USA > Massachusetts > Hampshire County > Westhampton > Memorial of the reunion of the natives of Westhampton, Mass., September 5, 1866 > Part 5
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Such are the blessings showered upon man, when the neces- sary conditions are conformed to.
There are few towns where the tone of conversation was less mixed with profane expressions. I well recollect the shock pro- . duced on hearing the first profane oath. A family had moved into this school district, and two new boys had come to school. They were not bad-except badly educated. It was natural for them to roll out oaths, as to talk. It startled and alarmed the good people of the district. They feared the demoralization of the district, and not without reason. As for myself, I wondered the earth did not open and swallow them up. It turned out, however, as the use of proper means may always do, that these boys were educated out of their profanity, instead of teaching it to others.
It should not be inferred that good influences always prevail- ed in the early periods of our town life. Far from it. While the predominant influences seemed to be good, there were some drawbacks. The wheat and tares grew together here, as else- where. Among the first difficulties, was the question of loca- tion of the meeting house. There was a Northern and South- ern party. The contest, at one time, threatened to be serious. The timber for the house was carried three times by the pastor's house, and gave him much uneasiness. The matter, however, after some delay, took a favorable turn, and all was harmonized.
Within my recollection, cider distilleries abounded in the town, and sent forth their perverting influences. I can recol- lect when there was no less than three taverns, which in winter kept their hospitable fires and flipirons always in readiness to minister to the wants of callers. The change, however, in the " drinking usages of society," in the last fifty years, are such as to encourage the hearts of all who rejoice in human elevation.
This town can claim the credit of having furnished the instru-
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ment in effecting this change. No man did more to revolu- tionize public opinion on this subject, than Rev. Dr. Justin Ed- wards, one of the most laborious and useful men that this coun- try ever produced As agent of the American Temperance So- ciety for 7 years, he became the active spirit and leader in the work-in short, according to his associates, " he was the pivot' upon which all moved." In his day, more than 7000 societies were formed, with more than 1,200,000 members. More than 3000 distilleries were stopped ; and over 7000 merchants gave up the traffic.
He was six years President of the Andover Theological Sem- inary, and seven years agent of the Society for Promoting the Observance of the Sabbath. He was one of the "Young Eli- jahs," alluded to by Rev. Dr. Griffin, who, "on the banks of the Hoosac, under the haystacks, prayed into existence the em- bryo of foreign missions." The New England, afterwards merged into the American Tract Society, was for several years under his principal direction. All of his aspirations and ener- gies were devoted to the elevation of the human race. " Wis- dom in council, energy in action, and humility in life," were his distinguishing qualities.
It is believed that no man in this country has done more than Dr. Edwards to create and organize those working institutions in the Church, and to invoke the presence of the Divine Spirit in them-that constitute her educational and moral forces for the evangelizing of the world.
The population of Westhampton was in 1790, 683 ; in 1800, 756; in 1810, 793 ; in 1820, 896 ; in 1830, 913, highest num- ber ; in 1840, 759 ; in 1850, 602 ; in 1860, 608. Population in the United States doubles every 22 years. At this rate, Westliamp- ton should have about 6000 inhabitants. Instead of these re- maining here, they are diffused throughout the country, as mis- sionaries, it is to be hoped, of the principles in which they were educated.
Through the influence of such missionaries, the common school system of New England has been planted in all the North Western States, and in many of the other states of the Union. There are no exports so valuable, no contributions from one part of the country to another so enriching, as that of intelligent and virtuous men and women.
The small towns of New England have contributed their full share to the mental and moral forces, which shape the action of the body politic.
It is no purpose of mine to give anything like a connected narrative of events which have transpired in this town. Neith- er time nor the materials at my command, would admit of it. I can safely leave this to other, and more competent hands.
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I rejoice in this opportunity of meeting so many of the breth- ren and sisters, in this, my native town. Let us render thanks to God for the blessings which he has showered upon our fath- ers, ourselves, and upon our children.
There were established among the Jews, in the time of Moses ' and the prophets, frequent feasts. The feast of the Tabernacles was commemorative of the Divine goodness exercised towards the Jews in their wanderings in the desert, and to return thanks to God for the fruits of earth. The feast of Weeks, was on the occasion of the first fruits of the wheat harvest. The feast of Ingathering was when they had gathered in the labors of the field.
On these occasions, it was provided that offerings should be made to the Lord. These were to be "offered willingly, and with perfect heart, as the Lord had blessed them." It was de- clared by the prophet that those not going up to the feast of tabernacles should receive no rain.
On an occasion so interesting and so impressive as that which has drawn us together, may we not, in humble imitation of Scripture usage, regard this as a Scriptural feast? And as such, a fitting time to renew our vows ; to render our offerings to the Lord ; by consecrating anew the faculties which He has given us, to continue and to perfect the work which He confided to our fathers ?
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POEM.
BY PROF. M. MONTAGUE.
Far wandering from our early cradle home, The pressing fates of life had bid us roam; Along the city's busy, crowded mart, We had walked with true and manly heart ; In the fields of a sunset prairie land, We had left the marks of a toiler's hand. East, West, and North and South, our pathway led, Where hope, betimes, a fond ambition fed, Till other altar fires and hearth stones bright, Had cheered us with their soft and sacred light, Till other spots, our heart had grown to love- Endeared homes, with many a nestling dove.
But from our cradle home, our childhood's joy, Where bounded the feet of the growing boy- Where the hand of our mother so gentle and mild, In blessing was laid on the head of her child- Where the hills and the granite stand fast, While the years in silence go sweeping past, Our brothers and friends invite our return, That on the old altars new incense may burn. And fit is the hour, most fit is the day, When at these shrines our offerings we lay, When gathered from far or gathered from near, We call back the scenes by memory held dear. Our country is rescued from treason and wrong, And Freedom and Union and Right be our song.
Martial drums no longer beating, Tramp of war no more is heard ; Hostile bands forget their meeting, Once with deadly passions stirred.
Hushed the roar and storm of battle, Calm the valley and the hill ; Clashing arms no longer rattle While yon foemen, foemen kill.
Gentle peace around is smiling, Sheathed for aye the blood-red sword ; Hero soldiers now are toiling, Where the fruits of earth are stored.
Starving brothers in the prison, Which the hand of treason reared, From their dying death uprisen, See the heavens of darkness cleared.
And so we meet beneath the Stars. Honor'd symbol of the free, While trampled lie rebellion's bars, Foul type of slavery.
And while my muse to-day would gladly sing Of Freedom's holy victories, or while the hill
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And woods, the rocks and vales and brooks, Would woo a song-or early household scenes, The festive and the sad-the winter's storm, The crackling fire, the clover-scented field- School-day sports and school-day tasks, lend Their inspiring presence ; there comes athwart My vision, the forms of noble men, whose words And lives have served to fashion into Manly stature, the growing generations Of this goodly town. And so forgetting not
The rare delights of winter-Spring in bud And bloom-or Summer with its toil, Or Autumn with its bending fruit And dress of brilliant hues, I shall Essay to speak of men whose active work Below, is ended-shepherds here to feed The sheep, or lead to living fountains- Fountains fresh of truth and knowledge. To tell in full the story of those sainted men Who daily walked along these beaten paths, Who watched and prayed, and preached the simple word,
Guiding the steps of youth from error's way, Cheering the hopes of age in life's decline, Pointing manhood to the richer treasure Of that vast inheritance in light above- Humble, patient, trustful in the promise That the weeping sower in joy should reap The richly freighted harvest in its time- For abler pens than mine, the work shall wait. Mine be it, but in outline rude, to sketch
Where master hands might paint the glowing life.
Adown the years that mark the opening dawn Of that on-coming day, that filled these hills And vales with active life, when holy love Its torch first lit among these ancient dwellings, Where our fathers made their homes and died- At the very threshold of the town's existence, Came the youthful HALE-shepherd of the sheep. With cultured mind, his soul with truth imbued, He sought his Master's work in this new tield, His work for life-this people his. till death. Unlike to these degenerate days of ours, When pastors come and go, as come and go The rapid years. Or if some silver bell, Perchance, in clearer tones, its call shall give, Straightway feel an urgent sense of duty, To use their talents for the greater good, And in some larger field to show the world. That able Shepherds, alle flocks must have.
And here among these early years, The goodly seed was sown. Through Summer's beat And Winter's cold, the master's work was wrought; And many were the golden sheaves that here The reaper bound for the heavenly garner. No harsh complaints were made of guilty Achans, If the gracious Spirit long delayed its showers. The truth was uttered with a simple faith, And left to Him who gives the timely rain. This was the golden age of sovereign grace. Alas ! perchance ye daul, in human mortar, Who look to see the temple rise within a day. No easy ways, invented then. had come, To pour their grateful benisons. on those Who needed milk. But the solid meat
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Was given by which the man is made to grow. No Sunday Schools-
Heaven bless their use when used aright-
Alas ! too often true, new modes to idols turn, And lesser means are seen to thrust aside The chief. No Sunday Schools importance bore
Above the preached word. Nor books To tell of fancied angels, in the garb Of sweet-voiced girls and loved and loving boys,
Who went to sleep so early in this night of life. Or larger work, in which a grain of truth, So thinly beat, with ease, was made to lie On ten score pages, more or less. Nor novels- Name profane-in Christian dress, so neat, Could cheat the senses of the soul and turn To highly seasoned food, most rankest poison- Poison, if perchance, the christen'd name were wanting. O wondrous alchemy ! hidden in a name, Transmuting trash to healthful Christian food. No days, like these, were then. But the substance, The Primer was a royal book for all, And Watts' Psalms and all the Shorter Catechism, And well digested sermons, from the pens Of careful thinkers-giants in their time. In truth, these were the days to work and wait. And so this faithful man was wont to toil. Preaching the word and by example guiding, Reverenced by the young, honored by the old- The teacher, guide and counsellor of all.
Around his feet the young men gathered, While his lips discoursed of Grecian story, Or made the Roman forms with life to breathe, Kindled, quickened by his student mind, Up the higher heights of knowledge many climbed, To pluck the wreaths of honor, and in turn, To send their influence down in good for others. And if like him, whose honored name he bore, He walked with God, with God communion held, No early fate's translating power, e'er came To wing him for celestial realms. But long Among these roughened paths he trod and toiled. Till the iron frame was bent and his scattered locks Were like the driven snow, and with tottering limbs He came to lay him down to sleep among The people of his early love. Here rest. For two score years and ten. the word Was preached. Glad promise, invitation sweet, The Law's stern claims and His atoning grace That spans the heavens with Hope's inspiring brow- This thy work, sainted leader of the flock. And while around thy setting sun, were seen The leaden clouds to gather, far beyond Thy light shall shine, dimless on the nether shore.
And now my vision is somewhat clouded. The sky is o'erspread, and the air is rent With the turbulent conflicts of passion. Let us pass over a full half score years- Perchance it is more, it matters not much, Years fruitful of good for that glad bright morn, Born of it a night of darkness and storm. CHAPIN and DRURY and TRUAIR, this day Are living in those whose hearts felt the touch Of that all quickening Spirit, sent to bless The word by faithful messengers proclaimed.
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Each able, earnest, zealous for the truth- These, firm standing by the old landmarks, Planted long by custom and tradition- He, the grand disturbing force, resolute And fearless, and defiant of all forms, That cramp the soul in its high search for good, Or dwarf it to a pigmy stature ;- Perchance e'en reckless of those golden tablets Where Jehovah wrote his Law, while he fain Rebukes the cursed sin of mammon worship ;- Their's, a Pulpit and a House, divinely Consecrate to the holy ministries of love,- His; a chapel rude, and desk uncomely, Where the anointing oil from priestly hands, In order's true succession, ne'er had dripped -- No more, my muse, to-day. Draw down the veil, And shut without the noisy battle ground. Ah! long those years, when by these sacred altars, Peace stood with folded wing and tearful eye.
But on my vision now, a nob'er sight, Beneath the verdant sods, where the willows Bending low, drop their dewey tears at morn, Peaceful sleep those toil worn brothers. Blinded here by the gossamer films Of Prejudice-there light divine is shed And every dimmed eye is made to see, By the potent power of holy love. Discordant here, nor understood, champions
For what each deemed as right-lo ! there they stand Amid the welcomes of that marshalled throng, Who fought the goodly fight of faith on Earth; And, drinking in the harmonies of heaven. They honor Him who sends the storm to give A calmer day.
And now
The clearer, calmer, brighter day had come. In the early spring time, when the flowers Are fresh, and all the land in beauty sleeps, Came another youthful Shepherd. with his young And blooming bride-came, a gift from heaven. Ready, open, stood ali hearts to meet him. . With a rare and glowing eloquence he preached The gracions love of God to sinful men. Gentle were his tones. But the kindling eye Spoke the deep, carnest heart-throbs of a soul That sought the rich reward of those who turn To righteousness the erring multitude. Around him breathed the atmosphere of love. With a wisdom e'en such as honors age, He knew the words to speak, and when, and where. Sweetly tender, when the hand of sorrow Brought its chalice to the lips of any, He won all hearts by the mystic chord Of sympathy; and in their heart of hearts The stricken mourner, shrined a friend. And so his presence was a living joy In every household, where the sufferer dwelt.
Nay more. In all these homes, or high or low, The faithful Pastor was the welcome guest Ten years ! Ah! rapid spin the Fate, oftimes, For those whose lives on earth are beautiful. Ten years ! And though the simple stone is reared, For him that steepeth-though art not dead to-day, My brother, friend, our own beloved COGGIN. The echo of thy gentle voice is heard Within this temple gate. And the memory
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+
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Of thy sweet life, e'en down to other years, Shall sure, a richly freighted blessing bear. Sleep, gentle pair, among your chosen flock. What, though your rising sun e'er noon went down. The night is ours-resplendant day is yours, And as we stand beside thy early grave, Thy calm, benignant face, and hers, The partner of thy toils and hopes, impart A fruitful lesson-tell us how sacred Is the union that binds the faithful teacher To his flock, that from his words, instruction Drink, and by these words, in virtue grow. And though in higher spheres the Master plans Thy present work, the seed that thou didst sow In human hearts is bearing precious fruit, An hundred fold.
Of living teachers who the word have spoken, Through the years since then and now, pass we by. For their zeal and love and honest labor, When they toil on earth no longer, shall find Beyond, that here they did not toil for naught.
But now there comes To move my pen, thoughts of one other form- Too soon, for us who linger here, removed. His, Was a sacred office, high and holy. Though the vestments of priestly order Proclaimed his separation for the altars Of the temple, yet his was a service Whose results e'en now, are felt like living springs Amid the arid sands. To-day he lives, Though numbered long among the sainted dead. Modest and shrinking from the gaze of men, He loved retirement. Books were daily tood. In the love of study, study had no task, And by patient toil, his mind was rich In stores of knowledge. The slender casket That bore a jewel of such worth, ofttimes, Seemed yielding. And the gloom of a dark night Pressed down his spirit. And those golden heights, Which once he hoped to reach, and the arena Of the college, where he fain would wrestle, Dear like the heart's life, were relinquished all. Yet so was study not relinquished. His was an ambition that lives and grows Without applause. To know what lies beyond, His noble aim. And so he wrought among His books; and little known the while, grew An earnest scholar. Accurate in forms, In method clear,-with a culture true as rare,- With a diffidence that made no bold pretense,- Precise in all the movements of the body, In the neatness of his person, unexcelled, The example of his daily maxim- "A place for everything, and every thing in place," He came to be our teacher, and our guide In the road to knowledge. And he led us, Straightway, to the inviting fields, where his feet Had often strayed, and to perennial springs, Where his thirsting soul had often drunk. Gentle, faithful DICKINSON. Affection Weaves to-day a garland for thy memory. And while now on the summit of life's pathway, We look back along the vanished years, We see, not dimly, how the influence
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Of thy enkindled mind, at every stage, Has met us; and we have ever toiled With fresher courage for noble lessons Taught to us from thine inspiring lips. Such lives, such teachers never die. They live, Though the mound has disappeared, and the moss Has thick o'ergrown the name once chisseled On the slab. They live, the germs of other lives. They live-live woven in the very texture Of the souls they helped to form. Thou livest; And thy teaching work shall be complete When all thy pupils' pupils, theirs shall end.
And in these meagre tributes to departed worth, One other name shall be embalmed. A name, That well may stand among the honored worthies.
His was not the tongue of eloquence, Nor was the gift of ease and grace, bestowed In rare abundance. But in all the pulpits Of this favored region, scarce were found those Whose pens were abler, and whose thoughts could stand The test of a sterner logic. He wrote With an elegance of style and fitness Of expression that charmed the cultured ear, And with a clearness all could comprehend. He followed in no beaten track. He said What he himself had seen-what he had read In the clear reasonings of an earnest mind. Not always valued for his real worth, His spirit bore no bitterness to any. His master's work was his. No toil was shunned,
That honor to redeeming grace should bring. Within his chosen fields, he labored on With an ardor that tired not till the end Had come. And that waiting soul looked out With yearnings unutterable, to see The breaking dawn of that long promised day, When Judah's King should come to reign among His ransomed people; and the glorious throne . Should here on earth be built, and in the hands Of Him whose blood once rent the temple veil, No symbol sceptre should be swayed. E'er this, may be, he reads the unclasped scroll With clearer eye; and from those ancient Hebrew seers, gains a truer, broader view Of that all conquering Power, which to his feet Shall bring rebellious nations, and send The choral sound of Peace o'er all the earth. Till his work was done he faltered not. But now he needed rest. And where, for this A fitter place, than by his mother's side, And in the shadows of those beetling hills, Where childhood played. And so he came.to rest. Ah, yes. Our brother JUDD has found his blessed rest. His life was gentle as some peaceful river, Fed by living springs, on whose banks are seen Perpetual verdure and ever blooming flowers- Where the trees that fleck the placid waters With their shifting shadows, are filled With woodland music.
In the ocean wide The stream is lost. No, not wholly lost. As the sun's attractive power weds The ocean to the cloud, which breaks in blessings On the land; so the influence of thy pure life,
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Shall, like the showers, bestow its hidden wealth On weary travelers, in life's desert road .... Nor these alone, who lead the way to.truth And knowledge, in our hearts shall live.,, But highest honor wilt he ever give To those brave hearted men-to each, to all, Who battled with these rugged hills -- who fought The stones and rocks-the forests thick and wild- Who DARED to make a home in such a spot; Aye, more-who made a temple in each home. Yes, all honor to those early fathers, who sent The restlese vigor of their own strong life To course the veins of later generations. ..
And now, I muse along these time worn paths, And wander o'er these rocky, native hills, In search of homes, that erst in childhood's dawn, With mirth and song and love and loving hearts, Were filled. I search among decaying ruins. The moss grown well is choked with hated weeds. The orchard, hung with Iuseions fruit, is dead. The flowers that bloomed around the doors, And where the bee its honey sipped, are gone. The garden, where the sisters played, and where They wove bright garlands for some May day morn,
Is platted thick with grass and tangled briars. .And all those forms that gave to home its bliss, Have vanished, gathered one by one, to sleep In dust, with generations gone before.
And then-oh wanton desecration, As of walking on some new made grave -- The nibbling sheep and browsing ox Are treading on that sacred spot, where First for me the gates of life were open thrown, Where mothers blessed full many a natal hour- Where the merry song, or the heart's deep, Muffled wail, so oft were heard- These to speak the bridal, those the burial days. But o'er these perished homes I may not grieve- These ruins, as with index finger.
Point to newer, fresher forms of life; And other homes of love. where the bloom, And fragrance of the flowers still live, Decaying, changing, growing, Such islife. Those early fathers and those blessed mothers. Come not here to-day. Their house no longer stands.
They have not heard the call that summons Their children from far and near. to meet.x In this glad reunion. And yet they live,'s And wait the ushering of that other day,. When the portals of yon silent city Shall be unlocke'd by angel bands .. When all the ruins of this mortal life. Built up, shall stand amid the freshness And beauty of the immortal, «In the ever blessed Reunions of Heaven.
Home of our childhood, home of our youth, Live on. We will love thee, and think of thee In our other homes- And from thine inspiring presence, will draw A-fresher courage for our toilsome road. ..
So a blessing, ever resting. :. Be thine alway; Then that meeting, joyful greeting, In yon bright day.
*
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THE DINNER.
At the close of the exercises in the church, the audience and others, numbering about six hundred guests, repaired to the Pa- vilion, which had been extemporized for the purpose, and sat down to a bountiful collation prepared by the citizens of the town. The Pavilion was tastefully decorated with evergreens, wrought into wreaths, festoons, &c., and on the front was dis- played in large capitals the warm invitation,
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