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 6
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'Tis the sixteenth of April, and yet we've no Spring - E'en the birds, in their glee, dare not venture to sing. How I long for the sunshine, as't steals o'er the hill, To dissolve the chill frost-work that seals up the rill ;
And the warm, gushing rains -- like the tears that are spent - Break forth in their pride, and be joyously spent - Giving life, as they fall, in abundance and showers, To all of earth's beautiful herbage and flowers !
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Dear sister ! may never a care interpose, To add one regret to thy life, till it close ; May sorrows ne'er greet thee - like storms, dark and dreary -
To cause thee to falter in faith, or to weary, But, like the gay Spring-time, thy sun ever smile - To banish each doubt, and each sorrow beguile.
APRIL 16, 1854.
THE SEASONS.
JANUARY 1, 1893.
Wet and damp, and dank and chill, Pouring rain with might and will ; Aiding snows of yesterday To dissolve themselves away ;
Slush and moisture, all around, Cover all the frozen ground ; Icy walk and slippery path, Doth excite pedestrian wrath ;
While with guarded steps, and slow, All in locomotion go - Surely, such a cheerless day, None could ever wish to stay.
" Happy New Year," if you will, When the elements are still ; But absurd would be the greeting, While thus raining, snowing, sleeting.
JANUARY 1, 1893. -
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
FEBRUARY.
This day is sadly fraught with gloom : The sun is absent from my room, And all without is like the tomb - Dark and dank and cheerless - But since 'tis not the "day of doom," We may be fearless.
To-morrow morn new joys may bring, And Phœbus' radiant beams may fling Athwart the world, and birds may sing To make us cheerful. With glee, let all the welkin ring, And be not tearful.
Our lives, at best, are all too sad. Cast care aside-strive to be glad, And ne'er conform to every "fad," But live content ; Be true and simple - shun the bad, Till life is spent.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
And if, perchance, we live again, We shall go hence, without a stain, A prick of conscience or of brain, To our reward - And thus a blameless life maintain, In just accord.
Existence is a summer's day, With here and there a cheerless way Along the path we have to stray, From morn till eve ; So let us live as best we may, And never grieve.
But cultivate the better part : Let flowers of love bloom in the heart ; Excel in every kindly art That brings us peace ; Till we, at last, from friends must part, At life's surcease.
FEBRUARY 7, 1894.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
WINDS OF MARCH.
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I love to hear the winds of March Blow lustily and strong ; They wake the dormant buds and flowers, And herald sun and song.
I love to hear tumultuous airs Wail out, in accents wild ; For Nature thus her power declares To every human child.
I love to see the angry clouds In stormy billows rise, Like spirits veiled in misty shrouds - A wonder and surprise.
I love to hear the gale, afar, Distinct, and loud and clear - Like rush of coming, distant car - 'Tis music in my ear.
I love to see the swaying trees Bow to the driving blast, And toss their branches in the breeze, Like straws by whirlwinds cast.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
I love to hear old structures creak, And see the wreckage fly - When winds in sullen voices speak, And sweep along the sky.
A sense of awe pervades me then - Magnificent and grand - I feel the puny works of men Can scarce a breath withstand.
The troubled airs, at His behest, Strike terror to our souls ; He sends them forth, or puts to rest - His will, alone, controls. FEBRUARY 20, 1893.
AN APRIL MORN.
Clouds and storms have passed away, And Phœbus gilds the new-born day ; The earth is bright, and flowers arise And ope to Heaven their dewy eyes.
Across the plain, along the hill, And bordering on each gentle rill, These gems of beauty smile and spring - Rejoicing every living thing.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Thrice happy, each expectant heart, To see the boding clouds depart ; And greet with joy the rising morn, Whose beams unnumbered worlds adorn. APRIL 25, 1854.
A MORNING IN MAY.
Bless the genial sunshine, speed the cheerful ray Into every human heart - merry month of May. Nature's voice is jubilant, brooks and birds are singing ; Bells, on all the towers 'round, merrily are ringing ;
Flowers gay and grasses green, everywhere are teeming: Why should sad humanity sit in silence, dreaming ? Be we, then, awake to life, smiling as the flowers - Happy as the joyous birds, in their leafy bowers.
Life, at best, is all too sad ; we should cease repining - Look upon the brighter side, while the sun is shining : Earth were not so dark a place, if we were but willing To admit some rays of light - all its niches filling.
Let us, then, with cheerfulness- faith and duty blending - Make of all the rolling year, Summer, never ending. MAY I, 1864.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
REFLECTIONS
On a morning in May.
O ! how shall I express my fond Delight for such a morn as this - Whose glories, if protracted to the Span of years, would make a Paradise of earth ? Its soft and Mellowing influence sheds calin Serenity around, and every Sound of Nature seems like Music borne upon the breeze ; While tuneful warblers pipe aloud His praise, rejoicing as they go. I would that life were one Perpetual morn like this. My pulse Would leap with hope renewed, And every sense would thrill, As nerved with newer impulse By the gladdening current - Bounding, joyous, through a Thousand veins.
MAY 4, 1854.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
IN THE SUNNY DAYS OF JUNE.
In the sunny days of June - When all Nature is in tune, And the elements at rest - All the sentiments of life, With a sense of joy, are rife, And we feel that we are blest.
We inhale the balmy air, And, with thankfulness, declare We should like to live for aye : For the flowers and the bees, And the birds among the trees, Seem so happy all the day.
The farmer now rejoices, And we hear the merry voices Of the harvesters afield ; While the clover and the grain Make obeisance to the plain And the sickle, as they yield.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Soon the binders form the sheaves, Till their labor nothing leaves But the stubble on the ground ; While the rakers toss the hay, And are happy all the day, Till the vesper bells resound.
Not a season lends a charm - To the city or the farm - Like the cheery days of June : For all Nature now is bright, And existence a delight - But it endeth very soon.
We shall ever thank the Giver For the gently flowing river,
And the woods, and the vales, and the groves For the brooks, and the lanes, and the hedges, And all His goodly gifts and His pledges, And the flowers, and the birds, and their loves :
For we long to sit and muse, Or to wander - as we choose - By the stream or shady wood, Where the shadows and the sun Ever mingle into one - For it seemeth very good.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Could we ask a fairer Heaven Than to mortal man is given, For his dwelling here below --- When the perfect days of June, And the silver-lighted moon, Their fair radiance bestow ?
Let us render praise forever, Till we go beyond the river Out of Time - When we trust a change from this Will be heralded by bliss More sublime.
JUNE 10, 1893.
JULY.
"July, the month of Summer's prime, Again resumes its busy time ; Scythes tinkle in each grassy dell, Where solitude was wont to dwell."
Such was the story told of yore, Which time repeated o'er and o'er : For then 't was true, but now 't is not, For tinkling scythes are all forgot.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
And as for solitude - alas ! There's little left in grain or grass- July is still the Summer's prime, And will continue such through time.
But when we glean our harvests now, We do it at the reaper's prow ; And those who bound the sheaves of old, Are absent from the harvest fold ;
The same deft instrument that reaps, Now binds the grain and drops in heaps, And saves, from labor in the sun, The toiler - for his work is done.
So, with the grass that clothes the field, The swinging scythe the palm must yield To newer modes - however loth - Which cut in haste a wider swath.
The men and boys and rustic girls - With happy hearts and sunny curls - No longer rake the fragrant hay, And deem the work a merry play :
For in their stead machines now toil With equine power, their sport to spoil ; And jocund songs, at close of day, No longer while the hours away.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Thus, ever, in this world of change, Utility of wider range Supplants the primitive device For more of speed - though great the price --- Regardless of a sacrifice.
JULY 13, 1893.
AUGUST.
The harvest is over, the Summer is ended, The season is on the decline ; The beauty of bloom and of growth are suspended, The grape is matured on the vine ;
The peach and the apple, the pear and the plum, Are now in their glory and prime ; The melon is ripe, and the corn is to come, With the blushing tomato, in time ;
The pumpkin is still immature in the field, But its day will be here by and by, When its golden rotundity treasures will yield - For Thanksgiving and Christmas pie ;
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
The wealth of the walnut and hickory tree Will add to our wonderful store,
While cider and glee will cause Winter to flee, Till its boreal blasts are no more.
Thus, let us be jolly - for sadness is folly - And merrily live as we go ;
For Nature, in lavish profusion, has given Of all that she has to bestow.
The harvest is over, the Summer is ended, The season is on the decline ;
But ne'er, for a day, to forebodings give way, Nor e'en for a moment repine.
AUGUST 23, 1895.
AUGUST.
The Summer's heat is now supreme - The solar rays their power declare - And Nature all athirst is seen,
From dearth of moisture, everywhere.
The earth is parched, its fountains dry - The warbling brooks no longer flow : Their cooling draughts they now deny The lowing herds, where'er they go.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
The sheep lie panting in the shade, Oppressed with heat, and sleepy-eyed - Dreaming, perchance, of cooling glade, Or pastures green, some stream beside.
The birds sit silent in the trees,
And hushed are all their tuneful lays ; No leaf is stirred by passing breeze, Through all the sultry Summer's day.
The corn is languishing afield - The shriveled blades attest their need,
And showers withheld have shrunk the yield Which Nature's lavish laws decreed.
The grass- which late was green - is dry, While some dead leaves begin to fall ; A brazen aspect fills the sky, And heat and dust are over all.
Throughout the day the locust sings - At even-tide, the katydid ; And daylight naught of comfort brings Till Phœbus, by the world, is hid :
Then Nature deigns to grant relief, Responsive to our earnest prayers ; And for a season - glad, but brief - She sends her grateful, soothing airs.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
In slumbers deep, profoundly blest - Forgetful of the weary days-
Renewed by rest, we rise with zest, To journey on our devious ways ;
For such is life : its joys and strife Are blended like the cloud and sun - A mingled web, with changes rife, Of many phases wrought in one.
AUGUST 10, 1893.
SEPTEMBER.
Summer Wanes.
'T is written on the changing leaf, Reflected in the lifeless grass ; Declared by absent shock and sheaf, As o'er the dusty field we pass ;
The downy peach, so rich and rare, The apple, blushing on the bough ; The grape, in glorious clusters, fair, And melons fit for gods, I trow - All tell the year is changing now ;
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POEMS AND SKETCHIES.
While corn, in tasseled grandeur, stands, Adorned with silk-embellished ears, Whose near maturity commands A thought of fleeting days and years. We soon shall hear the huskers' call - Who gather in the golden grain - As Summer merges into Fall,
Or comes the cold, November rain ;
Ere long the frost will chill the vine, The pumpkin's cherished fruit destroy ; And as the season's days decline, The frigid airs will work annoy.
Thus, from the spring-time of the year, To its voluptuous end and close, The changing seasons lend their cheer, And lessons to mankind disclose.
The Spring gives promise, fair and bright, The Summer charms us everywhere ;
While Autumn's gifts the soul delight, And Winter's joys relieve our care.
For all these worldly blessings, given With life and peace and health and years, Thank Nature's God - who wrought the heavens - For rest, at last, shall dry our tears.
SEPTEMBER 4, 1893.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
OCTOBER.
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Lines suggested by a drive through the city park, Sunday, October 16, 1892.
Magnificent, in its decay, Is Nature, surely, now ; Such glory crowns these Autumn days, Such radiance gilds its brow.
No pen can picture all its charms, No pencil paint its dyes ; To imitate these works of God, All human art defies :
The leafy hosts upon the trees, Ten thousand shades display : And as they rustle in the breeze, October vies with May.
Truly, no earthly scene compares With this we now behold ; For all the waving forest, wide, Seems one vast sea of gold ;
A fairy landscape bounds the view, Like visions wrought in dreams ; The sunlight streams o'er skies of blue, And all with glory teems.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
We thank Thee, Lord, for this fair scene, Thy presence, here, it brings ; This Eden types that Heaven of bliss, Where dwells the King of Kings.
NOVEMBER.
The sky pours rain, in a dull refrain - That it means to be wet, is all too plain - The clouds hang low, as they come and go, While the chill air tells of the promised snow ;
The sad winds moan, and the birds are flown ; The dead leaves fall, and around are strown ; A misty darkness pervades the air, And the sun shines not, out of pure despair.
Alas ! for the joys of the Summer past - The gloom of November is here at last, And all we can do is to make the most Of what still remains of the dead year's gliost.
NOVEMBER 1, 1892.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
DECEMBER.
Cheerless month of frost and storms - Fitful, gloomy, dark and drear - Terror dwells in all thy forms, Monarch of the dying year.
Ruthlessly, thy chilling breath Sinites the Summer's pride and glory - Searing all the fields and woods - 1
Telling Nature's saddest story.
Countless floral forms have bowed 'Neath the fury of thy blast, Seeking, in a snowy shroud, Peaceful shelter at the last.
Not a tendril of the vine, Not a leaf of shrub or tree - If we dare except the pine - But has yielded all to thee.
Like some tyrant, grim and hoary, Heralding his fell decree, Thou ordainest death to beauty, As a sacrifice to thee.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Mercilessly unrelenting, And remorselessly, as fate, Fall thy frigid shafts around us, Sparing neither age nor state.
Would that some mysterious power Might consign thee to the Poles --- Where the airs of " old Æolus " Hie them to their gusty goals !
There, in frigid might to revel, In a region drear and wild ; Where the avalanche is frowning, And "fair Nature " never smiled ;
Where the poor, untutored savage Reigns, sole tenant of the waste ; And no perfumed breezes - wafted O'er his dusky cheek - are chased.
Dwellers we in regions mild, Warmly welcome and remember Summer as a sunny child, While we shudder at December ;
Then, I prithee, stay thy bluster ; Lull thy raging winds to rest ; Loth, thy frosty wrongs we suffer - Vengeful shafts of thy behest.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Waft thy gales to Labrador - Where eternal Winter reigns, And the sun shall nevermore Break its everlasting chains ;
Regions where the ancient rocks - Rent by its intensest sting - Sunder, as with earthquake shocks, Making hills and valleys ring.
DECEMBER 15, 1861.
LET EVERY TONGUE REJOICE.
Let every tongue rejoice ! Let praise resound aloud ! Spring greets us with her voice, Dispelling storm and cloud.
The streams, long fettered, leap From crag to crag, and fling Their rushing waters deep, Their joy acknowledging ;
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
The birds, on leafy bough, Or mounting high in air, Praise their Creator, now, For bounties everywhere ;
Fair floral forms arise - By Phœbus' magic cheered And make a paradise Where lately gloom appeared ;
The garden and the field, That late were sere and brown, A new enchantment yield - Bedecked with Nature's crown ;
The forest's giant forms - Whose coronal of leaves
Is bowed before the storm, Or the blue ether cleaves -
Attest their thankfulness For vernal shower and sun ;
While through their leafy dress Glad, laughing murmurs rull.
All Nature now is rife With growth and gleeful sounds, And every form of life With happiness abounds.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Then let us not withhold Our meed of praise and prayer, For blessings manifold, And Heaven's protecting care. FEBRUARY 25, 1891.
SUMMER SALAD.
Surely, now, the " dog-star " rages, If by ardent heat it reign, And mercurial upward stages Aid in making such things plain.
Scarce a breeze is put in motion - Silence reign's profound and long ; And the air, a stagnant ocean, Beareth not a sound or song.
Not a bird upon the branches Of a tree or shrub, is seen - Neither on the air it launches, But has sought some shelter, green ;
Kine upon the lowlands linger, In some shady nook or dell, Where - and I might point my finger - Patience and contentment dwell ;
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Sheep have sought the shade of fences - Panting, sleepy-eyed, at ease - Or umbrageous, cool defences, Under amply-spreading trees ;
Swine secure a place to wallow In some oozy slough or slum, Where content of mind shall follow, Which may not to heat succumb ;
Every creature strives to lessen - By some means of its devising - Solar ardor, so distressing - In a manner oft surprising :
Human nature, worn and weary - Not unlike the bird or beast -
Seeks seclusion, cool and cheery, Dreamily to muse or feast.
When the Summer days are over, And the torrid term is past, We may be rejuvenated Back to statu quo, at last.
TUESDAY, AUGUST II, 1891.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
A SUMMER'S DAY.
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MORNING.
Softly, now, the light of day Dawns upon a sleeping world, And the darkness fades away As its splendors are unfurled ;
Phœbus, in his golden car, Like a rising monarch comes - Silently, and from afar - Without herald, trump or drums ;
Joyous sounds are everywhere - In the field and in the wood - Wafted on the ambient air, To the Author of all good ;
Winged songsters trill their lays, And the bee goes humming by ; Toiling mortals go their ways, While the day-god climbs the sky ;
Now the world is wide awake To its clatter, clang and rush ; Let us each some task betake, Till the evening brings its hush.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
EVENING.
Homeward, now, let all retire, To some blessed haven, near -
Worthy son and honored sire, Seeking comfort, peace and cheer
When the sun has sunk to rest, And the twilight dies away,
While the moon is still thy guest, And the stars reflect the day :
Seek thou, then, in sweet repose, Rest from worldly care and toil ; Praying for release from woes, Life's contentions and turmoil ;
Dreams, if any, be they sweet - Only such as infants know ;
Guardian angels guide thy feet - Heaven above, and peace below.
So, may'st thou the hours beguile, Happily, till life is done, And thy evening, like a smile, Beam serene as morning sun.
SUNDAY, JANUARY 28, 1894.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
AUTUMNAL LEAVES.
Autumnal leaves are falling fast, And soon the chill November blast Will hurl them through the gusty air, Like things of no concern or care.
A few days more of genial sun - As of a heaven on earth begun ; Of dreamy haze, with glories blent - Too brief, alas, for our content, Since Summer's cherished charms are spent.
Thus, youthful years merge into age, While sober cares our lives engage, Till hoary time, with chilling breath, Dispels our worldly dreams in death.
So, whether leaves upon the trees, Or creature forms of high degrees, They all obey the laws of God - Fulfill His purpose : " kiss the rod " - And rest, at last, beneath the sod.
OCTOBER 21, 1894.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
TO WINTER.
Thy reign is long, and thy bonds are strong, And bound are the streams by thy chilling breath ; Thy blustering song is a song of wrong - The story of famine, and want, and death.
FEBRUARY 22, 1895.
RELIGIOUS POEMS AND SENTIMENTS.
O. WHY SHOULD WE MOURN ?
O, why should we mourn, or in sadness repine, To depart from a world such as this ?- Since Heaven so kindly has pointed the way To its mansions eternal, in bliss.
A few kindred spirits, who loved us below, May mourn our departure awhile, But soon such dark shadows will pass from the brow, And the tear will be chased by a smile.
The world will move on as it ever has done, With no care for the dead or the morrow ; The merry will laugh, and the joyous will sing, Regardless of sickness or sorrow.
Then why should we mourn, or in sadness repine, To depart from a world such as this? - Since Heaven so kindly has pointed the way To its mansions eternal, in bliss.
WRITTEN IN IS50.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
IN LENT.
When faith runs low, and cash is spent, Then come the gloomy days of Lent - When weak and wicked souls repent, And take a rest from sin.
The faithful have their faults forgiven - To smooth the rugged road to Heaven - And pray o'ermuch, one day in seven, Joy's gates to enter in.
They now refrain from pleasure's round - Look sober, penitent, profound - Nor utter they a happy sound For forty days.
With faces sad and wan with woe, They "fast " and pray, and "go it " slow, For that the fashion is, you know - They think it pays.
No fellow now can see his girl - His faith has made him such a churl --- Nor can she smile, or kink a curl, For that were awful ;
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
But when the Lenten time is past, And Liberty regained, at last, They all begin to " go it " fast, For then 't is lawful.
FEBRUARY 16, 1893.
AT THE LAST.
Thank God for the rest that shall come to us when The journey of life is accomplished, at last, And we have gone out from the dwellings of men, And the sorrows and cares of the world have been passed.
We shall sleep a last sleep, in an unbroken spell - To continue eternally, down through all time - And the soul and the spirit, in silence, shall dwell With this temple of dust, in the ages sublime.
We are born and mature, we grow old and we die - We sport our brief day, in the sunshine of earth ; We enjoy and we sorrow, we laugh and we cry To the end, as we did on the day of our birth.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
Like to Gods, we are men with a potency fraught ; We are germs of the Deity, noble and high -- The will of Almighty, the essence of thought. Alas ! that our frailties compel us to die.
Elder sages have taught - who professed to be wise - That we shall go hence to a haven of love --
Located somewliere up aloft in the skies, 'Mid fields of Elysian, or worshipful grove ;
But what can we know of a future estate -
No mortal has ever returned to us here,
And what lies beyond not a soul can relate --- For never did absentee ever appear.
So when we have passed the dark river of death, And the rays have gone out that illumined our sight, We shall yield up this life, as we gasp for a breath, While eternity shrouds us in darkness and night.
If, perchance, there be light from a beacon beyond, We gladly shall hail it and seek the bright shore - To all its allurements our natures respond,
And joyfully welcome a life evermore ;
But as to such knowledge, in truth, we have none- We can only be hopeful or trustful, at best -
Yet this blest assurance we have, everyone : That the end will bring peace and an unbroken rest.
AUGUST 8, 1893.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
CHRISTMAS.
" Christmas comes but once a year," And when it comes it brings good cheer, Fraught with pleasures all enjoy - Innocence without alloy.
Life and love, serenely blent, Lend the soul a calm content - Marking, thus, the great event Of Jesus' birth, so wise and good, Even then misunderstood.
A jealous priesthood saw Him tried, And under Pilate crucified - Since when His teachings, just and pure, Are destined, always, to endure.
And thus it is, with heartfelt cheer, We celebrate from year to year - Happy to know that what is good In this, our day, is understood.
DECEMBER 18, 1893.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
THANKSGIVING DAY.
And this is called Thanksgiving day, When people go to church and pray ; Dress in their best, like gaudy sinners, And gormandize their turkey dinners ;
Give thanks at morn, on bended knees, Return at noon to take their ease - Not only feast, but drink extremely, Berate their neighbors, act unseemly -
Then think that they have served the Lord, And worshipped Him with one accord, In thankfulness for many blessings : Plum puddings, pies and cakes and dressings.
These are the ways of "toney " people, Whose place of worship has a steeple ; The plainer sort give thanks at lunch, In some low den, with beer or punch -
Where oaths pass current 'mid the revel, And each one strives to serve the devil ; And in this wise they make display Of how we spend Thanksgiving day.
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POEMS AND SKETCHES.
And thus it goes, with saint and sinner - Our highest aim is turkey dinner - The day is given o'er to riot, As we well know, and scarce deny it.
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