USA > Massachusetts > Worcester County > Paxton > Town of Paxton, Massachusetts : 150th anniversary celebrated June 30, 1915 > Part 5
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And then came years of growth in peace, And plenty filled the land, And towns and cities fair arose Far round on every hand.
But clouds were gathering in the sky, And darkening in the South Like thunder storms in August days That break a summer drouth.
And then our soldiers sprang to arms To humble treason's pride, And o'er those bloody battlefields They moved with martial stride.
Four years of war, then peace again, And fifty years have passed Since Appomattox's pact was signed, And Slavery died at last.
In all these great historic deeds Our town has had its share; It's always done its duty well, The record's clean and fair.
And so we're here with you today To celebrate the past; One hundred fifty years have gone; This day has come at last.
We bring you greetings here today, Bright hopes for years to come; We'll always think of Paxton hills, Our dear old early home.
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ONE HUNDRED FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY
RESPONSE BY HENRY STREETER
BRISTOL, INDIANA
"The Natives of Paxton-Though so unfortunate as to have been allowed no choice of birthplace, yet will Paxton never be sorry that their parents chose for them, and chose so wisely."
The sentiment assigned me seems to require an effort to maintain two things First, that it is unfortunate that we did not have any choice as to our birthplace. I fancy this would be no easy task under any circumstances, and surely it is an impossible one here, for however convincing my argument, my friends one and all would say that if Henry Streeter could not exercise better judgment in the choice of a birthplace than he has in a good many things since he was born, it is just as well that he had no choice in the matter.
The second part of my subject presents no difficulty. Not sorry that our parents chose Paxton as our birthplace. No! a thousand times, No! If you were living in the Middle West, and knew as I do of the great numbers who seek the beautiful hills and valleys of New England every summer, who love these pic- turesque landscapes, blue skies, and invigorating atmosphere; who find ever-increasing enjoyment in travelling over these lovely highways at whose every winding some new surprise of beauty greets the eye, then you would realize the more deeply how great is the privilege of having been born and reared on these hills.
There is a yet deeper reason for being glad that Paxton is our native town. To my mind this splendid occasion is given a most gratifying completeness by the presence of two sons and two daughters of the Rev. William Phipps. For forty years, as poet, musician, scholar, theologian, and, highest of all, as faithful pastor of this church and spiritual guide of the community, this eminent clergyman held an honored place in the affairs of Paxton.
Just north of this church stands the house which in those days was the parsonage.
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OF THE TOWN OF PAXTON
I am sure we all are very glad that house has come into the possession of Mr. Ellis G. Richards, who, in keeping with his general policy of improving Paxton, has preserved and beautified this venerable home, but, happily, in such a way as not to have altered much its original form.
There it stands today, a monument to the beautiful Christian domestic life of the family of William Phipps-where the parents did all they could for their children, where plain living and high thinking were habitual, where, daily, united prayer brought spiri- tual blessing, and praise carried the soul heavenward.
Happily the precious qualities of this home were maintained in many others.
Able men, men of affairs, have addressed this assemblage. What they are is due in no small measure to the prevailing home life in Paxton years ago.
The mention of the names Phipps, Cole, Fairbanks, Robinson, Flint, Perry, Keep, Clark, Davis, and the thought of other names that are in your memories, ought to suggest, not so much individu- als as homes, homes where parents tried and tried hard to help their children,-tried in their fullness of strength, and did not stop trying even in the weakness of advancing years.
That sweet disposition of self-sacrifice is the high and spiritual element which in our eyes illumines these hills and valleys, and gives their beauty a deeper meaning.
Because of that, above all else, we love Paxton, and will never be sorry it is our native Town.
74
ONE HUNDRED FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY
PAXTON OF THE HILLS
150TH ANNIVERSARY, JUNE 30, 1915
Not often,-Friends,-such marvel may we know Of boyish Poet,-Fifty Years ago,- Returned at end of Fifty more,-t'rehearse With thanks to God, another strain of verse! To sing, once more, the glories of a place I've loved since childhood's sun shone on my face.
Dear, Quiet Village,-perched on sun-kissed hills, At thy proud name, thy children know heart-thrills Such as sweet Robin Redbreast feels in Spring When 'midst the apple boughs we hear him sing A hymn which runs,-"How lovely this old town, Where I have safely reared my nestlings brown For many a year :- Aye, Fifty, three times o'er,- And sung its beauty from my heart's deep core! Winging o'er tranquil streets and sunny fields Known all the bliss a bird's life ever yields! Here, airs are pure: my warbling throat ne'er tires As up thro' skies so blue my song aspires. Bright clouds sail over,-gray,-or full of light,- And oft at eve, to crimson turn, from white. Ah! but such sunsets! Glory never seen More brilliant than oft glitters here, at e'en! What the Italian, or the roseate hue Tinging the Alps, compared with Paxton's view! When far horizons glow with bloom out-spread, Sky-garden flowers! Gold,-sapphire,-purple,-red! These hills in June the Mountain Laurels grace And July stains with blueberry pie, each face.
In Paxton's orchards still I'll build my nest, And trill the songs her children love the best!"
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OF THE TOWN OF PAXTON
Red Robin flies,-yet echoes still repeat Her truthful song, which I must now complete.
Old Town! Thou'st nurtured in thy bosom's peace Six generations, sure, of souls as strong As ever served their country :- nor will cease But still wilt nurture as the years prolong, Good men, fair women,-brave, with hearts of fire T'inspire the world, and still to re-inspire. From western bounds to Asnebumskit's crest Sweet are the homes o'er all these acres blest!
This tall white spire, where hangs Paul Revere's bell, One cause of this prosperity might tell :- Now faithful Pastors, year by year, have taught The Gospel message, and with sacred thought Have educated conscience,-wills inspired,- Wrought characters more precious far than gold, Enriching hearts with virtues most desired,- Love, and contentment,-yet with courage bold,- Large charity, and patience, sincere love of truth. Training to womanhood and manhood, scores of youth.
Joined too in purpose with the Church in poise The well-filled Schoolhouse taught its girls and boys To bear the burdens linked with useful life Borne by each faithful husband and care-taking wife. HOMES,-well-kept homes,- the glory of the State! Such homes alone make Massachusetts great.
A Century and a Half, Time's progress marks today, Yet Paxton's History's bright the long, long way. Her orators unfold the simple facts Bound up in sheaves of well-attested acts. We need not sing them line by line again, -- To all, our Muse responds with loud Amen! Her History's safe :- no shame blots the white page That tells how Paxton falls not back with age.
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ONE HUNDRED FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY
She's "up to date" :- her past ends not the story Still to be wrought with ne'er decreasing glory.
Cities may grow, while country places stay :- But numbers give not happiness, we'll say,- And sweetest joys still blossom where brooks run, And country fields bask 'neath the summer sun :- Where quiet streets enjoy the elm-tree shade,- Where brains, that build the cities, first are made,- Where many Great Men,-Rulers of the State,- Are born and nurtured up to man's estate. Citified dwellers, too, this lesson learn And if they can,-back to the country turn. Choicest of pleasures, fraught with least of harm They find involved in "buying up a farm." Tho' many a furrow turned but buries cash, And golden vase of fortune suffers crash!
What joy to tread beneath one's feet the soil, Or know the healthful slumber sweet from toil- Toil beneath bending skies fanned by the breeze, Not toil o'er ledgers, robbed of nerve and ease, 'Tis work, alike, builds town and city, too,- But in "God's country," man best work can do. Work that reacts, and blesses laborers more Than work that spirits crush, in bank or store. Contentment, too, dwells amid country hills. And to its brim man's cup with nectar fills.
Sing, Muse, the Farmer's chosen life! Pure is the joy it yields, Amid hay-scented, or brown furrowed fields Afar from city's strife.
At morn he greets the roseate hue That crowns the hill-tops gray,- Bravely attacks the varied task of day, Brushing the silvery dew!
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OF THE TOWN OF PAXTON
Each morn though fierce th' sultry sky, Bread by the sweat of brow he earns, --- To dine with eager appetite then turns, Nor heaves one drooping sigh.
Night shadows gently round him close, But fine the task his hands have wrought- - Rich harvests will repay,-such prize he sought Twilight brings sweet repose.
Aye-a Farmer's life is blest,-is't not the best?
God knew, who first placed Adam in a garden
And of that Paradise made him a warden,- Where 'tis quite likely he'd have stayed for life Had lying serpent not bewitched his wife! Thus thorns and briers, since, make farming worse, Though modern tools go far to lift the curse.
One Hundred Fifty Years! Ah,-can it be That Paxton such a patriarch life should see? Brisk little town upon the hills, Thy cup with joy today o'erfills, While every heart with rapture thrills In praise of thee!
Ah! dear to me each Paxton street Where once I ran with swift bare feet, --- Stubbed aching toes 'gainst many a stone,- Wished Fourth July would oftener come, --- Waded through winter's deep snow-drift,- Or with my steel-shod sled so swift Dashed fearless down steep ice-bound hill Chockful of fun as heart could fill!
Boy life for me, --- Boy yet I'd be,- What other life so full of glee? Except a girl's,-just possibly !
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ONE HUNDRED FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY
Dear, too, the brooks, whence oft my line
Drew forth the spotted trout so fine,- Or crystal Asnebumskit pond Where, of its perch and pickerel fond Full oft along its coves I waited For darting fish,-my hook well-baited! Or climbed with huckle-berry pail Old Turkey Hill, where nested quail,- In autumn later sought with gun,
And partridge, flushed from paths she'd run.
And now again, I hear the shout As from the schoolhouse boys rush out,- Baseball and tag preferred to books Spite of all teacher's frowning looks.
Ah! but how sports gave place to work! Boy-life soon stern and serious grew :- Good Paxton schools ne'er trained a shirk From duty-or we'll say-but few. (And who were they ?- Well, sure, not YOU!) Nor will, 'till strikes the signal bell "School is dismissed,-rest, whoe're did well!"
Ah, the many, "resting," yonder Where white marbles mark their bed :- Yet to love they've grown but fonder As we think,-"What lives they led!" Grass o'er such graves grows the greener, And our full appreciation keener Of their virtues! Wreaths we lay On our father's graves today,- Dear ones! Safe with God, we pray!
With great events the world resounds, Afar we hear war's awful sounds, Whole nations change their lawful bounds,- Yet, 'mid the fierce earth-shaking, An Era, New, is breaking!
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OF THE TOWN OF PAXTON
And daze and mystery give us shock: - Our highest wisdom fools can mock :- Man cannot turn the key t' unlock Gates yet to open wide If we God's time abide.
His Temple builds 'mid ruined States That fall at touch of darksome fates,- But a New Earth His will creates Who overrules all History And wields the keys of mystery.
Above the stunning din of wars, List! "Tis the music, without pause,
That heralds forward Christ's own cause: And Jericho's proud walls, in fear, Tremble,-at sound of trumpets near!"
God's Hosts by myriads onward move, Angels of Mercy and of Love :-
Troops mighty,-armed with power from above To win the final victories, sure, Of Him whose throne shall e'er endure.
Time's tragedies o'erwhelm the heart,- By faith alone can souls take part
In work that breathes of Highest Art, Re-making lives with leaven Of Love from Heaven.
All immature our vain ideas,- Man's judgment fails full oft through fears, -- What can we do ?- It scarce appears,- Man's but in school,- The Teacher'll rule!
Yet need of greatness can find place In humblest homes of lowliest race :- In burning bush, see God's own face, And hear His call To duty,-though't appall!
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ONE HUNDRED FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY
Can one do justice to his higher powers In place obscure? 'mid drudgery of hours And months and years,-where courage cowers, And mind-paralysis might well ensue With naught t'inspire, or bravely carry through?
Ah! little Beth'lem,-by rude hillsides bound,- Thou'rt not the least 'mong Judah's princes found, The Christ of Nations walked thy holy ground,
And gives thee fame,- To Nazareth the same.
And thoughts sublime from stammering lips may break; In cabin low, a Lincoln's power awake That in the end a Nation's will may shake, Give suffering slaves from bondage prompt release, Guide thro' a maze of war to glorious peace!
'Tis not in place to give a soul renown For work well done,- nor be withheld a crown
Because one hailed but from a country town :
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Nor town nor city cramps a genuine man With heart and will to do the "best he can."
Our souls on lofty Hills of Life should stand From thence to see the wider vision grand That prophesies a yet more glorious land When cruel hate and wars at length shall cease To usher in God's own perpetual peace.
Live, Man, upon the hills,-as Paxton lies! Learn to view life with unblurred, hopeful eyes, In strength and calm of soul,-born of the skies,- With power that Man the Immortal ought to know: Grandeur of Being,-void of sham and show!
This now for Paxton, throned upon her hills,- Cooling in summer,-iced in winter's chills,- Warm hearts and minds she's nurtured, with firm wills,
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And this her honor,-MEN and WOMEN true! Her "CHILDREN rise and call her blessed, " too!
Here's to Paxton! Snows last longer On her hills,-but ever stronger Grow her virtues,-ever warmer May affection cluster round her: - As past generations found her Patriotic, true and free, Paxton, still in honor be!
In some niche up toward the sky On the monument of Time,- There, while bells of rapture chime, Of years One Hundred Fifty safe passed by,- Place her statue,-place it high,-
(Glorying today's no sin!) Paxton, that high niche fills in!
Still may Time with silent footstep Onward lead this Dear Old Town, 'Till yet other Centuried Years As,a Queen her brow shall crown!
Geo. Gardner Phipps.
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