USA > Massachusetts > Middlesex County > Boxborough > Boxborough: a New England town and its people > Part 10
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The first Phinehas Hagar served throughout the Revolu- tionary War. He, with others, came up from Weston, crossed the Concord river in a boat, and joined in the fight at Concord Bridge ; and he was present at the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown.
Mary Hager, born Nov. 25, 1823, married Benjamin K. Barnard, Oct. 15, 1843, and settled in Harvard. They had five children, of whom three, John, Sarah and Mary, are now living. John married Nellie Green, and lives in Worcester; they have one daughter, Esther; Sarah married William Puffer, buried her husband, and resides at home ; Mary married W. J. D'Ewart, and also lives in Worcester. They have two children. The oldest son, Charles, died when about a year old, and the youngest, Charles Wesley, a student at Lawrence Academy, Groton, died when a little more than seventeen.
BENJAMIN S. HAGER.
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Benjamin Stowe Hager.
BENJAMIN STOWE HAGER.
Benjamin Stowe Hager was born in Boxborough, Feb. 28, 1826. When eight years of age, he went to Harvard for the summer and autumn, and attended school in that town. At twelve years of age he again went to Harvard, and remained there two years with Phinehas Wetherbee. Three years later, at the age of fifteen, he united with the Methodist church, to which allusion has been made in the town history. When seventeen, he worked seven months for Luke Sawyer. of Harvard. In the fall of 1850, he attended school at Wilbra- ham, and the next year purchased the Ephraim Whitcomb place, where he now resides. Sept. 28, 1852, he married Elizabeth Blanchard, daughter of Simon and Mary (Keyes) Blanchard, of Boxborough.
After the Methodist church was disorganized, Mr. Hager connected himself with the Congregationalists, and all his energies, down to the present time, have been directed toward the work of that church. He was chosen one of its committee even before he became a member of it. He has used his talents as a teacher in the Sabbath school successfully, teaching the youth, the young men, and also adult classes. It was his custom, while his children were about him in the home, to gather them around him Sabbath mornings, and teach them the Sunday- school lesson ; and this duty, far from being a burden, was a pleasure to him. Four of his children are members, and his eldest son is a deacon, of the Congregational church.
Mr. Hager was secretary of the old Lyceum at one time, was selectman in 1856, auditor in 1859, and town treasurer 1860-63, a period of four years.
Benjamin Stowe and Elizabeth (Blanchard) Hager were the parents of seven children : Phinehas, who died when eight years of age ; Mary E., who resides at home ; Simon B., George H., Benjamin O., John M., and Sarah C., who died when a year and a half old. Simon B. Hager married Lucie C. Gilson, of Littleton, and is settled on the Whitman Wetherbee place. They have one son, Milton Blanchard, born August 15, 1888.
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LUCIE CAROLINE HAGER.
The space devoted to the following biographical sketch must be more limited than will meet the wishes of Mrs. Hager's friends, at whose request it is inserted. At their request, also, a few of her poems are given, with extracts from others.
Lucie Caroline Gilson was born in Littleton, Mass., Dee. 29, 1853. Her parents were Robert Dunn Gilson and Lydia W. Gilson. She is the youngest of nine children ; has been a faithful student in acquiring an education, and has made use of her studies as a teacher and book-keeper, as well as a writer of poetry and prose. She was married in 1882 to Mr. Simon B. Hager, of Boxborough, in which town they have, since their marriage, resided. They have one child.
Mrs. Hager has shown much perseverance in all the circum- stances of her life, and has unusual literary ability. Her poems show a deep insight into nature, and the experiences of the human heart. Many of them are religious in sentiment, and all have a high moral tone. Some evince the most exquisite poetie merit, and, as a collection, they would make an interest- ing, fair-sized, volume, worthy of a place among the works of the widely known poets of modern times. "The Hills Beyond," "Faith," "Arbutus " and " Limerick Bells" are among her poems which deserve special mention. A bio- graphical sketch of Mrs. Hager will shortly appear in the Magazine of Poetry, Buffalo, N. Y. Several of her poems have been included in collections. Her first published poem entitled, " We All Do Fade as a Leaf." appeared in the Watch- man and Reflector, now the Watchman, of Boston, in November, 1875. She has written a number of short stories for the papers. JANE MARIA READ.
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Poems.
THE LEGEND OF THE LIMERICK BELLS.
Slowly toiled the young Italian, In his sunny, native land, Many years of patient striving Spent he, on that far-off strand.
But, at last, to crown his efforts, Sweet-voiced bells before him rose ; Proud and happy was the artist,- All forgotten were his woes.
Near the lovely lake of Como Stood a convent, old and grey : From its tower high, his chime bells Pealed forth sweetly, day by day.
O'er the waters of the Como, Morning, noon, or eventide, Wafted was th' angelic music Through the village far and wide.
There th' Italian sought to rest him In his quiet, happy home, List'ning ever to the chiming Which so dear to him had grown.
But the scourge of war swept round him, And its desolating hand Left him fortuneless and friendless, Homeless-in his native land.
Mid the strife and wanton ruin, Low the convent walls were laid ; And the bells to which he' d listened, Since they by his skill were made,
By the victor's hand were carried To some foreign land away ; Chime of bells no more at morning Heard he, or at close of day.
Old, before his time, in sorrow Wandered he from place to place, But, while growing grey and feeble, Of his bells he found no trace.
But the mem'ry of their music Left him never, night or day, Whether through the crowded city Or the forest lay his way ;
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All the day he heard their chiming, And when sleep had closed his eyes, Still the tuneful bells were pealing Forth their music to the skies.
Whether on the ocean's billow, 'Mid its mighty rush and roar, Or beside the quiet streamlet, Still that music evermore
To the lonely-hearted wand'rer Whispered low of peace and rest,-
Of the joys the past had brought him, When his loved ones round him prest.
From beyond the sea, a sailor, All by chance, at last he meets, And of chiming bells so wondrous, He had heard within the streets
Of far Limerick in Ireland, Was the sailor's changeless theme ;
Lighter-hearted grew the wand'rer, His bells must the sailor mean.
Up the Shannon, sick and weary, At the closing of the day, Sailed the wand'rer, till the vessel Anchored near to Limerick lay.
Shoreward, then, the boatmen rowed him ; 'Bove the smoky, mist-robed town, He St. Mary's spire saw, rising Through the shadows settling down.
Angel voices to him calling. Told him that his bells were there ; And he prayed, " O, let me hear them Chime forth on the evening air.
" Ring, O bells ! once more a welcome, As I near yon wave-washed shore, Once more let me hear your chiming, And my pilgrimage is o'er."
O'er the clear and quiet waters Shone the light from off the shore : Fanned his brow the gentle breezes, As o'er Como's wave once more
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Then the music of the chime bells, From St. Mary's turrets high, On the evening air came swelling Forth in sweetest melody.
Once more was the old man happy, As he heard the well-known chime, Home and friends beside the Como Saw he, as in olden time.
Resting on their oars, the boatmen Listened to the chiming sweet, Which to hear was to remember Till the heart should cease to beat.
Then they sought to rouse the stranger, But he lifted not his head; Calmly, sweetly, he was resting, For the wanderer was dead.
THE HILLS BEYOND.
Depths of the valley the clouds hover over, Drear is the path where I wander alone ; Sadly the north-wind is sighing and sobbing, Sweeps, through the tree-tops, its wearisome moan.
But, over yonder, the far distant hill-tops, Bathed in the sunlight, are beckoning on ; " Haste thee, nor stay 'mid the shadows around thee, Rest from thy journey awaits thee anon."
" Leave thou the valley ; afar o'er the hillside, Onward and upward, there lieth the way ; Shadows and clouds that awhile may enfold thee Soon shall be merged in a glorious day."
Fixed are my eyes on the heights, over yonder, Where nevermore deepening shadows shall lower : Cheered by the view of that fair Land of Beulah Brighter my pathway grows hour after hour.
PASSING.
Passing From the gloomy, frozen winter, With its fields all robed in white ; From the storm-cloud, dark and lowering, And the tempest's wrathful might ;
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From a land of ice-locked brooklets, Silent groves and leafless trees, To the merry, joyous springtime, And its warm, life-giving breeze ; To a land of murmuring streamlets, Warbling birds and budding flowers, Soft green paths through blooming meadows, And the leafy, woodland bowers.
Passing
From the weary toil and striving Of the ever changeful years, From the waiting and the longing, From the heart-aches and the tears ; From the loving and the parting, From the loneliness and woe, From the mounds upon the hillside, Graves of those we cherished so; To a land all lands excelling, Rest and home - no cold to blight,
Meeting ne' er to know of parting, And eternal life and light.
THE SHADOWED PATH.
Across my path, one sunny day, A heavy shadow came ; On all before so dark it lay I sought the path in vain ; Awhile I thought to turn me back, And seek some broader, beaten track.
But past that gloomy shade I knew There lay a city fair, Whose streets were gold, and pure and true The beings dwelling there. He who that city would not lose, The shadowed way must surely choose.
Again I sought for it with care, While from my heart I cried,
" O, lead me to that city fair Upon the other side." Then came there One, who said to me,
" I'll be thy guide, I'll go with thee.
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" So bright and sunny was thy way, Thou wast forgetting Me. Until I sent the shadow gray To hide the path from thee ; I made it o'er thy way to fall To teach thee still on Me to call."
O, fellow trav'ler ! look above Whene'er thy path grows dim ; Remember that thy Guide in love Would draw thee nearer Him ; And surely, if thou' lt ask His aid, He'll lead thee safely through the shade.
THE FOREST RAMBLE.
One golden autumn day we gathered leaves, My little friend and I, from forest trees ; So fleet was he, that with my sober pace, I could of my young friend scarce keep a trace ; A yellow leaflet here,- a red one there, He spied, and off he bounded light as air ; O'er rock and hillock, or perchance a wall, He clambered for the fairest of them all ; In forest deep he saw a shrub at last, And quickly forward to the spot he passed ; I hastened on, till from a gentle rise, I saw him, hands outstretched to seize the prize. Above his head, in colors dazzling bright, The poison sumach met my startled sight.
" 'T is poison, child," I cried, " a moment wait," But ere I reached the place it was too late ; For, lest to pick them I would not allow, He quickly gathered them, bough after bough. So 't is, I thought, with children older grown, They cannot let forbidden fruit alone ; And though the Lord himself should say, " Forbear," They grasp the dazzling prize as false as fair.
HERE AND THERE.
A little weeping over glad hopes, perished, A little laying down of work begun, A little giving up of treasures, cherished, A little mourning o'er the task undone, A little bearing of the burdens, resting In Him who ever doeth what is best, A little longer here, the billows breasting,
Which else would bear us farther from our rest ;
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And then, beside the quiet crystal river, 'Mid pastures green and fair, shall we repose ; No tears shall dim the eyes, nor sorrow ever Shall enter there, nor aught of human woes ; The Savior's presence makes the whole land glorious, And there, at last, we 'll see Him face to face, When, over all these earthly things victorious, We enter in to Heaven, our dwelling-place.
TRUST.
Does thy path seem to thee dreary ? Look above ; Lift thy heart in prayer, nor weary ; Trust His love. Whatsoe'er His wisdom sendeth, Though, with grief, thy heart He rendeth,
Though the blessings that He sendeth He remove, All, He for thy good intendeth : Trust His love.
Dost thou seek to know what lieth On before? 'Tis enough that He descrieth Evermore.
Though thy feet are torn and bleeding, Take His hand and trust His leading : Jesus knows just what thou 'rt needing On this shore ; Faith He 'Il give thee for thy pleading : Trust him more.
Though thy cross be not with roses Strewn today, Though until this earth-life closes, Dark thy way, Yet beyond the night there's dawning
Joy that cometh in the morning ; Press thou on, thy trials scorning, On, nor stay ! Thou shalt yonder in the dawning, Rest for aye.
AUTUMN THOUGHTS.
When the breezes of summer are dying, And the winds of the autumn time call Through the tree-tops, with moaning and sighing, Comes the season. the saddest of all : -
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When the birch and the chestnut are turning From the mid-summer green to the gold, And the maples are glowing and burning In the depths of the thick forest old;
When the sumachs, that none but the Master Thus could paint, deck the copse and the plain, And the golden-rod, gentian, and aster, Fade away in the meadow and lane :
When the song of the cricket comes faintly From the orchard, the hillside, and lea; - For 'tis then that a loved one, so saintly, Speaks once more a sad farewell to me.
Like a dream are the years since my childhood, And again, with a dear one alone, I am treading the path through the wildwood, With the mosses and ferns overgrown ;
I can hear as of old the sweet story That she told me that bright summer day, Of the Savior, of heaven and its glory, Which await all the righteous for aye.
Then she said : "Very soon I am going To the beautiful Home that I love ;" And she plead, while her tears fast were flowing, That at last I would meet her above.
I renewed the grave promise I made her In the bright summer days of the year, When, at rest, in the autumn, they laid her, 'Neath the grasses so brown and so sere.
I have missed her, O, how I have missed her ! Since they took her away from my gaze ; And my heart, every year, for my sister Yearns anew, in the sad autumn days.
But the spring, with its sunshine and showers, Will awaken the buds of the trees, And will call forth the beautiful flowers From their sleep underneath the dead leaves.
And as nature ariseth in gladness From its long winter's rest to rich bloom, So our loved ones, o'er earth and its sadness All triumphant, shall rise from the tomb.
Then why mourn that the friends God has given He removes for a few weary years ; They are only transplanted to heaven From the garden of earth's smiles and tears.
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And if true to our God, we shall meet them Over there on the " Evergreen Shore," By the dear Savior's side we shall greet them, To go out from their presence no more.
THE GOOD NOT LOST.
Do we feel that the word gently spoken Is forgotten or lost where it lies ?
It shall rise yet again as a token, For the good that we do never dies.
It may shrink to the depths from earth's pleasure As the bud 'neath the cold, chilling frost :
But the springtime shall bring forth its treasure, For the good that we do is ne'er lost.
Does the hand-clasp so earnest and kindly Seem as naught that we do to relieve?
It may comfort a heart groping blindly, It may soothe where a cold look would grieve.
And the kind, loving thought that we cherish, Bringing peace to some sad, weary soul, Giving strength to one ready to perish, Is not lost while the ages shall roll.
And the word, and the act, and the feeling, Though they seem very small in our eyes, May be angels of mercy revealing The great message of love from the skies.
THE OLD RED SCHOOL-HOUSE.
I see it now as when in youth, We children scampered o'er the sill ; 'T was rude, ah ! yes,- and all uncouth, The old red school-house on the hill.
"T was built of brick, but many a storm Had beat upon those red walls, bare,
And left its mark in rent forlorn, All plastered o'er with zealous care.
In entry small were ranged around Or hook or nail for hat or scarf ;
And there at merry school-bell's sound We hung them up with shout and laugh.
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Our gleesome words we scarce could quell Ere teacher's " Hush," a warning gave, Then quietly in line we fell, Oft late the punishment to save.
The rough pine benches lettered o'er By many hands in idle hours,- I see them now as when of yore We wreathed them round with wildwood flowers.
The teacher's desk with seat so high, Beside the black-board where we toiled O'er problem hard,- with faces wry, And hands which chalk and tears had soiled.
The stove that stood the door-way nigh,- The "low seat " running out behind,- The smoke-stained walls and windows high, On memory's page, all these I find.
I mind me how a summer day, We gazed the open door-way through,
On pasture green and broad highway, Where often passed the friends we knew.
And last, not least, the teachers kind And scholars who those aisles have trod : A few beside us still we find,- A few are lying 'neath the sod.
I think of one who shared my seat, Beside me sat in every class ; -
But nevermore this one we 'll greet, Until we too from earth shall pass.
Another faded while the leaves Were growing crisp and brown and sere : The time when nature round us weaves The garlands of the dying year ;
Upon the hill-side gray and bare When autumn winds were blowing cool,
They laid to rest with tenderest care The favorite of our merry school.
The Angel Reaper came once more, And gathered home two sisters fair,- They passed them to the fadeless shore, Its peaceful, holy joys to share.
The rest who met within those walls, Are scattered over all the land : A few preside in other halls Of learning,- o'er some merry band.
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And each pursues his chosen way In paths of wrong or paths of right : Toils on the tide of sin to stay, Or sinks beneath its curse and blight.
May not our work be but begun, When life's great school at last is o'er ;
And may we all, our tasks well done, Rejoin the school-mates gone before.
The school-house rude no more is seen, A modern one now marks the spot,
But yet by well-tried friends I ween, Our school-house ne'er will be forgot.
I MISS THEE.
I miss thee by the little stream Where we full often roved,
Where grew the flowers, the sweet wild flowers, We both so dearly loved ; The asters blooming on its brink, The gentians, Heaven's own blue,
The lowly pink gerardias All lead thee back anew.
Methinks their hues would brighter seem, Their fragrance be more sweet,
Could'st thou, as oft in other days, Their opening beauty greet.
I miss thee in the wooded glen, Where ferns and mosses grow ;
And in the long, gray fields at eve, Dear friend, I miss thee so. Can'st thou remember still the way Beneath the pine-trees' shade,
Where, in the quiet eventide, Our feet together strayed ?
I see not now thy welcome form, I tread the path alone, Whilst, in the branches, zephyrs sweet Are sad-voiced spirits grown.
I strain my eyes to catch a glimpse, Adown the narrow street, Of her, whom oft in bygone days, My waiting eyes would greet ; I see thee not - I hear thee pass The casement by no more ; I cannot hear thy gentle voice Call softly at the door.
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Poems.
The doors are barred, the shutters closed, Where I was wont to see The well-known faces from the home Gaze smiling out at me. I miss thee from the garden walk, The vine-clad portico, And 'neath the trees where I have seen The loved forms come and go.
I miss thee, miss thee most of all Within the room of prayer : No other e'er can be the same. Thy place is vacant there. I miss thy words of counsel, Thy gentle words of cheer, Thy hopefulness, thy trustfulness, Thy love which knew no fear. The place, that thou beside my own Wast ever wont to fill, Has waited, as for thy return, Is empty, waiting still.
I miss thee, but I'll meet thee soon, Beside the Living Stream ; On those fair banks all grief shall be As it had never been ; There, sweetest flowers our eyes shall greet, Of amaranthine hue,
Upspringing in the Heavenly fields, In beauty ever new. Our hearts shall know no parting there, No grief shall ever come ; But in that Paradise of God, " We'll dwell with Christ at Home."
EASTER.
The gloom is dense : the darkness fills The world with deepest shades of night ; The dawn begins : Judea's hills Are bathed in its effulgent light. "Tis morning now ; o'er all the place Where erst an angry mob was seen 'T is quiet ; over all the race A death-like Stillness reigns as queen.
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The place is hushed where Jesus lay ; His murderers have had their will ;
Within the tomb not far away The smitten form at last is still. The women come with trembling heart ;
" Who will for us remove the stone ? " When lo! the door is rent apart, And angel guards keep watch alone.
" I know your errand; cease your fear; " They hear the shining angel say.
" The Lord is risen ; He is not here : Come see the place where Jesus lay. Go quickly, His disciples tell
To Galilee He goes before ; - " A glad refrain the breezes swell,-
" There they shall see His face once more."
"Seek not the living 'mid the dead, Lo ! I have told you ; go your way ; The Lord is risen as He said." The night is past; 't is break of day.
" He lives !" the echoes send reply,
" He lives o'er earth and heaven to reign ; " And everything in earth or sky Repeats, " He lives ! He lives again !"
You who have seen your loved ones die, Who feel the bitter pain and loss, Restrain the tear; repress the sigh,
Behold the glowing Easter cross. The Crucified is ris'n to reign ; So all He loves shall rise again ; Let saints and angels join the strain, And all the nations say, " Amen !"
FRINGED GENTIANS.
I gathered them upon the streamlet's brink, Fringed gentians, blue as autumn skies o'erhead :
Then sat me down beside the brooklet's edge, And thought of one for many long years dead.
I gazed upon the blue-fringed petals there, Until the present day seemed lost to me, And we, the children then, 'mid other scenes, Roamed field and wood, all careless, glad and free.
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We gather gentians by the river side, These same fair azure flowers, she and I ;- We twine them o'er our desks at village school,- - We lay them on a playmate's grave to die.
The years pass on ; within a quiet room A wasted invalid is lying low ; A gentle hand is resting on her brow, And gentian flowers soothe the sufferer's woe.
And then,- the fair blue blossoms purple seem, The autumn sky is blackness grown o'erhead : The gentle zephyrs wailing winds become, And I am left alone but for the dead.
Upon a pillow of the purest bloom, Traced in the azure blue she loved so well, Above a coffined form this tribute rests : "Dear friend." We loved thee more than words can tell.
The flowers on the earth were withering ; The sun had run its course ev'n to the west ; I gathered up the faded, dying flowers, And went my way - once more to home and rest.
CHRISTMAS-TIDE.
" It is done as I requested And you need no longer stay, I will pay this little trifle At some more convenient day." Quick the door turns on its hinges, And upon the cold, gray stone, With the winter sky above her, Stands the seamstress - all alone.
Hastily the bell she reaches,- But she falters - then - so slow - Turns away, and down the pathway Staggers on into the snow. Bitter winds amid the tree-tops, Wailing, moaning, hurry by, But she does not heed their voices ; Hears she but one pleading cry.
" I'm so cold and hungry, mother, Do not leave your Willie long ; " " Come and sit beside me, mother, List with me the angels' song."
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Well she knew her boy was dying : Sickness, want, their work had done : And "the crumbs " from Riches' table Might have saved her only son !
She has gained the narrow alley, Passed the door and climbed the stair, Reached the side, 'mid growing darkness, Of the dear one waiting there. Blaze the lights in wealthy mansions,- But no taper gilds their gloom,- Christmas-trees with costly fruitage,- Want, dwells in that attic room.
" Hark ! the city bells are chiming, Listen, mother, to their lay ; ' Unto you is born a Savior, Christ the Lord is born today. Glory, glory in the highest, Peace on earth, good-will to men : '
I shall soon be with the angels, I shall hear that song again."
Bending o'er her child, the mother Waits for him the glad release ; All forgotten, in the Presence, Weariness and hunger cease. Still the bells are chiming, chiming, Still the mansions' Christmas cheer,
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