USA > Massachusetts > Worcester County > Westminster > Celebration of the one hundredth anniversary of the incorporation of Westminster, Mass. > Part 7
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Jonathan Bathrick, for his father, Thomas.
Peter Hay, for his brother-in-law, John Barrel.
William Gleason, for his father, William.
The heirs of John Smith.
Samuel Smith, for his uncle, Samuel.
The heirs of Joseph Smith.
The heirs of Nathaniel Smith.
The heirs of Thomas Brown. Jonathan Gates, for his father, Simon.
Thomas Wellington, for his uncle, John. William Brattle, Esq., for his grandfather, Thomas Brattle. Daniel Cheever, for his uncle, James Cheever.
CHARLESTOWN.
James Lowden, (then living.) Samuel Read, (then living.)
Henry Sumers, (then living.) Robert Fosket, for his father, John.
Thomas Skinner, for his unele, Isaac Lewis.
Samuel Fosket, for his father, Samuel.
Samuel Long, for his unele, Samuel Newell. Magry Dowse, for father, Joseph. Nathaniel Goodwin, for his uncle, Benjamin Lathrop. James Smith's heir, namely, Jonathan Call. Joseph Pratt's heirs.
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Samuel Lanmon's heirs. William Burt's heirs. Jacob Cole's heirs. John Moseley's heirs. Humphrey Miller's heirs. John Hawkins's heirs. John Trumbull's heirs.
Alexander Phillips's heirs.
George Mudge's heirs.
John Shepherd's heirs. Thomas Welch's heirs.
John Grind's heirs. Joseph Lynd's heirs.
Timothy Cutler's heirs.
James S. Little, for his father.
Thomas Genner's licirs.
John Griffin, heir to Matthew Griffin. Ebenezer Breed, for his father, John. Zachariah Davis, for his uncle, Hopstil Davis. John Sprague, for his father, Jonathan. Eleazer Johnson, for his father, Edward.
John Senter, for his father, John.
WATERTOWN.
John Sawin, for his father, Thomas.
Ephraim Cutter, (then living.) Jonas Cutting, for his father, James. John Barnerd, (then living.) Joshua Bigelow, (then living.) William Shattuck, (then living.)
Joseph Grout, for his father, Joseph Grout. Zachariah Smith, for his father, Jonathan Smith.
Samuel Hager, for his father, John Hager. George Harrington's heirs. John Harrington, (then living.) Joseph Priest, for his father, Joseph. Zechariah Cutting, (then living.) John Bright, for his uncle, John. George Pametor, for his father, William. Joseph Ball, for his uncle, Jacob Bullard. Thomas Harrington, for his wife's father, Timothy Rice. John Sherman, for his uncle, John.
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Capt. Joseph Bowman, for his wife's unele, James Barnerd, Joseph Smith, for his father, Joseph.
Richard Beers, for his father, Elnathan.
Michael Flag's heirs.
Capt. Joseph Bowman, for his wife's father, John Barnerd.
John Cutting, for his father, John Cutting.
The heirs of Doct. Wellington.
The heirs of Benjamin Wellington.
WESTON.
Ebenezer Boynton, for his wife's father, Caleb Grout.
Onesiphorus Pike, for his father, James Pike.
Thomas Cory, for his father, Thomas.
Nathaniel Norcross, for Jeremiah Norcross.
Daniel Warren, (then living.)
SUDBURY.
Matthew Gibbs, (then living.)
Richard Taylor, for his father, Richard.
Thomas Taylor, for his father, Sebred.
John Marston, (then living.)
John Parkhurst, for his father, John.
Denis Hedly, (then living.)
John Adams, (then living.)
Benjamin Parmeter, for his brother, Joseph.
Joseph Rutter, for his father, Thomas.
Ebenezer Graves, for his father, Joseph Graves.
John More, for his father, Joseph.
NEWTON.
Edward Jackson, for his father, Seborn.
Nathaniel Haly, (then living.)
Isaac Becch, for his brother, Richard Beech.
Stephen Cook, (then living.)
John Park, for his father, John.
Jonathan Willard, for his father, Jacob.
The heirs of Capt. Thomas Prentice.
MEDFORD.
William Willis, for his father, Thomas. John Hall, for Capt. Seill. John Whitmore, for his father, John.
----
------
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MALDEN.
John Mudge, (then living.)
Samuel Kneeland, assignee to Phineas Upham.
Abraham Skinner, for his father, Abraham.
James Cheak's heirs.
John Winslow, for his father, Jolm.
William Willis, for the heirs of John Bacheler.
READING.
Nathaniel Parker, for his uncle, Jonathan.
Richard Brown, for his uncle, Edmon.
Thomas Nichols, (then living.)
Major Swain's heirs.
Isaac Williams's heirs.
Benjamin Davis's heirs.
Samuel Lampson, for his father, Samuel.
'Thomas Hodgman's heirs.
Richard Upham, for his father, Phineas.
Samuel Chandler, for William Jones.
A true Copy of Records in my Office.
Attest. SAMUEL G. KENDALL, Town Clerk.
Westminster, Feb. 11, 1857.
·
POEM,
BY
WILLIAM S. HAYWOOD.
Westminster, December 1, 1850.
Mr. WILLIAM S. HAYWOOD :
Dear Sir :- We respectfully ask you for a copy of your Poem, delivered at our Centennial Celebration in October last, that it may be published with the Address and Proceedings connected with that event.
With great respect, yours,
BENJAMIN WYMAN, JOEL MERRIAM, JR. WILLIAM S. BRADBURY, Committee of Publication.
Messrs. WYMAN, MERRIAM, AND BRADBURY, Committee on Printing, &c. :
Gentlemen :- Your favor of the 1st iust., received by due course of mail, is hereby acknowledged. I cheerfully comply with your request, to furnish for the press a copy of the Poein prepared and delivered by me at the Centennial Celebration of the Ineor- poration of my native town, and herewith commit to your hands the manuscript for the purpose designated. Happy in doing my part to render the occasion referred to pleasant and profitable, I am also happy in offering a tribute of good-will to the sons and daughters of old Westminster, with many of whom I was more or less intimately associated in former years, and of many of whom pleasing memories linger still to gladden and to bless. The production, which you seem disposed to dignify with the name of Poem, makes no pretension to poetieal precision and finish ; it only claims the merit of being the simple, heartfelt outbreathing of the deeper and better feeling of the author. I present it to you and to those for whom you act,-to all the children of my native town, wherever they may be, in the hope that, while its more particularly local allusions and reflections may tend to revive and perpetuate many grateful asso- ciations, its general views of Man, Life, and Duty, may serve to stimulate to high resolve, lofty endeavor, and glorious achievement, in the pathway of all that is noble, and virtuous, and godlike.
I am, Gentlemen,
Yours, very respectfully,
WM. S. HAYWOOD. Hopedale, Milford, Mass., December 7, 1859.
POEM.
WESTMINSTER celebrates to-day HIer Hundredth Anniversary. Proud in the fullness of her years, Her history telling in our ears, With speech, and poetry, and song, With festal pleasures that belong To such events, with wit and mirth, She justly honors now her birth. Out to the breeze her banner flings, Lays wide her store of bounteous things, Her messages of love sends forth To East and West, to South and North, Bidding her roaming children come, Visit once more their earlier home, And gather round her cheerful board, Laden with what her stores afford ; Seek out old friends and new relations, Revive the lost associations, Live yet again the mystic past From which Time hurries on so fast, The once familiar walks tread o'er, Retreats, hallowed in days of yore, And, 'mid the scenes of glad reunion, With greetings and with sweet communion, , To find such welcome and such cheer As can but gladden many a year. And we are come ; the inviting word By our quite willing ears is heard. With joy we come, from near and far, Our heart's desire a guiding star,
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From North and South, from West and East, To sit and share this natal feast. We come from many a varied sphere ; We come from new homes that are dear ; We come to bring a tribute meet, And lay at old Westminster's feet. For, in the divers walks and ways We've traveled since the former days, Through all the changes of our lot, We ne'er our native town forgot ; But, at the mention of her name, There always flashed a hidden flame Of grateful love within the breast- A quick response that made us blest. Yes, we are here, the wandering ones Whose course of duty elsewhere runs ; And those who, faithful, still remain The honored landmarks to maintain. We all are here-the father, mother, The son and daughter, sister, brother, The friends of near and distant tie, Met face to face, and eye to eye, Rejoicing in each other's love,
In blessings from our God above. Yet all are not here ; there are some
Who from their duties could not eome ; Some, far away on land or sea, Have yet to learn of this day of glee ; Some waste in siekness, and some bless Their fellow-ereatures in distress ;
While others still, oppressed by want, Would fain be with us, but they can't. Henee, though we here are quite a host, The absent number far the most. They all tread not the shores of Time ; How many are in another elime !. Who hath no parent, child, or friend, Brother or sister, seen descend To the dark vale, the vale of death, Yielding up there the mortal breath ? Dark vale, indeed, save as the light Of Truth and Love makes all things bright.
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With one fond thought to the mortal dear, And one to those of the unscen sphere, My muse would lead us still along To other themes by her humble song.
A hundred years ! What hopes and fears, What joys and griefs, in a hundred years ! What changes-fortunes made and lost ! What woes, what feasts of Pentecost ! What crimes, what sacraments of blood ! What movements for all human good ! Kingdoms destroyed, thrones overturned, Empires laid waste, and cities burned ; Inventions multiplied, the hand Of Art enlivens every land. Philanthropies spring forth, and words Of truth contend for power with swords. New principles are born-not born,
They live forever, tyrants' scorn. New light breaks forth with joy and love,
As hastening seasons onward move. Men throughout earth grow good and wise, And in the scale of being rise.
But who can tell all that appears
As fruit of the last hundred years ! A hundred years have come and gone Since there was laid the corner-stone Of this, our native town ; the men- Oh, where are they who served her then ? They come not here their tale to tell- (Tale other lips have told so well)-
They've passed beyond their earthly lot ; Places that knew them, know them not. So we, too, their descendants, pass, As morning dew from waving grass. And, ere a century returns, The fire of mortal life that burns
However brightly now, will die
Within us, while goes rolling by The tide of being ever swelling, And deepening with divine indwelling.
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Ah ! as life's onward march is beating, Leave we a story worth repeating,- A story other hearts to swell, That we have done our work so well ?
Hail to our native place ! we bless her, And in our festal joy caress her. We come and filial homage pay On this her Anniversary.
Why not ? O, can we treat with scorn,
Or hate the spot where we were born ?
No, no ! with heartfelt, glad acclaim,
We'll chant our peans to her name.
Whatever be our avocation,
Or high or low our earthly station,
Mechanic, Merchant, Farmer, Clown, Dependent, aided by the town,
Shoemaker, Doctor, Lawyer, Preacher,
Or Hostler, Painter, Blacksmith, Teacher,
A Landlord, Baker, Saddler, Spinster, We'll honor give to old Westminster.
Gifts to her altar will we bring ; Her many praises will we sing. Behold her in each outward feature
A part of all-surrounding nature ;- A hand divine these hills among
Laid her foundations deep and strong, And over them in order spread A richer or a poorer bed . Of earthy matter-mould or soil,
Calling her sons to noble toil ---
From which, the customary courses Of nature's own inherent forces Give birth, with seeming exultation, To countless forms of vegetation. How pleasant and how fair of face Of varied beauty and of grace
Westminster wears ! See hill and dell, What nature's lovers love so well, See running streamlet, brook, or river, Which hastes the landscapes to dissever.
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Here too are lakelets, forests, flowers, Quiet retreats and leafy bowers, While breathing zephyrs, fresh and clear, Oft come as from some purer sphere, Spread health and vigor all around, That joy and gladness may abound. And over all what fairer skies In solemn majesty can rise !
The sun by day, the moon by night, Each sheds its own peculiar light ; And stars look down from where they're set Like gems in nature's coronet. The same Aurora heralds day, Chasing the damps of night away,
That breaks on fair Sicilian lands, Or gilds the morn on Italy's strands.
In this old town, as in those places Renowned for storied charms and graces, The Great Unseen his power makes known, His changeless goodness here hath shown, That tongue and raptured heart may tell, "Our Father doeth all things well."
Westminster, -Is it more than meet We lay our offering at her feet ? Here had we birth ; our being's sun Here rose, its endless course to run ; Here opened we our infant eyes On beauties of both earth and skies ; Here were unsealed our infant cars To music of the outer spheres. And thus was launched our feeble bark Upon life's ocean, stormy, dark, Ofttimes, yet having more of good Than ill, if rightly understood. Here shared we first a parent's love, Hovering o'er us like a dove ; Experienced all the joys of home Ere cares and toils to us had come ; Here dawned upon our inner sense Wisdom and love of Providence ;
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Here went we forth in earlier days, Where wonders met our every gaze, To find delights that nature brings, To glory in her offerings, To catch her life, to feel the thrill She sent through all our heart and will, Inhale her breath, to hear her sound, Behold her glories spread around, And, by the paths the true have trod, Be led by her up to our God. And here, perhaps, we earliest quaffed Of sorrow's deep and bitter draught,- Our very hearts asunder riven With shafts by sad affliction driven. But yet, whatever were our lot While dwelling on this cherished spot, Where'er we are, where'er we go In all this changing world below, Our souls will turn with gladsome thrills To this old town among the hills, And hallowed memories shall move Our hearts to earnest, filial love. And may not sweet emotions rise At thoughts of her, beyond the skies ? What farther tribute can we pay At our fond birthplace shrine to-day ? She may not boast of sons of fame,- Men who have gained a sounding name ; Of conquerors she may not boast, Leading to blood a murderous host ; Of geniuses, wondrous and rare, On whom a gaping world may stare ; Of mighty men, as men count might, Before whom others quake with fright ; She may not boast of children great, Reckoned by human estimate ;---- Of sons, who have high rank or station In cither Church, or State, or Nation ; Or daughters eminent, whose praise Is chanted in melodious lays.
But, wanting these, 'tis no great loss, Since Christs and Saviors find a cross,
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And men of loftiest purity Are left in lone obscurity As often as they wear a crown, While villains sometimes get renown, And it may be, though she can claim No son or daughter known to fame, She has what's better, honest men And women ; those who, measured when Strict justice holds the scale of things, Shall stand before the King of kings,- While others, only great in name, Fall down in self-reproach and shame. I trust that in the sight of ITim Whose eye no show or sham can dim, There are, whom this old town can boast, Numbers whose worth exceeds all cost. Men they are of conscience, heart, Who strive to act the better part ;- Women of sympathy and love, Faithful in spheres in which they move, Ready for each good work and word, Obeying their acknowledged Lord.
But why should this occasion pass Without the mention of a class Of which our town may well be proud ? It rises like a shining cloud Of witnesses, to do her honor, Laying its hands of blessing on her. Her native teachers -See, they stand With willing heart and ready hand, The claims of ignorance to dispute And "teach the young idea to shoot." A worthy company they are, At home, abroad, or near, or far, Dispelling all the shades of. night, Diffusing learning's ambient light, And helping Science to display The glories of her perfect day. Teachers, go on, a goodly band, Extend your influence o'er the land ; 11
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Your mission's high and noble, strive, With all your native powers alive, To do your duty faithfully, And scatter blessings great and free. Remember always, Education,
Deserving of full acceptation,
Regards not intellect alone,
But makes all human parts its own ;-
Relates to body, mind and soul,
Training the powers of the whole ;
Comprises health, intelligence,
Virtue, aye, good common sense.
To educate, is not to train To books simply ; this were but vain ;-
"T'is not to give a little notion, A sort of Homeopathie potion
Of Reading, Spelling, Drawing, Writing, Coldly and formally reciting. To educate,-it is to make Men and women, for manhood's sake And womanhood's ; and all beside Is fruit of folly or of pride. Keep this in mind, to it be true,
And priceless trophies are for you. In your endeavors, catch, if you can, The spirit of a Horace Mann.
Lamented Mann ! Thy sun to earth too soon hath set,
But its effulgence gilds our western horizon yet ;
Thou'rt only gone before, our spirit's glad evangel, Earth mourns a Mann, but Heaven hath gained-how bright an angel !
Westminster, child incorporate Of Massachusetts, old Bay State. The old Bay State, how fair her name ! Deserves she well her world-wide fame, For where in all the earth around Is there an equal to be found,- Equal in heart, equal in mind, Equal in what exalts mankind ? Where is the province, where the state, Empire, or kingdom, small or great ?
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Search Asia's wide-spread territory, Or Europe's fields, far-famed and gory, Or Africa's hot, scorching sands, Among the new world's virgin lands ; Your task a fruitless one will prove, For Massachusetts claims your love. Rough though her surface, hard her soil,
Rock-bound her shores, inviting toil, Severe her climate, low her birtlı, She wears the crown of all the earth.
Even though we mourn her soil not free To all who seek for liberty, To every trembling fugitive From chains, who 'neath her flag would live.
What constitutes her greatness ? What, The meed of honor she has got ? "Tis not the glory of an hour,
"Tis not her wealth, 'tis not her power Of arms or law, 'tis not her trade,
IIer commerce o'er all seas displayed,
"T'is not the fabric that she makes, Or works of Art she undertakes, "Tis not her forests, rivers, fields,
The products that her tillage yields ;
But 'tis her character, her spirit,
Noble and true, that gives her merit.
Upon her altars burn the fires That light the hideous funeral-pyres Of ancient error, crime, and wrong, By fashion, fame, and law made strong. Was it not on her sca-lashed shores The Pilgrims left their weary oars, Casting their chains of soul behind, On this forbidding soil to find, Where barbarous men before had trod, Freedom to serve and worship God ? Has history's voice not reached our car, Or, reaching, have we scorned to hear What fearful dangers they did dare, The rights of conscience here to share ? 'Twas Duty's voice their souls had heard, Demanding that God's living Word
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Be honored, reverenced, and obeyed, Before all laws that man had made. And to carth's tyrants of every name, Civic or cleric, 'twas all the same, King, Emperor, Prince, Bishop, or Priest, Whatever wore the mark of the Beast, - To all they hurled a bold defiance, God and the Right their sole reliance. For Conscience' sake, at Duty's call, They dared, endured, and suffered all ; And daring, suffering, self-denying, They triumphed gloriously, though dying. We claim not for them full perfection, Their faults do not escape detection ;- They lighted persecution's fire Against the Quaker, Mary Dyer, And Williams, not of their persuasion, They sent to Providence plantation. But, notwithstanding all their wrongs, Much honor to their name belongs For their fidelity ; their sense Of Right was their Omnipotence ; And their strong blood has given birth To sons and daughters of great worth, - To men of spirit, men of soul,
Men who the fates themselves control,
To men of courage, men of toil,
Men who at truth never recoil,
To men who heed the living Word,
Disciples of a living Lord,
To men of principle and will, Men, though opposed, who are faithful still, To men that dare be out of Fashion Though all the Grundys are in passion, To men prepared to do and die For justice, truth, and liberty. 4 In this renowned old Pilgrim State, Fresh thought, ideas circulate ; Inventions new spring into life, And all the useful arts are rife. Here Science finds rapt devotees Who would all lore of nature seize,
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And raise a temple to the skies, Which should attract the joyful eyes Of wondering nations, while from far People should hail the beaming star. Here learning sends her blessings down To the humblest child of every town ; None so insane and none so blind, Who cannot an asylum find ; While every moral, social good
Is sought and somewhat understood Humanity, with all her woes,
Torn by a thousand, thousand focs,
Turns hither in her half despair And breathes her sad but earnest prayer.
Nor hither turns and prays in vain ;
At what she sees, takes heart again.
Philanthropy, with ready hands,
Would lavish blessings on all lands,.
React the Good Samaritan
To every suffering, needy man,
And bring the reign of peace and love
Down from the realms of bliss above.
And in the ever waging fight
For Truth and Justice and the Right,
Among the heroes strong and bold,
Who, though now scorned, shall be enrolled
On the Future's scroll of merited fame,
There's many a Massachusetts name.
For every such, wherever he be, Of known or unknown pedigree,
A monument more lustrous than gilt,
More lasting than marble, shall yet be built
In the hearts of grateful generations,
In the lives of coming states and nations, -- A monument that shall endure
When Bunker Hill's is known no more. .
. Old Massachusetts, -her renown To years unnumbered shall go down ;
Her light, her love, her liberty, Shall bless the ages yet to be.
But thoughts merely local should never engage Our whole mind and heart in this stirring age ;
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So pass we on hence to more general things, To topics my muse the more cheerfully sings.
There are questions pressing on us, Questions deep and questions high, Questions on whose faithful answer Rests our future destiny.
Shall we give them our attention, Hecding well their inward sense ? Or, ignoring, blind and stolid,
Boldly scorn Omnipotence ? "Tis God's angel to us puts them, "Tis his voice the silence breaks, Hark ! I hear the meaning accents Of the Providence that speaks. " What is man, and what existence ? What the end of labor here ? What is meant by human duty ? "
Rings the voice out soft yet clear.
" Answer, child of thought and feeling, Answer with thy lip and life, Answer with thy heart-aspirings, Answer with thy soul's stern strife." In the spirit of devotion, In the mind of trust and love, We take up the urgent queries Our fidelity to prove.
What is man,-his real nature ? What are his inherent powers ? What the being God hath made him,- Dweller on this globe of ours ? Is he but a mushroom creature, Springing upward for a day ? Some strange fungus of existence, Meteor-like mystery ? Is he like the beasts that perish, Traveling downward to the dust ? Or, like some old feudal castle, Subject to time's corroding rust ?
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Being of but trifling value, Like the things of earth and sense ? Being to be held and trafficked In the scale of pounds and pence ? Being to be ground to powder 'Neath oppression's mighty weight ? Being to be foully slaughtered By harsh violence and hate ? Victim of a proud ambition ? Sport of tyrants or of fiends ? Used, like dead, unconscious matter, To promote base, selfish ends ? Is this man, as God hath made him, Man in his inherent soul, Man that was, is, shall be ever, While the ages onward roll ? List, my Muse, the deep responses Fall upon the inward ear, Haste to catch them, and interpret What the meaning that they bear.
The Infinite Creator, in his wonder-working plan, Hath crowned with noble nature the being we call man ; Though seeming frail and feeble, often lost in sin's dark night, He yet may upward, onward move in everlasting flight. What gifts are his, within the realm of intellect and soul ! What agencies are in his hand, that Destiny control ! Though struggling on the shores of time, before him is the portal Of an unending life beyond-the life that is immortal. He on his destined way may go, in never-tiring marches, Swelling the songs that echo through the everlasting arches. Behold, in outward, earthly form, what excellencies shine ! For poets truly speak and sing of " human form divine." The hero of all history, of all below the head, The centre round which things of earth their full-orbed circuits speed. Strike man from out the rolling years, and what a blank were there ! What other loss can be conceived that with it could compare ! The ages in majestic pomp would come, and, passing, go. But wherefore ? O, what tongue can tell, what mortal mind can know ! When God gave man existence, calling him from chaos' night, He granted him a portion of His own all-powerful might,
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