The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland by Various
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Various >> The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland
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The world moves on with quickening pace,
And those who falter fall behind,
Then enter for the mental race,
Where mind is pitted against mind.
While we are cousins in the flesh,
In mind I think we're nearer still,
Your genius leads you to the brush,
But mine inclines me to the quill.
And now, my cousin fair, adieu,
My promise I have somehow kept,
That I would write a line for you,
I hope you will these lines accept.
STANZAS
Addressed to Mr. and Mrs. T. Jefferson Scott, upon the occasion of
the 24th anniversary of their wedding, March 2nd, 1882.
Kind gentlemen and ladies fair,
I have a word or two to say,
If you have got the time to spare,
Sit down, and hear my humble lay.
No tiresome homily, I bring,
To chill your joys and make you sad,
I'd rather hear you laugh or sing,
Than see you solemn, dull or mad,
A bow that's always bent, they say,
Will lose its force and wonted spring,
And Jack's all work and never play,
Makes him a dull and stupid thing.
Man's greatest lesson is mankind,
A problem difficult to solve,
I've turned it over in my mind,
And reached, at last, this sage resolve:
That when I know myself right well,
I have a key to all the race,
Thoughts, purposes and aims that tell
On me, are but a common case.
There is a time to laugh and sing,
A time to mourn and grieve as well;
Then let your song and laughter ring,
This is no time on griefs to dwell.
We've met to greet our friend, T.J.,
And tender our congratulations,
Without forgetting Phebe A.,
In our most heartfelt salutations.
For four-and-twenty changeful years
They've worn the bright hymenial bands,
And shared each other's hopes and fears,
And each held up the other's hands.
He, like a stately, giant oak,
Has spread his branches wide and high,
Unscathed by lightning's fatal stroke,
Or tempest raving through the sky.
She, like a tender, trusting vine,
Twines round and through and o'er the tree;
Her modesty and worth combine,
To hide what roughness there might be,
Beneath this cool, refreshing shade,
The wretched quite forget their woes,
The hungry find the needed bread,
The weary wanderer, his repose.
Long live this honored, worthy pair!
May fortune come at their command!
And may their sons and daughter fair,
Grow up to grace their native land!
And when their earthly toils are o'er,
And they repose beneath the sod,
Theirs be a home on that bright shore,
Illumined by the smile of God.
BIRTHDAY VERSES.
Written for a little girl on her ninth birthday.
In the morning of life's day,
All before is bright and gay,
All behind is like a dream,
Or the morn's uncertain beam,
Falling on a misty stream.
In the morning of thy youth,
Learn this sober, solemn truth;
Life is passing like a stream,
Or a meteor's sudden gleam;
Like the bright aurora's blaze,
Disappearing while we gaze;
Soon the child becomes a maid,
In the pride of youth arrayed,
And her mind and form expand
To proportions great and grand;
Then she changes to a wife,
Battling with the ills of life;
Thus we come and thus we go,
And our cups with joy and woe,
Oft are made to overflow.
Each returning bright birthday,
Like the mile-stones by the way,
Will remind you as you go--
Though at first they pass so slow
That behind there is one more
And, of course, one less before;
Watch the moments as they fly,
With a never tiring eye--
Since you cannot stop their flow,
O! improve them as they go.
ROLL CALL.
Written on the death of William Sutton, a member of the order of
Good Templars.
Call the roll! Call the roll of our band,
Let each to his name answer clear,
There's danger abroad, there's death in the land,
Call the roll, see if each one is here.
The roll call is through, one answers not,
Brother Sutton, so prompt heretofore,
Has answered another roll call; the spot
Which knew him shall know him no more.
He's at rest by the beautiful river,
Which flows by the evergreen shore,
Where the verdure of spring lasts forever,
And sickness and death are no more.
O alas! that the righteous should die,
While sinners so greatly abound,
In the world that's to come we'll know why,
The latter incumber the ground.
This mystery we'll then comprehend,
And all will be plain to our sight,
Then dry up the tears which flow for our friend,
In full faith that God doeth right.
IN MEMORIAM
RENSELLAER BIDDLE.
A noble heart is sleeping here,
Beneath this lowly mound;
With reverence let us draw near,
For this is holy ground.
The mortal frame that rests below
This consecrated sward,
Was late with heavenly hope aglow,
A temple of the Lord.
His charity was like a flood,
It seemed to have no bound,
But reached the evil and the good,
Wherever want was found.
The poor and needy sought his door,
The wretched and distressed,
He blessed them from his ample store,
With shelter, food and rest.
Giving his substance to the poor,
He lent it to the Lord;
While each returning harvest brought
Him back a rich reward.
Thus passed his useful life away,
Dispensing good to all,
Till on the evening of his day,
He heard his Master call.
"Brave soldier of the cross, well done,
You've fought a noble fight;
Come up, and claim the victor's crown,
And wear it as your right."
"For all your works of christian love
And heaven-born charity,
Are registered in Heaven above
As so much done to Me."
STANZAS
WRITTEN ON THE FLY LEAF OF A CHILD'S BIBLE.
Dear Mollie, in thy early days,
While treading childhood's dreamy maze,
Peruse this book with care:
Peruse it by the rising sun;
Peruse it when the day is done,
Peruse it oft with prayer.
Search it for counsel in thy youth,
For every page is bright with truth
And wisdom from on high.
Consult it in thy riper years,
When foes without and inward fears
Thy utmost powers defy.
And when life's sands are well nigh run
And all thy work on earth is done,
In patience wait and trust,
That He whose promises are sure
Will number you among the pure,
The righteous and the just.
CHRISTMAS GREETING, 1877.
Read before the Jackson Hall Debating Society.
The rolling seasons come and go,
As ebbs the tide again to flow,
And Christmas which seemed far away
A year ago, is near to-day.
And day and night in quick succession,
Are passing by like a procession.
While we like straws upon a stream,
Are drifting faster than we deem,
To that unknown, that untried shore,
Where days and nights will be no more,
And where time's surging tide will be,
Absorbed in vast eternity.
Where then shall we poor mortals go?
No man can tell, we only know
We are but strangers in the land.
Our fathers all have gone before,
And shortly we shall be no more.
This hall where we so often meet
Will soon be trod by other's feet,
And where our voices now resound,
Will other speakers soon be found.
And thus like wave pursuing wave,
Between the cradle and the grave
The human tide is prone to run,
The sire succeeded by the son.
May we so spend life's fleeting day,
That when it shall have passed away,
We all may meet on that blessed shore,
Where friends shall meet to part no more.
ANNIVERSARY POEM.
Read at the anniversary of the seventieth birthday of Mrs. Ann
Peterson.
No costly gifts have I to bring,
To grace your festive board,
This humble song, I've brought to sing,
Is all I can afford.
Then let my humble rhyme be heard
In silence, if you please,
You'll find it true in ev'ry word,
It flows along with ease.
We've met in honor of our friend
Who seventy years ago,
Came to this earth some years to spend,
How many none can know.
The world is using her so well,
I hope she'll tarry long,
And ten years hence I hope to tell,
"I have another song."
THE PETERSON GENEALOGICAL TREE.
I'll sing you a song of a wonderful tree,
Whose beauty and strength are a marvel to me;
Its cloud piercing branches ascend to the sky,
While its deep rooted trunk may the tempest defy,
Like the tree which the great king of Babylon saw,
Which fill'd him with wonder, amazement and awe.
This vision the wise men all failed to expound,
Till Daniel the Hebrew, its true meaning found.
What the king saw in vision, we lit'rally see,
In the Peterson genealogical tree;
It was feeble at first, and slowly it grew;
Its roots being small and its branches but few.
The whirlwinds and tempests in fury raved round it,
And the rains fell in floods, as if they would drown it.
Though slow in its growth it was steady and sure,
And like plants of slow growth 'tis bound to endure.
While the seasons roll round in their wanted succession,
And the ages move on in an endless procession,
While the sun in its glory reigns over the day,
And the moon rules the night with her gentler sway,
While the planets their courses pursue in the sky,
And far distant stars light their torches on high,
May this family tree grow taller and stronger
And its branches increase growing longer and longer.
May every branch of this vigorous tree,
Increase and spread wider from mountain to sea,
And under its shade may the poor and distressed
Find shelter and comfort and kindness and rest,
And when the great harvest we read of shall come
When the angels shall gather and carry it home
May this tree root and branch, trunk and fruit all be found,
Transplanted from earth into holier ground,
Where storms never rise and where frosts never blight,
Where day ever shines unsucceeded by night,
Where sickness and sorrow and death are no more,
And friends never part. On that beautiful shore,
May we hope that the friends who have met round this board,
And greeted each other in social accord,
May each meet the others to part never more.
LINES
Written on the death of Jane Flounders, a pupil of Cherry Hill
public school, and read at her funeral.
The mysteries of life and death,
Lie hidden from all human ken,
We know it is the vital breath
Of God, that makes us living men.
We also know, _that_ breath withdrawn,
And man becomes a lifeless clod,
The soul immortal having gone
Into the presence of its God.
Here knowledge fails and faith appears,
And bids us dry the scalding tear,
And banish all our anxious fears,
Which cluster round the loved ones here.
The deep, dark, cold, remorseless grave
Has closed o'er lovely Jennie's face,
No art, nor skill, nor prayers could save
Her from its terrible embrace.
Home now is dark and desolate,
And friends and schoolmates are in tears,
While strangers wonder at the fate,
Which crushed her in her tender years.
Death never won a brighter prize,
Nor friends a richer treasure lost,
Another star has left our skies,
But heaven is richer at our cost.
We mourn but not in hopeless grief,
In tears we kiss the chast'ning rod,
This sweet reflection brings relief,
That all is good that comes from God.
Through and beyond this scene of gloom,
Faith points the mourner's downcast eyes,
While from the portals of the tomb,
They see their lost loved one arise,
In blooming immortality;
As she comes forth they hear her sing
O! grave, where is thy victory!
O! monster death where is thy sting!
WHAT IS MATTER?
DEDICATED TO HIS FRIEND GEORGE JOHNSTON.
How are you, George, my rhyming brother?
We should be kinder to each other,
For we are kindred souls at least;
I don't mean kindred, like the beast,--
Mere blood and bones and flesh and matter,--
But what this last is makes no matter.
Philosophers have tried to teach it,
But all their learning cannot reach it;
'Tis matter still, "that's what's the matter"
With all their philosophic chatter,
And Latin, Greek, and Hebrew clatter,
Crucibles, retorts, and receivers,
Wedges, inclined planes, and levers,
Screws, blow pipes, electricity and light,
And fifty other notions, quite
Too much to either read or write.
Just ask the wisest, What is matter?
And notice how he will bespatter
The subject, in his vain endeavor,
With deep philosophy so clever,
To prove you what you knew before,
That matter's matter, and no more.
Well, this much then, we know at least,
That matter's substance, and the beast
And bird and fish and creeping thing
That moves on foot, with fin or wing,
Is matter, just like you and me.
Are they our kindred? Must it be
That all the fools in all creation,
And knaves and thieves of every station
In life, can call me their relation?
But that's not all--the horse I ride,
The ox I yoke, the dog I chide,
The flesh and fish and fowl we feed on
Are kindred, too; is that agreed on?
Then kindred blood I quite disown,
Though it descended from a throne,
For it connects us down, also,
With everything that's mean and low--
Insects and reptiles, foul and clean,
And men a thousand times more mean.
Let's hear no more of noble blood,
For noble brains, or actions good,
Are only marks of true nobility.
The kindred which I claim with you,
Connects us with the just and true,
And great in purpose, heart and soul,
And makes us parts of that great whole
Whose bonds of all embracing love
A golden chain will ever prove
To bind us to the good above.
Then strive to elevate mankind
By operating on the mind;
The empire of good will extend,
A helping hand in trouble lend,
Go to thy brother in distress,
One kindly word may make it less,
A single word, when fitly spoken,
May heal a heart with sorrow broken,
A smile may overcome your foe,
And make his heart with friendship glow,
A frown might turn his heart to steel.
And all its tendencies congeal,
Be it our constant aim to cure
The woes our fellow men endure,
Teach them to act toward each other
As they would act toward a brother.
Thus may our circle wider grow,
The golden chain still brighter glow;
And may our kindred souls, in love
United live, here and above,
With all the good and wise and pure,
While endless ages shall endure.
ANNIVERSARY HYMN.
Written for the anniversary of the Jackson Sabbath School, Aug.
23rd, 1870.
The ever rolling flood of years,
Is bearing us, our hopes and fears,
With all we are or crave,
Into that fathomless abyss--
A world of endless woe or bliss,
Beyond the darksome grave.
One year of priceless time has passed,
Since we in Sabbath school were class'd,
To read and sing and pray;
To hear the counsels of the good;
Have we improved them as we should?
How stands the case to-day?
How have we used this fleeting year?
Have we grown wiser? O, I fear,
And tremble to reflect,
How sadly it has gone to loss,
How I have shunn'd my daily cross,
Some idol to erect.
To gain some trifling, selfish end,
It may be I have wronged a friend,
And turned his love to hate;
How many idle words I've said;
How many broken vows I've made;
How shunn'd the narrow gate!
O Lord! forgive our wanderings wide,
Our oft departures from thy side,
And keep us in thy fold;
Be thou our Shepherd and our all;
Protect these lambs, lest any fall,
And perish in the cold.
On this our Anniversary,
Help us to put our trust in Thee,
And lean upon Thy arm;
Direct us through the coming year;
Protect us, for the wolf is near,
And shield us from all harm.
Our Superintendent superintend;
On him Thy special blessings send,
And guide him in the way;
Enrich our Treasurer with Thy grace,
So that he may adorn the place,
He fills so well to-day.
Write on our Secretary's heart
Thy perfect law; and O, impart,
To our Librarian dear,
The volume of thy perfect love
Which cometh only from above,
And casteth out all fear.
In pastures green, O lead us still!
And help us all to do thy will,
And all our wants supply;
Help us in every grace to grow,
And when we quit thy fold below,
Receive us all on high.
Then, by life's river broad and bright,
Our blissful day will have no night;
On that immortal plain
May all the Jackson scholars meet,
And all their loving teachers greet,
And never part again.
THE INTELLECTUAL TELEGRAPH.
ADDRESSED TO MISS C. CASHO.
Dear friend! O, how my blood warms at that word,
And thrills and courses through my every vein;
My inmost soul, with deep emotion stirr'd--
Friend! Friend! repeats it o'er and o'er again.
I'll make a song of that sweet word, and sing
It oft, to cheer me in my lonely hours,
Till list'ning hills, and dells, and woodlands ring,
And echo answers, Friend! with all her powers.
'Tis truly strange, and strangely true; I doubt
If any can explain, though all have seen,
How kindred spirits find each other out,
Though deserts vast or oceans lie between.
Some golden sympathetic cords unseen,
Unite their souls as if with bands of steel,
So finely strung, so sensitively keen,
The slightest touch all in the circle feel.
Their pulses distance electricity,
And leave the struggling solar rays behind,
The slightest throb pervades immensity,
And instant reaches the remotest mind.
'Tis an inspiring, glorious thought to me,
Which raises me above this earthly clod,
To think the cords which bind our souls may be
Connected some way with the throne of God.
I sometimes think my wild and strange desires,
And longings after something yet unknown,
Are currents passing on those hidden wires
To lead me on and upward to that throne.
These visions often do I entertain,
And, if they are but visions, and the birth
Of fancy, still they are not all in vain;
They lift the soul above the things of earth.
They teach her how to use her wings though weak,
And all unequal to the upward flight--
The eaglet flaps upon the mountain peak,
Then cleaves the heavens beyond our utmost sight.
LINES ON AN INDIAN ARROW-HEAD.
Rude relic of a lost and savage race!
Memento of a people proud and cold!
Sole lasting monument to mark the place
Where the red tide of Indian valor rolled.
Cold is the hand that fashion'd thee, rude dart!
Cold the strong arm that drew the elastic bow!
And cold the dust of the heroic heart,
Whence, cleft by thee, the crimson tide did flow.
Unnumbered years have o'er their ashes flown;
Their unrecovered names and deeds are gone;
All that remains is this rude pointed stone,
To tell of nations mighty as our own.
Such is earth's pregnant lesson: through all time
Kingdom succeeds to kingdom--empires fall;
From out their ashes, others rise and climb,
Then flash through radiant greatness, to their fall.
ACROSTIC
TO MISS ANNIE ELIZA M'NAMEE.
My much respected, fair young friend
In youth's bright sunshine glowing:
Some friendly token I would send,
Some trifle, worth your knowing.
A lovely bird; the garden's pride;
Nurs'd with the utmost care,
No flow'r, in all the gardens wide;
Incited hopes so rare:
Each passing day develops more
Each beauty, than the day before.
Lovely in form, in features mild;
In thy deportment pure:
Zealous for right, e'en from a child,
A friend, both true and sure.
May thy maturer years be bright,
Cloudless and fair thy skies;
No storms to fright, nor frosts to blight,
And cause thy fears to rise.
May thy last days, in peace go past,
Each being better than the last;
Eternally thy joys grow brighter--
So prays D. Scott the humble writer.
MINUTES
OF THE JACKSON HALL DEBATING SOCIETY, DEC. 5, 1877.
My muse inspire me, while I tell
The weighty matters that befell
On Monday night at Jackson Hall
December fifth. I'll tell it all,
Day and year I'll tell you even,
'Twas eighteen hundred seventy-seven.
The Jacksonites were out in force,
No common thing was up of course,
But something rare and rich and great,
'Twas nothing short of a debate;
What was the question? Let me see,
Yes; "Can Christians consistently
Engage in war against a brother
And at the same time love each other?"
But first and foremost let me say,
My muse has taken me astray,
So I'll return to the beginning
Digression is my common sinning
For which your pardon I implore,
If granted, I will sin no more,
That is no more till the next time,
For when I'm forging out a rhyme,
The narrative which I would fix up,
I somehow rather oddly mix up.
A president must first be got,
So they elected James M. Scott,
He said he'd serve; (and that was clever,)
A little while, but not forever.
A paper called a "constitution,"
Was read and on some person's motion,
Was all adopted, at a word,
A thing that seemed to me absurd.
Then instantly to work they went,
And filled the chair of president,
And William Henderson they took,
They knew their man just like a book.
A scribe was wanted next to keep,
A record of their doings deep.
On looking round they cast the lot,
And so it fell on David Scott.
A treasurer was next in order
When looking up and down the border,
For one to hoard the gold and silver,
The mantle fell on Joseph Miller.
The executive committee
Was now to fill and here we see
A piece of work I apprehend,
May lead to trouble in the end,
For while they only wanted five,
Yet six they got, as I'm alive,
First they installed Peter Jaquett,
Then John Creswell, two men well met,
James Law, but they were not enough,
And so they added William Tuft.
One more was wanted that was plain,
That one was found in John McKane,
But when the five were call'd to meet
There were but four came to the seat;
There are but four, said one so racy,
So they elected William Gracy.
Now you perceive this grave committee
Which numbers five both wise and witty,
Has got into a pretty fix
With but five seats and numbers six.
The question for the next debate
Was then selected, which I'll state
If I have only got the gumption
To make some word rhyme with resumption,
"Should Congress now repeal the act
To pay all debts in gold in fact."
The speakers now were trotted out
Their sides to choose and take a bout
Upon the question, which I stated
As having been so well debated,
Namely, "Can christians go to war,"
The very devil might abhor
To contemplate this proposition
Offspring of pride and superstition
That brothers by a second birth,
Should make a very hell of earth.
The war of words waxed loud and long,
Each side was right, the other wrong;
The speakers eager for the fray,
Wished their ten minutes half a day;
But time and tide will wait for none,
So glibly did the gabble run,
That nine o'clock soon spoiled the fun,
And all that rising tide of words,
Was smothered never to be heard.
The fight is o'er, the race is run,
And soon we'll know which side has won,
But this is not so easy done;
Indeed I have a world of pity
For the executive committee
Who hear in silence all this clatter
And then decide upon the matter;
To give each speaker justice due,
And sift the error from the true,
Is not an easy thing to do.
To decide what facts have any bearing
Upon the question they are hearing,
And generally keep in hand
The arguments, so strong and grand,
And draw from them a just conclusion
Without a mixture of confusion;
The negative got the decision
Unanimous, without division.
The speakers then took their position,
Upon the doubtful proposition
Of the repeal of gold resumption,
Upon the plausible presumption,
That those who pay must have the money,
That laws of Congress, (that seems funny,)
Are not above the laws of trade,
And therefore cannot be obeyed.
Here now my muse, poor worthless jade,
Deserted, as I was afraid
From the beginning she would do;
So I must say good-night to you,
And these long rambling minutes close,
In just the dullest kind of prose.
RETROSPECTION.
The phantoms have flown which I cherished;
The dreams which delighted have passed;
My castles in air have all perished--
I grieved o'er the fall of the last.
'Twas bright, but as frail as a shadow;
It passed like a vapor away--
As the mist which hangs over the meadow
Dissolves in the sun's burning ray.
The joys of my youth are all shattered;
My hopes lie in wrecks on the shore;
The friends of my childhood are scattered;
Their faces I'll see never more.
Some are estranged, some have gone under;
The battle of life is severe.
When I stand by their graves, the wonder,
The mystery, seems to be clear:
They were vet'rans more noble than I;
And placed in the van of the fight,
They fell where the hero would die,
When he bleeds for truth and the right.
The battle of life is proceeding--
The rear will advance to the van;
I'll follow where duty is leading,
And fall at my post like a man.
ACROSTIC
TO MISS FLORENCE WILSON M'NAMEE.
Maiden, lovely, young and gay,
In the bloom of life's young May!
Sweet perfumes are in the air;
Songs of gladness ev'rywhere!
Flowers are springing round thy way,
Lovely flowers, bright and gay:
Over head and all about
Rings one constant joyous shout!
Earth is carpeted with green,
Nature greets you as her queen.
Call the trees and flow'rs your own,
Each will bow before your throne.
While in youth's enchanting maze,
Incline thy steps to wisdom's ways!
Lead a quiet peaceful life;
Swiftly fly from noise and strife;
Own thy Lord before mankind;
'Neath his banner you will find
More than all this world can give;
Contentment while on earth you live,
Nearer to your journey's end,
All your aspirations tend:
May you end your days in peace;
Earthly ties in joy release;
Eternally thy joys increase;
That this may be thy joyous lot
Ever prays thy friend D. Scott.
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