USA > Rhode Island > Providence County > Woonsocket > History of the Catholic church in Woonsocket and vicinity, from the celebration of the first mass in 1828, to the present time, with a condensed account of the early history of the church in the United States > Part 17
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But like soldiers they fought and like soldiers they fell, Though gray was their color and criminal their cause ; Yet, be it not ours on their failings to dwell,
For again they are true to our nation and laws.
Scatter fair flowers where the blue and the gray Can only awake from the sleep of the grave,
When the trumpet of God, on the great final day, Shall call from their slumbers the true and the brave.
The sun in his splendor shines over the earth, Where the patriot dead in their narrow cells lie.
We are gathered to-day to remember their worth, And learn from their valor how heroes can die,
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Hark! 'Tis the tread of comrades who live,
As they march 'neath the flag which they carry in pride, And whose blood and whose lives they were willing to give, And to-day deck the graves of their comrades who died.
The chasm is closed which divided our land, And tempest of war has pass'd from our shore, And the soldier in blue clasps, close by the hand, The soldier in gray as his friend evermore.
The snow-plumed Angel of Peace spreads her wings And smiles on the scene as she looks from on high, And hears the grand anthem which patriots sing,
As "The Star Spangled Banner" resounds through the sky.
A VISION OF THE NIGHT.
O vision of the years gone by, You haunt my soul to-night !
You come from out the distant past, Clothed in celestial light. You come and bring that scene to me, When all I loved was near,
And voices I'll ne'er hear on earth Fell on my list'ning ear.
O Vision, will you stay with me, And ne'er again remove From out the daily path I tread, And soothe my heart with love ; And be to me a solace here, To bless and cheer my way
When tempests dark may low'ring fall Through life's uncertain day?
I once had friends, when fortune smiled ; But they have from me fled ; The hollow hearts forget me now, The true are with the dead. In cold and silent graves these last Can hear my voice no more ; But I shall meet their spirits yet, Beyond Death's gloomy shore.
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Ah! what were life, or fame, or gold, Or all the world can give, Were there no hope beyond the tomb, No home beyond the grave?
Bright Vision, if you go from me, Can you a message bring To the fair mansions of the blest, Where souls in glory sing? And if you can, O say to her The mother, friend, and wife.
How my frail bark keeps struggling onl. Still battling here for life ;
With desolation in the home She once made bright by love,
And shadows dark'ning on my path Whichever way I move.
The cold and heartless throng, who came With sycophantic praise, When brightly shone the light above, Remember not those days ; But turn with cold disdain away, Nor think of favors done,
Ere clouds obscured, for a few years, The garland once I won. Tell her I see a haven near, Where those she left behind
Shall peaceful rest in calm content, Safe from the seas and wind ; Where sycophants may smile again, When stormy clouds are riven ;
But we shall scorn their words and smiles, And place our faith in Heaven,
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THE EMIGRANTS.
A fond adieu, our native land, With breaking hearts we bid farewell, To thy fair vales and mountains grand, Mid which, O, how we've loved to dwell The sea fowls o'er the waters scream, And twilight's hour approaches fast ; Ere fades the sun's last ling'ring beam, On Erin we'll have looked our last.
Our home and friends, and kindred's graves, Are left by us, far, far behind- Before us are the foam capp'd waves, Around us fiercely blows the wind.
Alas? sad fate, that we must go, To seek a land beyond the sea,
And leave with the relentless foe The birthright which God gave of thee.
Why are we forced to fly the plains, For which our fathers oft have bled, And leave our country in her chains, Her tears of sorrow still to shed?
Exiled like Babylonian captives, when They hung their harps on willow boughs, And would not sing for stranger men, But wept the land where Jordan flows.
By many a stream we wander, far From the dear soil which gave us birth, And watch with tearful eyes the star That rises o'er our native earth.
From out our bosom's inmost core We suppliant pray, dear land, for thee, That He, the God whom we adore, May rend your chains and make you free.
*
One last fond look-Erin, farewell- Your blending now with sea and sky, The surging waves in darkness swell, And night falls fast-dear land, good bye !
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REST ! SOLDIER, REST !
Rest ! soldier, rest ! The storm and strife of battle now is ended. And Stars and Stripes and Stars and Bars are blended O'er graves of heroes who our homes defended, Whose souls are with the bless'd.
Rest ! soldier, rest !
In peaceful slumbers of eternal sleep, While we the memories in our bosom keep,
Of victories won by land and on the deep, By hearts now hush'd forever.
A nation mourns for the loss of those who died, Battling for Freedom-the brave, the true, the tried,
Who fell as warriors in the crimson tide Of war's wild tempest blast.
The blood which pour'd on the ensanguin'd plain, Has rose like incense from the earth again ; The fields of slaughter wave with golden grain ; The link is broke of slavery's galling chain, And foes are friends at last. Rest ! soldier, rest !
The birds, melodious now in bower and brake, Cannot your sleeping by their songs awake,
Though sweet to-day they carol for your sake Their requiem hymns.
Rest! warriors, rest!
Each in his narrow cell, 'till Resurrection day, The boys in blue and those who wore the gray, Return alike, to dull, cold, kindred clay, While comrades come with drooping leads to pray Above each manly breast.
They mnet in conflict ; they are one in death ; Each strove for victory 'till his latest breath ; But all lie mute within the silent earth. Bring flowers to deck each grave.
Condemn not him of Southern birth and name ;
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He died a soldier on the field of fame ; Forgive his crime, nor censure bear, nor blame ; He, too, was brave.
Then o'er your graves, ye patriots of our land, Let North and South unite each heart and hand, And East and West-all-by our Union stand, Now, and forever.
HOME OF MY HEART.
" Home of my heart, my native land ;" Fond memory brings you here to-night ; The valleys fair and mountains grand Appear before my longing sight. The thought of all that thou hast been, The hope of all that thou should be, Thy rivers clear, and the shamrock green Come to me o'er a stormy sea.
Bright is the history of the past, Of saintly deeds and battles won ; Dark is the shadow o'er thee cast, By tyrant foe and recreant son.
O, who can read thy blotted page, Told in sorrow-laden lore, From year to year, from age to age, Since foeman first profaned thy shore, Nor feel for me in all thy woe, Nor speak in tones of reprobation Against thy unrelenting foe Who calls herself a Christian nation.
Green are thy fields, fair land of song, Thy sons are brave in every fight, And ever found the ranks among Where war is waged for truth and right.
But still, there is a subtle foe That lurks within that sorrowing isle,
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Who o'er the land doth ever sow The seed of disaffection vile.
There hate and strife and discord reign, Where peace and harmony should be ; There blood of factions stains the plain, With Erin still in slavery.
When shall thy sons in peace unite? When shall disunion pass away? When shall the darkness of the night Give place to Freedom's glorious day ?
O, Erin, dear, in woe or weal, Thou'rt ever still dear to me ;
My heart must ever for thee feel, My proudest hope to see thee free !
Land of my kith and kindred dear, Land where my eyes first saw the light ;
In all my thoughts thou'rt ever near, By day and in the silent night.
The lark's sweet song I dreaming hear, And thrush's notes at close of day, The cuckoo's voice is ever near, Though I am far from thee away.
When Freedom's sun shall brightly shine Eternal o'er that suff'ring land, O, may the happy fate be mine, To tread again my native strand.
I then could die with hope fulfilled, And find a grave in peace to rest, Where dews their brightest tears distill Upon dear mother Erin's breast.
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LONELY AND SAD.
Lonely and sad in the midnight hour I sit, whilst my lamp burns faint and low, And I hear the bell in the distant tower, As I brood o'er my cup of bitter woe.
Griefs I have known full many and deep, And I thought my cup was fill'd to the brim, And my eyes were left no tears to weep, As they had wept enough in the sorrow for him .*
For him, and the rest, whom the hand of death Had taken from me to that unknown shore, And wrapt their forms in the voiceless earth, Therefore I thought I could weep no more.
But ah, there was sorrow deeper still, Kept back as the blackest and worst of all ; To sweep o'er my heart with relentless will, To crush like an alpine avalanche fall.
The wife of my bosom, the loved and true ! My heart's young pride, so young and so fair ; To-night, oh ! darling, my tears are for you ; Ah! why did not God your young life spare?
If not for me, for our children dear, Who call on you in their dreamy sleep ; Who have lost forever a mother's care, And with orphan tears but wake to weep.
If not for me, for our infant child, Who can ne'er remember a mother's face, That gazed with delight on his and smil'd, As you clasp'd him in love's fond embrace.
Our home is hung with the pall of death, Without a ray to lighten its gloom ; Without the glow of a mother's breath ; For she sleeps low in the silent tomb.
The sombre shade of winter falls, And the dull cold blast sweeps o'er your grave ; In vain in his grief our infant calls,
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In vain your presence our children crave. I gaze in the face of our daughter fair,
Who numbers on earth just five short years. And behold your image reflected there,
And I kiss from her cheek the descending tears Ah ! what is joy, when that joy has fled? Ah ! where is thy pleasure, oh Hope, for me? Joy and Hope are now with the dead, And my heart throbs on, though brokenly.
Lonely and sad in the midnight hour I sit, whilst my lamp burns faint and low, And I hear the bell in the distant tower, As I brood o'er my bitter cup of woe.
*A beloved brother who died Oct. 22, 1871.
RHODE ISLAND !
State of the brave whom all applaud. The first to give to all the free, Religious right to worship God As each may with himself agree. Rhode Island ! one of the immortal few, First to sign and still remain Ever to the Union true Throughout its limited domain.
Upon the sea and upon the land, Always in the battle's van,
With Perry on the warship's deck, Or Greene or Burnside in command.
Though small in size, yet ever great, Her sons forever in the right, For Union and for Liberty, Were ever foremost in the fight. Hail ! Rhode Island, thee we hail ! On this our Lincoln's natal day ; No power your fame can e'er assail, Or your greatness take away.
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WHEN YOU AND I WERE YOUNG.
When you and I were young, Jane, When you and I were young, You remember all the stories told, The songs that then we sung ; You remember where the flowers grew, In vale and leafy dell ; Those treasures that we cherished So fondly and so well.
The wild rose in its summer bloom, The violets sweet and fair, With all their wealth of sweet perfume Exhaling on the air; The twitt'ring birds upon the trees, The purl of sparkling rill, And cooing of the cushat dove Of yonder wooded hill.
O, those were blissful days, Jane, Lov'd hours of calm delight, In life's pure, placid"springtime, When everything was bright.
You remember how our little friends Were true as hearts could be, And how we talked and laughed and sung, In happy youthful glee.
But now the sun of that glad day Is sinking in the west ; The purple mist is on the hill, The song bird seeks his nest.
The valley lies before us, Jane, With darkling shadows cast, But the dawn beyond is brighter Than the light of mornings pass'd. The voices now we hear, Jane, Are calling us to come, Where peace and love await us In a nearing, blessed home.
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RECORD OF WOMEN.
[The following poem was composed and read before the St. Veronica Columbian Union Reading Circle, by James W. Smyth, who was the instructor of the Circle at the time : ]
You ask that I should speak in rhyme, And some story tell, That on this bright auspicious night May in my memory dwell.
What theme more dear than woman's fame Can bard e'er wish to sing? What nobler thought could more inspire The harp's most tuneful string?
Awake ! each chord, and simply tell What woman's love has done, In all the paths of worldly good. Since earth's career begun.
From man's first fall in Eden fair, She's ever been the star That led the onward march of Hope, Through centuries afar.
" Bless'd art thou," the angel said, "'Mong all the rest on earth, For through you God has ordained A Saviour shall have birth !"
"Bless'd art thou, O, Holy One !" Angels sang above,
" Thou art the golden Gate of Heaven, The Vessel of God's love !"
From Mary Christ the Son was born, Who leads to Heaven the way ; Through Mary portals opened wide To God's eternal day ! .
Mary walked to Calvary's height, And saw Christ crucified, And looked into His holy face, As man's Redeemer died !
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The last she was beside the cross, The first beside the tomb, When rose on Resurrection morn The offspring of her womb !
This is not all ; for woman still, In every path of life, Smooths the way earth's children move Through suffering, care and strife.
She bathes with cooling balm the brow In fever and in pain ; And her soft words like music fall Where sorrowing hearts complain.
On battlefields, where carnage reigns, She walks with angel tread, And binds the wounds of soldiers there, While praying for the dead.
In huts among the lowly poor, She brings therein relief, And solace breathes to weary hearts, While drying tears of grief.
Where pestilence, with with'ring hand, Sows death upon the blast, She cheers the victims in distress Where'er her lot is cast !
Among the lowly and the great, In cottage and in hall, A ministering angel she Where Sorrow's voice may call.
"Tis Mary prompts, through woman's heart, Each holy deed of love; " Health of the Weak," our " Cause of Joy," Heaven's pure and stainless Dove !
Star of the Sea, when storms prevail, And moonless is the night, You guide the tempest driven bark Through darkness to the light !
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Ave Maria, sweet consoling name, Appeal to thee in vain was never known ! Ave Maria, Virgin of deathiless fame, Look down on us from thy exalted throne !
O vision fair, clothed in robes of light, Thou'rt with us here within our hearts to-night ! Ave Maria, listen to our prayer, Bright spirit in whom angels take delight !
Mother of God, Religion's holy Queen. Pure essence of eternal love, Lead us to light that never fades In mansions of peace above !
PAST AND PRESENT.
[Thoughts suggested upon learning of the death of a dear friend. ]
Let memory contemplate the past ; Into its gloaming peer
Through days and weeks and many a moon, And many a long, long year ; Away back to my childhood's days And to my_native land- There, on a radiant summer eve, I've seen the maiden stand.
The bloom of youth upon her cheeks, The sunlight in her hair, While brightly beamed her sparkling eye Beneath the shadows there.
For 'twas beneath a tall tree's shade, Where ivy tendrils clung, And in the branches overhead A linnet sweetly sung.
The picture still I bear in mind : I see the flowers bloom, And in my fancy now inhale Their rich and sweet perfume.
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* *
*
*
In later years far from that home, Far from the hallowed isle, I look upon that form again And watch the happy smile- That smile that beautifies her face With friendship, love and truth. And like a vision brings me back To blissful days of youth.
A wife and mother now she is (As both supremely blest), And love of husband, children, home, Dwell deep within her breast.
* *
* *
Still later on a shadow comes, With black and with'ring breath, For he-the husband, father, friend- Lies cold and calm in death.
No more for her does life's clear cup With sparkling pleasure flow : No more do peace and happiness Their rays of sunshine throw.
The months and years are dreary now And sombre shadows fall In sad and darksome loneliness, Like grief's subduing pall.
Though to her children still she clings. With all a mother's love, Yet soft she hears a voice that calls Far from the vault above ; And still more near that well-known voice Says, "Come ! no longer stay !" Then her freed spirit wings its flight To God's eternal day.
There in that home of heav'nly light They now awake for those Who walk the earth in sorrow still, And bear its bitter woes.
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CHRISTMAS EVE.
This is Christmas eve, my child, When pleasures come to all ; When friend meets friend in social glee, In cabin and in hall. The winter sun more brightly shines ; The wind less fiercely blows, And e'en from out the snow-clad earth Blows fair the Christmas rose.
From out the silence of the night, Upon the distant hill,
The angels sing to men on earth, Of peace and God's good will. For on the morn of Christmas day The Saviour, Christ, was born, And the veil of sin, which shrouded men, From off their souls was torn.
And this is why, my darling one, The Christian heart is gay, And in the ecstacy and pride, Is joyful on this day.
But in this merry Christmas time, When worldly pleasure cheers,
Full many a breast is filled with woe : Full many a home with tears.
For memory awakens scenes Of friends not with us now ; Whose loss brings sorrow to the heart. And marks with care the brow.
The loved companions of the past ; The cherished and the kind, Whose forms are numbered with the dead, Are now recalled to mind.
You see the picture on the wall. Of her whose loving smile Beamed bright within the lonely home, Ah! where is she, my child?
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In cold, sepulchral clay she rests, With others whom we miss ; Who oft upon this very day Have blessed thee with a kiss.
Thus o'er the sunshine of our joy Will pass the cloud of woe, And leave a pang within the mind, For mortals here below.
The mirth of earth is still alloy'd, How pure so'er it be ; As 'neath life's waters, calm and bright, May sleep a troubled sea. The bark that glides serenely on May be with storms riven ; Which prove my child, there is no peace, But that comes from heaven.
Then let us place our trust in Him, Whose name is ever bless'd, That He may guide us safely to An anchorage of rest ; Where those whose memory we mourn, Will greet us on the shore Of that fair land beyond the tomb, Where parting is no more.
HAIL TO OUR HEROES !
Hail to our heroes, who now o'er the ocean Are seeking the Spaniard who comes to our shore ; Those seamen imbued with unswerving devotion, To conquer or die 'neath the flag they adore ! Champion of Freedom's cause, Worthy the world's applause, Standing for justice, manhood and right ; For you let our prayers ascend, While voices united blend, That Heaven may guide you with all-seeing light.
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That moans of affliction are heard on the gale From famishing thousands who are crying for bread. They come from an island where tyrants prevail,
Who torture the living and gloat o'er the dead. Heartless and cruel band, Here from a foreign land,
Forging rude chains for the slaves they enthrall. Scourge of a noble race, Soon they shall find their place,
When king, throne and sceptre shall hopelessly fall !
The ghosts of the patriots who conquering fell, On fields where Liberty's battles were won,
Inspire our sailors the foe to repel,
Nor cease 'till the work is triumphantly done. Shout, then, the slogan cry, Onward to victory !
O'er ocean, ye marines, gallant and brave ! Sweep from each gulf and sea The ships of the enemy :
Let all in confusion sink deep in the wave !
The nation rejoicing shall welcome you here From scenes that will live on the records of fame,
Down through the ages, still brilliant and clear, While millions shall cherish each patriot's name. Guard our fair banner, then, Safe from the force of Spain ;
Bear it high through the strife of war's raging tide, And cheers of the people, And bells from each steeple, Shall welcome the heroes on whom we relied.
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INTEMPERANCE.
[A descriptive poem.]
The drunkard ! See his glaring eyes,
Unsteady step and wild and haggard face, As reeling onward, filled with groans and sighs, He seeks to find from woe a resting place. One of God's creatures, for him the Saviour died, And earth was made, and stars, and sky, and sun, And flowers to bloom in all their fragrant pride ;
For him the seasons come and go, the rivers run, A mother bore him in a happy home,
And nursed him fondly on a tender knee, And taught his lips to pray 'gainst such a doom As marks the fall of now the wretch we see. In boyhood's days he was beloved by all Who knew the goodness of his heart and mind ; Fair was his form, handsome, straight, and tall, In actions gentle, and in manners kind. Alas ! the demon of the wine cup came,
And swept his hopes, as swept the simoon's blast, And burn'd, with scorching breath and lips of flame, His future joys and memories of the past. Like a spirit now of evil deed and will, All shun his path and give him ample berth.
Thus wandering on, a hopeless drunkard still, He stalks a ghost, along a weary earth.
O, man, what art thou, that the poison'd cup, Should lure thee to destruction, and to death, To sin and shame, in every cursed cup, Which brings pollution in its every breath?
The ruin'd home, the cold and cheerless hearth, The weeping mother and the starving child ; Strangers alike to every sense of mirth, And every impulse of the heart defiled. The bloated face, the wildly staring eyes, The shivering frame, with tattered garments hung, The brain that cares not where the body lies ; These are the workings of the demon rum. The love of offspring, and the pride of kind,
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And all the human heart holds dear and blest. Alike are blotted from the inebriate's mind.
By deep potations in that cup accurs'd.
Through rum the drunkard wields the murderer's knife. And dyes his hands e'en deep in kindred blood. In frenzy wild. he takes a human life.
And sends a soul unshriven to its God.
And then remorse takes hold of the sick brain. Until his thoughts become a living hell.
And he trembling shrinks. and writhes with mad ning pain. "Till despair. at last, shrieks out his dying knell.
O. rend unpitying. of plutonian birth.
Agent of him who rules the shades below :
Your aim. the ruin of the souls of earth.
Your deeds. the spread of misery and woe. The enemy alike of God and man.
You walk in sin, with demon shape and tread. Sowing destruction's seed throughout the land.
Blighting the living : insulting e'en the dead. Be ours. my friend. to meet this human foe. Where'er he moves amongst the ranks of men. Working with all our strength to lay him low. And. with God's help. we shall not try in vain. The helping hand stretch out to him who falls : Speak words of cheer to every erring heart : For. far above. there is a voice that calls On us. to act the faithful. Christian part: Our duty is not to ourselves alone.
But every being of the human race : For Christ. the Son. for all men did atone. Be ours to save them all from rum's disgrace.
Then open wide the portals of our cause. And ask men here as brothers of our band: And then. with one accord. while angels sing applause. Sweep. once for all this curse from off our land. Fill high the cup. but not with Samian wine. And let our toast the good of mankind be : Nor shall we quad in nectar of the Rhine That pledge. which aims the soul of men to free. From out the fountains of God's living spring We'll fill our bowls with sparkling gems of light. And drink to Temperance. and in chorus sing. To wassailers and wine a last and long good night.
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THE O'NEILL'S.
[Read at a banquet tendered James O'Neill, the great Irish- American tragedian, in Monument House parlors, Woonsocket, on the evening of Sept. 19, 1894.]
We have to-night, as honored guest, A friend whose friendships wide extend Throughout our age ; One who stands highest 'mong the best In the whole range, from end to end, On tragic stage.
Associate of stars now set, Forest, Cushman, Neilson, Booth, To whom belong Crowns that shine in glory yet ; Those who could rouse to rage or soothe The listening throng.
The last of an illustrious line, Great in the drama's noble art, You stand alone ! In you thie qualities combine To play with skill eaeli changeful part, And keep the throne.
Last of a line! No, not the last, You're only one of a great race From Erin's Isle ! Scion of him, the warrior Conn, Who fought like Hugh of the Red Hand, For Erin's weal ! Braver the sun ne'er shone upon, Of all the heroes of that land, Than Conn O'Neill !
Victor in one hundred fights, Where foes in myriad hundreds fell On many a field ! For Erin's wrongs, for Erin's rights, 'Mid Celtic cheer and Saxon yell Not born to yield !
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By the far Tiber's gentle flood, Where a Franciscan spire points high On Janic's hill, There Hugh O'Neill rests with the good, Where the O'Donnell chieftains lie United still !
On many a field throughout the earth, Sleep soldiers of that ill-starred race In lonely grave ; And still the mother land gives birth To other sons, who take their place, As true and brave.
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