads attract the view, While sundry rings, of shining brass, Bedeck the fingers of this lass.
She deems herself the favored belle Of home, and neighborhood as well, And therefore, as she little cares, Assumes some unbecoming airs.
She talks and laughs, both long and loud, Regardless of the gazing crowd, And seeks to find her simple beau And plighted flame of long ago.
They meet, at length ; each fond desire Has set their willing hearts afire, As flushing cheeks and radiant eyes The truth most fully testifies.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
He bows, and takes the proffered hand And clasps it, while they chat and stand, Remarking of the num'rous fair, Each other's health, and how they were.
Of standing, weary, they retreat To an obscure and vacant seat, And hold a conversation there Quite worthy of the rustic pair.
Says he to her, " Be seated, Sue, And post me up on all that's new ; And tell me, is it true that Harry And Belle Grimes intend to marry ?
And if it would not be as well ( But then, you know, we mustn't tell ) To have our own dear wedding day To come about the first of May ?"
They spoke of this and then of that, And held a long and social chat, Unconscious of the busy throng That passed them heedlessly along.
With fondest love and seeming haste, He twined his arm about her waist, And softly whispered in her ear Words that only she might hear.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
At this juncture I retreated. Causing me to be defeated As a witness of their ways And such languishing displays.
Then, seating me without the throng, I pondered, silently and long, Bethinking me of changeful life : Its varied scenes of love and strife ;
And how these twain were all untaught In all its ways, in act or thought. I felt a deep emotion thrill, As every heart, responsive, will,
Whene'er it sees a verdant pair So free, and so devoid of care, Confiding in each other's love, Not doubting each will faithful prove.
O ! unsophisticated pair, All ignorant of Fashion's rules, You have never known the care Taught us in its tyrant schools ! May you live and love together, Happily, for many a year, Stemming life's tempestuous weather, Smiling, spite of toil and tear.
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1854.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
MUSINGS,
Written while the snow was falling, Sunday, January 18. 1852.
See how gently falls the snow, Wheeling from its airy height, Decking earth and forest-bough With its flakes of virgin white.
Not a scene on earth so cheery Ever greets my longing sight - Though it be to some so dreary - As the snow-flake in its flight.
Boyish visions float around me, As I wander back through time, Calling up the sports of childhood - Sports of merry winter-time.
Sleds and skates, and hill-sides sloping, Chase of rabbit round the hill : Treed and captured - caught at last, Yonder by the distant mill.
Weary many a time, and oft Alnost frozen, with the sport, As we rolled us huge round snow-balls, Fashioned men, or snowy fort ;
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Or with skates, upon the surface Of some pond or glassy lake, Long excursions o'er its bosom - Oft returning - we would take ;
Or, when home-returned, would gather Round the hearth at even-tide, And with song or tale enraptured, Cause the hours to swiftly glide.
Mirth and glee and gladness, all, Filled our cups with joy so high That when now I think of them, They are thought of with a sigh.
But our boyish days soon leave us, And a few years, how they tell : We have quit our skates and sledges - Bade to childish sports, farewell ;
And instead of hill-sides, sloping, Or the icy surface wide, We prefer the stately highway And a coach, wherein to ride.
Thus it is : when youth departs us, And the boy becomes a man, He discards the sports of childhood, In accord with Nature's plan.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
PICTURES OF WINTER.
-
Mark ye, how the fleecy snow Circles to the world below, Mantling hill and plain and glen, Hut, or castled haunt, of men.
See how varied every forni, As the flakes, 'mid driving storm, Heap their added treasures higher Over ground and tree and spire.
Bounding children hie to school, Cheeks aglow, in air so cool, Happy in the drifting snow, Pealing laughter as they go.
Hark ! the merry call of bells ! How their melody up-wells ! Cheer-instilling every feeling, And such happiness revealing.
Joyous youth and maiden fair - Neither conscious of a care - Glide like spirits o'er the snow, Whispering something soft and low.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Seated round the glowing fire, Mother dear and child and sire, Happy, cheerful, loved, and warm, Housed securely from the storm.
Now, behold the lot of those - Poor, and shelterless from snows, Biting frosts and driving rain - Doomed to poverty and pain.
Shun them not - the vagrant poor - Open wide the heart and door ; Lend them aid, relieve distress : "Twill promote your happiness.
Nor forget that all mankind, Whether simple, poor, or blind, Are our brothers, sisters, dear, Whom we should protect and cheer.
Kindly acts and worthy deeds Are the sowing goodly seeds, That may germinate in mold, To return a thousand-fold.
NOTE. - Written first March 22, 1869, and amended and extended January 26, 1893.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF OUR CITY'S SERVANTS.
" A little learning is a dangerous thing," And small experience doth its miseries bring ; So, little minds who wield official power Are petty tyrants - lordlings of an hour.
A pompous manner and an owlish air Declare the wisdom that they have to spare ; They never reason, for they know not how - And he that cannot is a fool, I trow.
Some wield the hammer, and some work in wood ; Some deal in spirits, it is understood ; And one, at least - the wiliest member, far - Doth often "sınile " to dedicate the bar.
A very Nestor, of peculiar kind, With wit and cunning to divert the blind, He poses leader of this weakling host, Whose combined wisdom is a ghastly ghost.
Yet such as these, whose lack of wisdom's ways Will scarcely serve them thro' the Summer days, Assume to rule us, with an iron rod, And ask obeisance to their beck and nod.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Such creatures squander what our labor hoards, In fruitless journeys and at festal-boards ; In new creations of some park or street : In ways and manners ever indiscreet.
The people's rights are treated with disdain, For haughty servants, now, the power maintain ; Whose countless blunders stamp them heedless fools,
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