SOMETHING 
 BEYOND 
 
 and Other Poems 
 
 RECREATIONS OF A BUSY LIFE 
 
 JOHN GAYLORD DAVENPORT 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 
 1914
 
 Copyright 1914, by John Gaylord Davenport 
 All rights reserved 
 
 es 
 
 Att. 
 
 The Oorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.
 
 TO MY LIFE COMPANION, 
 
 IN SUNSHINE INSPIRING, CHEERFUL IN SHADOW, 
 AWAITING ME BEYOND THE CLOUDS.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Something Beyond 11 
 
 To a Sick Friend 15 
 
 The Dying Wife 16 
 
 The Soldiers Monument 17 
 
 Our Heroic Dead 19 
 
 Gen. Frederick D. Grant 20 
 
 Memorial Day 21 
 
 The Convalescent 22 
 
 Sent to Queen Margherita 23 
 
 October 26, 1899 24 
 
 Kellogg Day 26 
 
 A Reminiscence 28 
 
 Our Fellowship 29 
 
 The Kiss 30 
 
 The Murphy Campaign 31 
 
 Wilton 34 
 
 Knights of Columbus 37 
 
 Welcome to Dr. Timothy Dwight 40 
 
 Men of the Hills 44 
 
 Hexameters 49 
 
 Evolution 50 
 
 An Experience 52 
 
 The Wilton Pulpit 54 
 
 First Church, Waterbury 56 
 
 The Puritan Minister s Courtship 62 
 
 Norwalk, 1901 66 
 
 The Young Puritan s Wooing 68 
 
 The New England Pioneer 72 
 
 A Puritan Wedding 75 
 
 The Ordination Ball 79 
 
 Jonathan and Hannah Scott 83 
 
 Easter 87 
 
 The Welcome 88 
 
 Home Again 89 
 
 The Future 90 
 
 The New Star, 1907 90
 
 CONTENTS 
 SONNETS 
 
 Washington 93 
 
 Lincoln 93 
 
 Whittier 94 
 
 Cyrus W. Field 94 
 
 Fanny J. Crosby 95 
 
 Phillips Brooks 95 
 
 Theodore I. Driggs 96 
 
 Mrs. Mary L. Mitchell 96 
 
 Gov. R. S. Woodruff 97 
 
 Mrs. Mary E. Foster 97 
 
 Mrs. F. J. Kingsbury 98 
 
 Clarence 98 
 
 Dr. Joseph Anderson, 1903 99 
 
 The Same, 1906 99 
 
 An Acrostic 100 
 
 Rev. Edwin P. Parker, D. D 100 
 
 Rev. E. G. Beckwith, D. D 101 
 
 Gov. George L. Lilley 101 
 
 Henry L. Wade 102 
 
 Thomas Edward Murphy 102 
 
 Rev. A. Moss Merwin 103 
 
 Rev. H. Dewitt Williams 103 
 
 The Senior to the Junior 104 
 
 He and 1 105 
 
 Rev. Richard W. Micou 105 
 
 Frederick J. Kingsbury, LL. D 106 
 
 George N. Ells 107 
 
 Rev. M. S. Dudley 107 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. J. H. Baird 108 
 
 Amzi Benedict Davenport 108 
 
 "Noiu I Lay Me Down to Sleep" 109 
 
 The Journey to Florida 109 
 
 Our Flag 110 
 
 Independence Day 110 
 
 Stamford, 1641 HI 
 
 Stamford, 1892 Ill
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Memories 112 
 
 Departing Friends 112 
 
 Prospect 113 
 
 The Organ 113 
 
 May-Time 114 
 
 Easter 11 \ 
 
 Thanksgiving 115 
 
 First Baptist Church, Waterbury 115 
 
 Congregational Church, Naugatuck 116 
 
 The Watertown Monument 116 
 
 Class of 1869, Williams 117 
 
 1906 117 
 
 The Soldier Boy 118 
 
 The Class of 63, Williams 119 
 
 The Loved and Lost of 63 120
 
 SOMETHING BEYOND
 
 SOMETHING BEYOND 
 
 A type of the human soul 
 Is the restless ocean, 
 
 Anon reflecting the heavens calm, 
 Anon their commotion; 
 
 Reaching after the moon 
 
 As the mind for the sum of truth; 
 
 Hiding within its caves 
 
 The pearl and the monster, forsooth. 
 
 Then, too, it never is full, 
 
 Though numberless brimming urns 
 
 Each of the thronging water nymphs 
 Into its bosom turns. 
 Down the hillsides, 
 Through the valley, 
 Up where mountain shadows rally, 
 In the sunbeams glow and glitter, 
 Mong the nightshades rank and bitter, 
 By the quiet, dreamy glen, 
 Through the serpent-haunted fen, 
 Over sanded ways of gold, 
 Over granite sharp and cold, 
 Come the nymphs in ceaseless train 
 With their offerings to the main. 
 Urns of crystal wreathed with foam, 
 Sparkling like the azure dome, 
 In the ocean s depths they pour, 
 Yet it ever sighs for more. 
 Tis even thus with the human soul, 
 Though it drink from every proffered bowl, 
 Though it bow to satisfy its thirst 
 Wherever the springing waters burst, 
 It fails to quench the fond desire 
 For something more and something higher. 
 
 11
 
 Not the knowledge of a seraph 
 
 Tutored by the Source of mind, 
 Not the power to wield a scepter 
 
 Over all created kind, 
 Not the wealth to buy a jewel 
 Flaming in the midnight sky, 
 Not all wealth and power and knowledge 
 
 Can the spirit satisfy. 
 Not the laurel wreath of honor 
 Gleaming on the lofty brow, 
 Not the praise of envious millions 
 
 That before the hero bow, 
 Not affection s silken fingers 
 
 Twining rosebuds round the heart, 
 Not the sum of love and honor 
 Satisfies the immortal part. 
 Not the radiant soul of beauty 
 
 Gleaming through the flowers of earth, 
 Not the bright-winged spirits hovering 
 
 Round the star of evening s birth; 
 Not this universe cathedral 
 
 Hung with lamps that incense breathe, 
 Sending up their cloud of homage 
 
 All the pillared throne to wreathe; 
 Not the land that glows and sparkles 
 
 At imagination s word; 
 Not the strains of angel music 
 In the spirit s silence heard; 
 Not unfathomed depths of feeling 
 Where the dusty soul may lave 
 Are enough to still its longings, 
 
 That it nothing more shall crave. 
 For a moment each will gladden 
 
 With its golden ray of joy, 
 But no moment brings a blessing 
 Which the next shall still employ.
 
 Ye thoughtful who grope in the depths of the mind 
 The spring of its marvelous working to find, 
 Ye philosophers scanning the mystical page 
 Whose characters ever have tempted the sage, 
 Can ye tell why flameth this ceaseless fire? 
 Can ye read the end of this strange desire? 
 
 Is it not an echo ringing 
 
 Through the spirit s weird halls, 
 Echo of an invitation 
 
 That from some far future falls? 
 Echo of a language wooing 
 
 To some fairer, better land, 
 Where the soul enriched, enraptured, 
 
 On some starry hight shall stand? 
 Echo of the blest assurance 
 
 That as is the soul s desire 
 Such shall be its full provision, 
 
 Ever something more and higher? 
 Not as an eagle fettered and caged 
 
 And left to languish and die, 
 While the piteous gleam of a heavenward glance 
 
 Fades from its noble eye, 
 But bearing enclosed in its deep recess 
 
 A title affixed with power 
 To something beyond its highest thought, 
 
 To an unencircled dower, 
 The spirit of man can feast on hope, 
 
 Can spread its airy wing 
 And darting above the storm-tossed cloud, 
 
 In its self -poised grandeur sing: 
 
 13
 
 "Something beyond! My life is a day 
 That knows no twilight s muffled ray; 
 Something beyond! My heritage lies 
 Away, away through the azure skies. 
 
 Ye clouds of gold 
 
 Unfold! Unfold! 
 I fain would view my wealth untold. 
 
 Now the shrouding mists arise, 
 Now the vision dims my eyes! 
 Fountain gleaming over fountain! 
 Mountain overtopping mountain! 
 
 O wondrous sight! 
 
 O vistas bright! 
 
 Away, away, no end, no bound, 
 Unhedged, unmeasured lies this peerless ground. 
 
 What is earth with all her glory 
 
 But a single golden grain 
 From the hights which round the horizon 
 
 Dimly rise, a ghostly train? 
 Earth on earth without her shadows, 
 
 Earth on earth without her tears, 
 Worlds unnumbered draped in sunshine, 
 
 Yea, infinity appears." 
 And a voice like angel music, 
 
 As a mother s accents fond, 
 Whispers, "Spirit, tis thy birthright, 
 
 Ever something still beyond. " 
 
 14
 
 TO A SICK FRIEND 
 
 Accept these roses, beloved friend, 
 
 That the June doth lend. 
 Tokens of love divine are they, 
 For the Father touched each tiny spray 
 And sent them to cheer thee on thy way. 
 
 They are the voice of the glorious June, 
 
 When the world is attune. 
 And they speak not only of love divine, 
 But with them human love doth twine 
 And from their lustrous petals shine. 
 
 Their fragrance will breathe of the kindly thought 
 
 Of sympathy wrought; 
 
 Of the prayer that rises, dear friend, for thee 
 As the flower-wreathed days so swiftly flee, 
 That vigor may soon thy portion be. 
 
 Does it seem so very long to wait, 
 
 It comes so late? 
 
 But the roses waited the genial day 
 That bade them all their wealth display, 
 And they quite forgot the long delay. 
 
 And thus, dear friend, a day will dawn 
 
 With the shadows gone; 
 And from thy couch thou wilt arise, 
 The gleam of health in thy lovelit eyes, 
 While thy cheeks its rose tint richly dyes. 
 
 15
 
 THE DYING WIFE 
 
 "/ thought if we could have one more kiss." 
 
 One more kiss, 
 
 One more link in the chain of bliss 
 That has bound our souls as the years have flown, 
 My dearest, my own, 
 
 One more kiss. 
 
 One more kiss! 
 
 Beckoned to fairer worlds than this, 
 I could not, darling, take my flight 
 To realms of light, 
 Without one kiss. 
 
 It tells the tale 
 
 Of a true heart s love that will never fail, 
 Of a memory that will still abide 
 Though ages glide 
 
 And stars grow pale. 
 
 It speaks the hope 
 
 That though awhile in gloom you grope, 
 You yet will find the glowing dawn, 
 The shadows gone, 
 The heavenly slope! 
 
 And we shall meet 
 
 Where springing flowers are wondrous sweet, 
 Where earth s fond love its fruitage finds, 
 And rapture binds 
 The moments fleet. 
 
 One more kiss; 
 
 Its meaning you will never miss, 
 Beloved, till that glad embrace, 
 When, face to face, 
 We greet in bliss! 
 
 16
 
 THE SOLDIERS MONUMENT 
 
 Waterbury, 1884 
 
 Granite and bronze uprear 
 
 To our glorious slain ! 
 
 Granite the courage that wavered not, faltered not 
 Granite the purpose heroic that altered not; 
 Granite the noble hearts bared 
 
 To the murderous rain; 
 The tribute though meager, 
 Grateful and eager, 
 
 With tears for their pain, 
 Granite and bronze we rear 
 
 To our glorious slain. 
 
 Bronze and granite uplift 
 
 To our patriots dear ! 
 
 Tarnish the bronze, but their purity paleth not; 
 Perish the bronze, but their memory faileth not; 
 Shrined are our love and our grief 
 
 In the emblems we rear; 
 With swelling emotion 
 We hail their devotion 
 
 Unblemished with fear; 
 Bronze and granite for aye 
 Will utter them dear. 
 
 Neath these October skies 
 
 Honor our dead! 
 
 Pure as the azure the love that impelled them; 
 Stainless the fervor that seized them, that held 
 
 them; 
 
 Lustrous the valor that crowned 
 Every patriot s head; 
 
 17
 
 Gallant the foe they fought, 
 Nobly each hero wrought, 
 
 Just where his duty led; 
 Under these glowing skies 
 
 Honor our dead! 
 
 Publish, O city, the praise 
 
 Of the heroes asleep ! 
 
 Break, bending elms, into beauty and glory! 
 Flash out, ye banners, the heart-thrilling story! 
 Chime all ye bells, while the trumpets 
 
 Their harmony sweep! 
 Lips with the theme aflame 
 Utter their peerless fame ! 
 
 Hearts sob and weep! 
 O that our praises might waken 
 
 These heroes asleep! 
 
 Stand, O granite and bronze 
 
 While the ages shall roll! 
 
 Tell the unborn the great deeds of their sires! 
 Move them to greatness as duty requires ! 
 Bid them by action heroic 
 
 Sweet freedom extol! 
 Ready at country s call, 
 Ready to fight or fall, 
 Fervent in soul; 
 Faithful to man and to God 
 While the centuries roll. 
 
 18
 
 OUR HEROIC DEAD 
 
 Music shall swell in their honor, 
 
 Loud let it ring in the air, 
 Cornet and cymbal and drum-beat 
 
 Answer the bugle s blare; 
 This it was that inspired them, 
 This that with energy fired them, 
 
 Moved them to do and to dare. 
 
 Songs to their praise shall be chanted, 
 Thrilling the air of the May, 
 
 Manhood and youth in accordance 
 Lifting melodious lay; 
 
 Songs that re-echo their story, 
 
 Songs that bear onward their glory, 
 These shall be chanted for aye. 
 
 Dirges shall wail o er their pillow, 
 Dirges for beauty and bloom, 
 
 For manliest strength and affection 
 Hid in the pitiless tomb; 
 
 Measures that sob and that quiver, 
 
 Like waters of deep-rolling river, 
 
 Shall flow o er their silence and gloom. 
 
 19
 
 GEN. FREDERICK D. GRANT 
 
 Brave soldier of the nation, 
 True soldier of the cross, 
 
 With countless of our fellows 
 We mourn thy loss. 
 
 Yet, far above earth s conflicts, 
 Whose thunders never cease, 
 
 Mid great heroic spirits 
 Thou hast found peace. 
 
 And while the Hudson lingers 
 To chant thy mournful dirge, 
 
 Then hastes to tell the story 
 To ocean surge; 
 
 Thy name and his who gave it 
 With splendor jeweled o er, 
 
 America will honor 
 Forevermore. 
 
 20
 
 MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 Break into bloom, O sunshine of May, 
 Blossom in beauty, O leaf-mantled spray, 
 Crimson and azure and snow outspread 
 Over the couch of our glorious dead. 
 
 Here drop your tears, O sable-robed night, 
 Lift here, O morn, your banners of light, 
 Stars of the evening look down from the sky, 
 Guarding the spot where the conquerors lie. 
 
 Here breathe your balm, O zephyr of spring, 
 Bird of the air, here linger and sing, 
 Trees of the forest, O cease not your dirge, 
 Echo it ever, old ocean s wild surge. 
 
 Freemen, recall the beauty and worth 
 
 Hid from your view in the dust of the earth; 
 
 O twas for us that they fought and they bled; 
 
 What owe we not to our glorious dead? 
 
 Nation redeemed, come honor the brave, 
 Over their couch your starry flag wave; 
 Garland with laurel unfading their bed, 
 Pillow in glory each low-lying head !
 
 THE CONVALESCENT 
 
 Welcome, dear lady, to life and to vigor 
 
 Welcome to scenes that have waited thee long; 
 
 Much we have prayed for thee; 
 
 Weeks we have stayed for thee; 
 
 Sadness has fettered our laughter and song; 
 
 Welcome again to our rapturous throng. 
 
 Earth wreathes her garlands of lilies to greet thee; 
 
 Gilds them with sunshine and glory untold; 
 Bends her bright skies for thee; 
 Spends her clear dyes for thee; 
 
 Touches the arches with sapphire and gold; 
 Waits, thee in splendor and joy to enfold.
 
 SENT TO QUEEN MARGHERITA OF 
 
 ITALY, BY MELLICENT PORTER 
 
 CHAPTER, D. A. R. 
 
 "Break not, O woman s heart, but still endure!" 
 Thus wrote the laureate to England s queen 
 When he, she loved had fallen at her side. 
 
 "Break not, O woman s heart," we humbly cry 
 
 To thee, who in an evil hour didst lose 
 
 The arm that sheltered and the heart that loved. 
 
 Break not, O royal heart, but calm as he 
 Who met so bravely cruelty s assault 
 And passed a hero to his heavenly throne, 
 Endure the bitter grief, a heroine, 
 Till God shall call thee to his side again. 
 
 In all the love that wreathes thee round, be strong; 
 
 The love of kin and people, and the love 
 
 Of thousands in the wide, wide earth. 
 
 For not a woman s heart is touched with woe 
 
 But sympathizes with thy cruel fate; 
 
 And not a woman s heart is glad but grieves 
 
 That equal gladness is not left to thee. 
 
 This western world that owes so much to thine 
 
 Deeply condoles with Italy s sad queen.
 
 OCTOBER 26, 1899 
 C. G. D. 
 
 Where hast thou been, my darling boy, 
 Since that dark day, one year ago, 
 When northward swept the wail of woe 
 
 That drowned the accents of our joy? 
 
 Didst know how ached our hearts for thee 
 As days and weeks thy precious form, 
 Beaconed by sunlight, rocked by storm, 
 
 Was borne upon the tossing sea? 
 
 Didst mark our grief as home at last, 
 
 To thee we opened wide the door, 
 
 And in they reverently bore 
 Thy manhood bound in silence fast? 
 
 Didst see the throngs that gathered round, 
 And hear the words of loving praise, 
 And on the martial splendor gaze, 
 
 And note thy couch in hah 1 owed ground? 
 
 Dost know how sad has been the year, 
 How blight has mingled with its bloom, 
 And all its sunshine paled in gloom, 
 
 For that thou wert no longer here? 
 
 Hast heard how victory complete 
 
 Has crowned the work that thou didst share, 
 
 And given hope to islands fair 
 Long crushed beneath the oppressor s feet? 
 
 Hast learned the fortunes of the East, 
 And how the hosts from bondage freed, 
 Their liberators charge with greed 
 
 And war s grim horrors have increased?
 
 Didst hear the shouts when Dewey came 
 A conqueror from the orient far, 
 Adorned with many a gleaming star 
 
 And grandly trumpeted by fame? 
 
 And didst thou hear our humbler strain 
 Of triumph as our own returned, 
 And patriotism glowed and burned 
 
 From morning s dawn to twilight s wane? 
 
 O that as martial music pealed 
 
 Thou mightst have trod the crowded ways 
 And listened to the people s praise 
 
 With other heroes from the field! 
 
 Ah, well! Twas otherwise ordained; 
 The great Commander, it maybe, 
 In other realms had need of thee, 
 
 And faith alone to us remained. 
 
 We will be brave as thou wast brave, 
 And share the joy that others know, 
 And weep with those who bear the blow 
 
 That swept their dear ones to the grave. 
 
 And when life s checkered scene is crossed, 
 And we the farthest goal have won, 
 Mid glories of the setting sun 
 
 Perchance we ll find the loved and lost.
 
 KELLOGG DAY 
 
 WELCOME 
 
 Over the continent, over the seas, 
 Bandied by billow, wafted by breeze, 
 Bathed in the sunshine of tropical skies, 
 Watched by the stars as by love-lighted eyes, 
 Past coral islands awave with their palm, 
 Floating through oceans of fragrance and balm 
 True to New England where er he may roam, 
 Cometh our hero at last to his home ! 
 
 Memory paints for him ever and aye 
 Scenes of that wonderful morning in May, 
 When from the hight of her ancient renown 
 Spain mid the clash of the battle went down. 
 In the front of the conflict the Baltimore gleamed; 
 Grim as an angel of vengeance she seemed; 
 Spoke then her iron lips startling the world 
 As gainst stern oppression her protest she hurled. 
 
 Fierce was the strife as the day mounted high; 
 Battlesmoke blotted the sun from the sky; 
 Spain saw her fleet and her forces o erthrown; 
 Reaped the full harvest of blood she had sown. 
 Then in its beauty the Stripe and the Star 
 Shone o er the tranquilized waters afar! 
 Peace dropped her mantle, the battle was done, 
 And Dewey was admiral, victory was won! 
 
 Mid the wild flames of that terrible day, 
 Standing unblenched in the bullet s dread way, 
 Passing the powder and yielding the ball, 
 Wounded and bleeding, yet calm amid all, 
 He, our own hero, the Yankee boy true, 
 Firm as the hills in whose shadow he grew, 
 Thrilled with the valor of patriot sires, 
 Bravely toiled on through the battle s fierce fires. 
 
 26
 
 What were his thoughts as the angel of death 
 Hovered so closely and scorched with his breath? 
 We can imagine the picture whose gleam 
 Brightened his eye as a beautiful dream; 
 Home with its loved ones, the place of his birth, 
 Dearer to him than all else of the earth; 
 These elm-shaded streets; the joys of his youth; 
 The prayer he had learned; the unchangeable 
 truth. 
 
 Glad dawns the day when he s with us once more, 
 Vigorous, hearty and hale as of yore; 
 Bronzed by the kiss of the amorous sun; 
 Proud of the conquest the navy has won; 
 Greeted by hosts who rejoice in his fame; 
 Cheered by the plaudits that honor his name; 
 Thanks that the Power that o ershadows the wave 
 Yet again gives us our Kellogg, the brave!
 
 A REMINISCENCE 
 To J. D. W. 
 
 Upon an earlier April day, 
 
 Full forty years ago, 
 Another darling came to cheer 
 
 Our pilgrimage below. 
 
 He was a comely little youth, 
 With sunnier hair than thine, 
 
 And eyes that changed to softest brown 
 From blue akin to mine. 
 
 I pressed him to my happy heart, 
 
 And to him sang my joy; 
 And soon he whispered, "Tell me bout 
 
 When you was little boy. " 
 
 And as I told him wondrous things 
 
 Which fancy painted well, 
 He would exclaim to those about, 
 
 "Just hear my papa tell!" 
 
 But soon, too soon, he left my arms 
 
 And bore my song away; 
 Yet I am finding it again, 
 
 This later April day. 
 
 For somehow, John, it seems to me, 
 
 As I thy form enfold, 
 That thou art he to whom I sang 
 
 In those sweet days of old. 
 
 Then life before me lay, but now 
 
 The sunset draweth near, 
 My work is nearly done, and thou 
 
 Perchance wilt take it, dear.
 
 And maybe I shall find again, 
 Some sweet celestial day, 
 
 The boy who years and years ago 
 From "papa" went away. 
 
 And maybe, darling, by and by, 
 We shall together stand, 
 
 And sing a nobler song; with me 
 My boys on either hand ! 
 
 OUR FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Sometimes I sit and hold the boy, 
 
 And though he silent seems, 
 There is an answer in his soul 
 
 To all my thoughts and dreams. 
 "I wonder, baby, if before 
 
 You ve dwelt upon this earth, 
 And now have found, perchance your tenth, 
 
 Or, maybe, twentieth birth?" 
 He opes his eyes, and looks so wise, 
 
 He understands me well, 
 And I can catch his quiet sigh : 
 
 "I know but will not tell!" 
 "If up in heaven you lingered long, 
 
 And knew the bright ones there, 
 I wonder if you met the boy 
 
 That had my love and care?" 
 He slightly smiles, and in his eye 
 
 There shines a tiny tear, 
 As if my question had aroused 
 
 A memory sad and dear!
 
 THE KISS 
 
 The baby s cheek is as soft as silk, 
 
 A wonderful cheek to kiss; 
 And his little mouth with roseleaf lips 
 
 Just challenges one to bliss. 
 
 But if we attempt to osculate, 
 
 His nurses are not irenic; 
 In a tone of horror they all exclaim, 
 
 "It s by no means hygienic!" 
 
 And if we plead, " But we were kissed, 
 
 And life still with us stays;" 
 With great contempt they say, "There were 
 
 No microbes in those days!" 
 
 30
 
 THE MURPHY CAMPAIGN 
 
 1893 
 
 We ve a sort of lingering notion 
 Twas "a campaign of emotion," 
 Twas a flood of fun and laughter 
 Bursting forth and following after; 
 Twas amazingly amusing, 
 All proprieties confusing; 
 Just swamping all the staid ones, 
 The bachelor and maid ones, 
 All the deacons and the lawyers, 
 All the builders and destroyers, 
 All the tearful undertakers, 
 All the brass and button makers, 
 All the workmen and contractors, 
 All the city s benefactors, 
 In a boundless, soundless ocean 
 Of "amusement and emotion." 
 
 In fact, if one should "work us," 
 
 We d admit it was a circus, 
 
 The manager gyrating, 
 
 And we humbly imitating, 
 
 His performance emulating 
 
 As he set us all a-prating ! 
 
 Our leader stamped and thundered 
 
 While all Waterbury wondered, 
 
 And surrendered with devotion 
 
 To "amusement and emotion. " 
 
 It was only fun and frolic 
 For such as loved to rollick; 
 It was only foam and bubble, 
 Scarcely paying for the trouble; 
 It was only glint and glitter, 
 One sweet drop amid the bitter; 
 
 31
 
 Twas the birdsong of the meadow, 
 And the purple of the shadow; 
 Twas the blue of distant mountain, 
 Twas the music of the fountain, 
 Twas the loveliness of fairy, 
 Twas whatever s light and airy, 
 Just a mild and pleasant potion, 
 This campaign of mere "emotion." 
 
 But, from out this fragile seeming, 
 
 This dim, evanescent gleaming, 
 
 This moonshine in the vapor, 
 
 This city built on paper, 
 
 This thoughtless execution, 
 
 Behold, an evolution ! 
 
 Apparent is my moral; 
 
 The foam builds up the coral, 
 
 The moonlight tints the petal, 
 
 The bugle stirs the mettle, 
 
 The distant blue assuages 
 
 The grief that whelms and rages, 
 
 And e en the pictured city 
 
 Is more than simply pretty, 
 
 A magic, potent lever 
 
 It moves to brave endeavor. 
 
 And so, the fun and laughter 
 Show fruitage ripening after; 
 And so the telling story 
 That wrapped our "Ned" in glory. 
 And so the wit and humor, 
 The incident and rumor. 
 The quaint, incisive saying 
 That set a soul a-praying, 
 The word so sweet and tender 
 That only he could render, 
 The period bold and thrilling 
 That captured souls unwilling, 
 The language strangely winning
 
 That caught and held the sinning, 
 The hand-grasp warm and thawing 
 With its magnetic drawing, 
 The gesture wild yet taking 
 That set the platform quaking, 
 The shrewd, pathetic pleading 
 The climax oft succeeding, 
 The conquests high and lowly 
 Of lives till then unholy, 
 The campaign we remember 
 That cheered the dull November, 
 This yields its harvest yellow, 
 Its fruitage rich and mellow. 
 
 From out its waves of feeling 
 
 To every soul appealing, 
 
 From out the toss and foaming 
 
 That seethed amid the gloaming, 
 
 Like Venus from the surges 
 
 Pure, manly life emerges; 
 
 Life in broad proportions builded, 
 
 Uplifted, garnished, gilded, 
 
 By the voice to which we listened, 
 
 By the wit that gleamed and glistened, 
 
 By the pathos and affection, 
 
 By the wise and kind correction, 
 
 By the soul that like an ember 
 
 Glowed amid the gray November. 
 
 What fruit could be diviner, 
 
 Be nobler, grander, finer, 
 
 Than that which, we ve a notion, 
 
 Crowned this "campaign of emotion"? 
 
 33
 
 WILTON 
 
 1901 
 
 Fair are the hills of our native town, 
 Sweet are the valleys that lie between, 
 
 Sparkling the river rippling down 
 Through the meadows green. 
 
 Nowhere else is the air so clear, 
 
 Nowhere else is the sun so bright, 
 And purer than elsewhere burns each sphere 
 
 That gems the night. 
 
 But the heart sees more than the eye discerns, 
 It catches visions of by-gone years, 
 
 And over the sacred memory yearns 
 With smiles and tears. 
 
 Here lived the lives that kindled ours; 
 
 Here faces beamed with grace benign ; 
 Here blossomed friendship s sweetest flowers 
 
 In light divine. 
 
 Here in the vigor of careless youth 
 We strode o er pathways violet-strewn, 
 
 And dreamed the realms of light and truth 
 Were all our own. 
 
 The heavens above were rainbow-spanned, 
 
 The skies beyond us were aglow, 
 And all things our ambition fanned 
 
 To be and know. 
 
 Here aspiration found its wing, 
 
 Here expectation gazed afar, 
 Here youthful love began to sing 
 
 Of guiding star. 
 
 34
 
 Within these sacred walls we met 
 
 The Man ideal, the Nazarene, 
 His crown with every jewel set 
 
 Of ray serene. 
 
 And to our waking souls He said, 
 
 Amid the flush of life s young day, 
 "By Me to noblest goal be led, 
 
 I am the way. " 
 
 The years have hastened, and once again 
 The sweet-toned bell to the children calls, 
 
 And w r e see, from the varied haunts of men, 
 These hallowed walls. 
 
 Out from the mists of the sacred past 
 
 Voices drift that we knew of yore, 
 Warm hands clasp ours and hold them fast 
 
 As oft before. 
 
 W T e stand in the midst of a blessed throng 
 In which are the loved of the long-ago, 
 
 And we list to the burden of their song 
 As its measures flow. 
 
 They tell of a land where loved ones meet 
 
 And never a word of parting hear; 
 W T here the radiant hours with joy are sweet, 
 
 Nor dimmed with fear. 
 
 And as we listen, He comes again, 
 
 The Master with changeless vigor rife, 
 
 And He whispers, "Remember, O sons of men, 
 I am the life. " 
 
 The skies above us may seem to pale, 
 And the rainbow tints to lose their glow, 
 
 But earth s chief charm will never fail 
 If Him we know. 
 
 35
 
 There is no death. They only move 
 
 In loftier ranges who have gone, 
 And all the joy of triumph prove 
 
 In fadeless dawn. 
 
 O friends departed, if to-day 
 
 In radiant choirs you gather here, 
 
 Believe us faithful, as we say, 
 "You still are dear." 
 
 Fair are the hills of our native town, 
 
 Blue in the distance, or touched with gold 
 
 As the orb of day goes glorious down 
 As it sank of old. 
 
 Over these hills may the light of truth 
 And the light of purity shine for aye, 
 
 Guiding the feet of age and of youth 
 In the heavenly way. 
 
 Dear mother Church, so youthful still, 
 
 Immortal as thy living Lord, 
 To thee our souls with homage thrill 
 
 In every chord. 
 
 36
 
 KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS 
 
 The realm of Romance lies far away 
 
 From the hurry and bustle of to-day, 
 
 Back in the dreamland of the years 
 
 Where all in magic guise appears, 
 
 Where never is heard the engine s squeal 
 
 Nor the "chug" and "toot" of the automobile, 
 
 Where the great arc light has never shone 
 
 And wireless telegraphy is unknown; 
 
 W T here the "national game" was never played, 
 
 Nor "tainted money" ever made; 
 
 Where lords and ladies in castles high 
 
 The might of their enemy would defy; 
 
 With drawbridge lifted, the deep moat filled, 
 
 Retainers posted and guards well drilled, 
 
 The barons would feast with their comrades bold, 
 
 While their ladies embroidered with threads of 
 
 gold; 
 
 And life was dreamy and peaceful there 
 Till the summons came the fight to share. 
 That knight of old has passed away, 
 His prancing steed has turned to clay, 
 His rusted armor silent hangs, 
 His spear no more on corselet clangs, 
 His soul heroic, as we trust, 
 Now wears the laurels of the just. 
 His type was of the storied past 
 W hose memory alone could last; 
 His heroism gems the tale 
 That all must thrill till time shall fail. 
 And yet, does not this century need 
 The man of knightly soul and deed? 
 Shall not our princely country own 
 The worthiest knight that earth has known? 
 Loyal as was not he of old 
 To principles of finest mould? 
 Loyal to all that s high and grand, 
 The standards of this favored land? 
 
 37
 
 Loyal to country s high behest, 
 
 Counting the great republic best, 
 
 True to the flag of the stripe and star 
 
 Whose wondrous beauty streams afar? 
 
 Loyal to that celestial throne 
 
 Whose splendor through the years has shone? 
 
 True "loyalty" must mark the knight 
 
 Whose fame in modern days is bright. 
 
 And "courtesy" lauded so greatly of old, 
 
 Its place conspicuous ever must hold; 
 
 Consideration and kindness for all 
 
 Who jostle us on this earthly ball; 
 
 Catholic, Protestant, Gentile, Jew, 
 
 Eagerly rendered each his due; 
 
 Republican, Democrat, "silver" or "gold", 
 
 Prohibitionist, Socialist, whatever his fold; 
 
 Men of the east and men of the west 
 
 Flocking to us from the lands oppressed, 
 
 Union, or non-union, all of the others, 
 
 Whatever their stripe are brothers, our brothers, 
 
 For deeper than creed and deeper than skin 
 
 Is the bond that makes us mortals kin; 
 
 Layman or cleric, renowned or obscure, 
 
 Bishop or mayor or servant demure, 
 
 Whatever the station we fill on the earth, 
 
 Secured by our toil or accorded our birth, 
 
 Under all, I d say it again and again, 
 
 We re made in God s image, we re all of us men. 
 
 Of like aspiration, endeavor and hope, 
 
 With life s puzzling problems we all of us cope; 
 
 And each has a right to the kindliest thought 
 
 Of all who with him in time s struggle have fought. 
 
 In a courtesy higher and sweeter indeed, 
 
 Our knight of to-day must the ancient exceed. 
 
 And so we have faith in the knight of to-day 
 
 As never surpassed in the far away; 
 
 As gaining a broader view indeed 
 
 Of humanity s weal and humanity s need; 
 
 Linking the best of the old and the new, 
 
 38
 
 And to loftiest standards ever true; 
 Finding his mission in fast and prayer, 
 Faithfully loving one lady fair, 
 Eager to succour the soul distressed, 
 Ready to fight for men oppressed; 
 Holding the stainless banner high, 
 Prepared if need arise to die 
 Rather than suffer the sacred trust 
 To trail dishonored in the dust; 
 In private life and in public too 
 For the noblest ends to dare and do. 
 Such is the knight that we love and praise 
 In these the grandest and best of days. 
 
 39
 
 WELCOME TO 
 DR. TIMOTHY DWIGHT 
 
 1887 
 
 To the chaplet love is weaving 
 For our honored guest to-night, 
 
 May a stranger and an alien 
 Add with reverence his mite? 
 
 May he bring a sprig of laurel 
 From the upper Berkshire hills, 
 
 Where the classic Muse of Bryant 
 Murmurs in the crystal rills; 
 
 Where the deathless shade of Garfield 
 Walks beneath the bending elms, 
 
 And where Hopkins, still unwearied, 
 Guides through philosophic realms; 
 
 Where beneath the hoary summits 
 That the soul with awe inspire, 
 
 Learning opens wide her portals, 
 Proudly guards her vestal fire; 
 
 May a sprig of mountain laurel 
 
 With your nobler growths combine, 
 
 As a coronet of honor 
 
 For illustrious brows you twine? 
 
 Great the privilege, I count it, 
 In this lustrous hour to trail 
 
 Just a bit of Williams purple 
 Underneath the blue of Yale. 
 
 Yale stands sponsor at the christening 
 Of the child among the hills; 
 
 Gives to it a worthy guardian, 
 Who his place with honor fills; 
 
 40
 
 Even then from her abundance 
 Kindly making others rich; 
 
 Thanks to her for grace and wisdom 
 In the stately Dr. Fitch. 
 
 He was trained for high position, 
 We may well recall to-night, 
 
 Mid the days of Revolution, 
 By the learned Tutor Dwight. 
 
 And she thither sent another 
 
 Who uncounted souls should sway, 
 
 In the radiant years that followed, 
 Tutor Jeremiah Day. 
 
 And she gave a second leader 
 To the forces there arrayed, 
 
 Dr. Griffin, "prince of preachers," 
 Heart of fire, of manner staid. 
 
 And at last, with due reluctance, 
 She has yielded to his own, 
 
 Him who mid her lustrous circle 
 With a native brilliance shone; 
 
 Franklin Carter, not unhonored 
 In the place that gave him birth; 
 
 Williams owes to Yale a portion 
 Of his princely wealth of worth. 
 
 Thus throughout the century finished, 
 Yale with wisely gracious hand 
 
 Has enriched the institution 
 
 That adorns our northern land. 
 
 And the sons of Williams, loyal, 
 With a troth that cannot fail, 
 
 To their mother, now and ever 
 Venerate her mother, Yale. 
 
 41
 
 In her name I humbly venture, 
 
 With unqualified delight, 
 To present her salutations 
 
 To our honored guest to-night. 
 
 With a heritage unequalled, 
 
 Touched with power from ages flown, 
 He rejoices in a sweetness 
 
 And a radiance all his own. 
 
 Keen and bright as blade Damascus, 
 
 Deep with philosophic lore, 
 Wont in loftiest realms of fancy 
 
 On undaunted wing to soar; 
 
 Genial as a Maytime morning, 
 With a heart as warm as sound, 
 
 With a sympathy inspiring 
 
 And a grace that knows no bound; 
 
 Loyal to the past and clinging 
 To the truth it held so dear; 
 
 Yet outlooking for the dawning 
 Of a morn divinely clear; 
 
 Ever waiting for the coming 
 Of a day whose cloudless sheen 
 
 Shall all truth reveal to mortals, 
 In its fair, eternal mien; 
 
 Such is he whose presence with us 
 
 We a benediction call, 
 And whose words of honied wisdom 
 
 On our ears in music fall. 
 
 Long may he in loftiest station 
 Sway the emblems of his state; 
 
 Yielding to the world of letters 
 Wealth his genius shall create; 
 
 42
 
 Leading to a grander future 
 Hosts of eager, hopeful youth, 
 
 Opening to their ravished vision 
 Hidden glories of the truth. 
 
 Late when he returns to heaven, 
 To the rest so richly won, 
 
 May he leave a world uplifted, 
 With its golden age begun. 
 
 So the alien and the stranger 
 To the commonwealth of Yale, 
 
 With a loyalty to Williams 
 That can never faint nor fail, 
 
 Begs to say, with deep emotion, 
 From his very heart to-night, 
 
 God bless Yale in all her future, 
 God bless glorious Dr. Dwight. 
 
 43
 
 MEN OF THE HILLS 
 
 WILLIAMS REUNION 
 
 To-night we look away 
 
 To the far hills whence came our strength, 
 Whose shadow falls upon our life 
 
 Through all its length. 
 
 We saw them in the glow 
 
 Of youth s fair morn, enwrapped in rose 
 And all the dewy, golden grace 
 
 That fancy knows. 
 
 Brightly that vision gleams 
 
 Through all the crowding, bustling years; 
 Still charming is the picture that 
 
 To-night appears. 
 
 All hail the glorious hills, 
 
 Which dipped in heaven s own stainless blue, 
 With ever pure and radiant tints 
 
 Our souls imbue. 
 
 Life labor means and care, 
 
 But every loyal spirit thrills 
 Whenever gleam upon his thought 
 
 Those classic hills. 
 
 God bless those hights serene 
 
 And the bright youth who gather there, 
 The wondrous view that they afford 
 
 Eager to share. 
 
 While gratitude sincere 
 
 For the glad past our bosom fills, 
 May we not proudly call ourselves 
 
 "Men of the Hills?" 
 
 44
 
 Men of the azure hills ! 
 
 Would that we this were justly thought, 
 Moulded where loftiest views of life 
 
 Are ever taught; 
 
 Where lifted from the plane 
 
 Of base conceit and purpose low, 
 
 We come the rarer air to breathe, 
 Its joys to know; 
 
 Men of the sun- wrapped hills, 
 
 Where shines undimmed the light of truth 
 Whose beams still guide and gladden all 
 
 In age or youth; 
 
 Men of the holy hills, 
 
 Where haloed saints have humbly trod, 
 And from those altitudes have stepped 
 
 To be with God! 
 
 SOME OF THE MEN 
 
 As we look abroad and calmly think 
 
 Of men who have climbed those hights, to drink 
 
 Of the springs that with music there o erflow 
 
 And send refreshment to vales below, 
 
 Is it not quite clear that a host have shown 
 
 A loftiness that was all their own, 
 
 A character that could fitly claim 
 
 Men of the Hills" as their rightful name? 
 
 Men that above the mists have towered, 
 
 Whom God with highest gifts has dowered, 
 
 Who with a purpose and view sublime 
 
 Have wisely and nobly served their time? 
 
 45
 
 Shall we speak of the Hopkins brothers, twain, 
 
 Who shone with a light that will still remain 
 
 While Greylock stands encrowned with snow, 
 
 Ruling the landscapes far below? 
 
 Shall we speak of the Fields who in triple force 
 
 Have so illumined their famous course? 
 
 Of Chadbourne, who nature loved, and knew 
 
 Where the first meek floweret of springtime blew; 
 
 The man of affairs, at home as well 
 
 In the halls of state as the shaded dell ? 
 
 Of Garfield, stepping by mighty stride 
 
 To the summit, where, glory -crowned, he died? 
 
 Shall we speak of Bascom who flashes light 
 
 To the heart of the problem dark as night? 
 
 Of Gladden, philosopher, poet, priest, 
 
 Lecturer, author, and not the least 
 
 Of those who the public conscience guide 
 
 To the point where justice and right abide? 
 
 Of Dewey, who stands where Storrs has stood, 
 
 With mind as brilliant and heart as good? 
 
 Of Perry, our Bliss, and our honest pride, 
 
 The Neptune who sways the "Atlantic s" tide? 
 
 Of Mabie, the genial litterateur, 
 
 His soul with the high ideal astir? 
 
 Shall we speak of Dike who is known afar 
 
 As the family s lustrous, guiding star; 
 
 The man who is welding with fadeless force 
 
 The souls that coveted swift divorce? 
 
 Of Dole, who has set a priceless gem 
 
 In the nation s splendid diadem? 
 
 Of Armstrong, born where sun and wave 
 
 Pacific s islands lovingly lave, 
 
 But who bravely confronted war s grim face 
 
 That he might rescue a captive race, 
 
 And raise to manhood s high estate 
 
 The victims of a cruel fate? 
 
 46
 
 Shall we speak of Carter s keen-eyed brain, 
 
 Of Cuthbert Hall and the Tracys twain, 
 
 Of the younger Garfields of rising fame 
 
 Still further to honor an honored name? 
 
 Of Leupp, who is steering without ado 
 
 The red man s often wrecked canoe, 
 
 And who will safely force its way 
 
 Though rocks and rapids its course would stay? 
 
 Of the Griffins, presiding with genius rare 
 
 In an editor s sanctum or savant s chair? 
 
 Of Putney, now silent, whose legal lore 
 
 A coveted prize to the college bore? 
 
 Shall we speak of our Andrews, calm and sweet, 
 
 Sitting in age at the Master s feet, 
 
 His life a copy in radiant lines 
 
 Of that whose glory immortal shines? 
 
 Of Elmore, our chieftain, the financier, 
 
 Whose heart is as warm as his head is clear, 
 
 Who marshals our clans with a genial grace 
 
 And governs us all by the smile on his face? 
 
 Of Smith, his companion, judicial or gay 
 
 In his moods, as is fitting the passing day? 
 
 Of Ranney, enthroned with ability meet, 
 
 A worthy successor, in Bushnell s proud seat? 
 
 Of others about us, still others away, 
 
 Men sturdily meeting the needs of the day, 
 
 Alert and athletic in body and mind, 
 
 Adorning, inspiring and guiding mankind; 
 
 Of these would we speak could we tarry so long, 
 
 For they rise up before us, a notable throng. 
 
 But they speak for themselves in the place that 
 
 each fills, 
 
 And prove themselves worthily " Men of the Hills. " 
 Men who have stood on the glorious hights 
 Where the soul sees its heritage, seizes its rights, 
 Feels its pulses athrob with an impulse divine, 
 And is thrilled with a zeal that shall never decline. 
 
 47
 
 We live in an age that is stirred to the core 
 With an eagerness bent on the capture of more! 
 More money, more knowledge, more power to 
 
 control 
 
 The forces of nature, the forces of soul. 
 What s needed is men who are lofty in aim, 
 Of hearts with the highest ambition aflame, 
 Exalted in view, too exalted to yield 
 To the tempter s device and surrender the field; 
 Not stooping to methods that shrink from the 
 
 light, 
 
 For selfish advancement disdaining the right; 
 But men lifted far above baseness and greed, 
 Of purified thought and beneficent deed. 
 
 Is not this the time for the "Men of the Hills," 
 
 Of summit ideals and granitelike wills ? 
 
 Of vision as broad as the mountains afford? 
 
 Of purposes caught where the eagles have soared? 
 
 Of serenity such as the ridges uplift 
 
 Where the shadow and sunlight alternately drift? 
 
 Where the beautiful cliffs flash with rose at the 
 
 dawn 
 
 And are royally purple when day has withdrawn? 
 Where the hights stand in majesty, crowned with 
 
 their gold 
 
 As the treasures and splendors of noontide unfold? 
 At the vivid remembrance our every heart thrills; 
 Our ambition is this, to be "Men of the Hills." 
 
 48
 
 HEXAMETERS 
 
 Winthrop Davenport Foster, you are a poet by 
 
 nature, 
 Drawing your inspiration from those who have 
 
 gone before you, 
 Not to say that your name has nothing to do with 
 
 the matter! 
 You as a student of Homer, sightless old singer and 
 
 dreamer, 
 Enter into his spirit and catch the vision that 
 
 charmed him. 
 Finely you render his verse, giving his accent and 
 
 cadence, 
 
 Giving as well his thought, simple yet most im 
 pressive, 
 Making yourself hexameters, modeled after his 
 
 pattern, 
 Breathing the lofty conception even as he has 
 
 enshrined it. 
 
 Youth, go on with your study, carrying it to com 
 pleteness. 
 Give us translations of Homer worthy the artist 
 
 immortal. 
 
 Turn the whole of the Iliad into hexameter English, 
 Then begin with the Odyssey, story of far-famed 
 
 Ulysses; 
 Make the old poet resplendent in language that s 
 
 glowing 
 And throbbing with life, e en life of the twentieth 
 
 century. 
 So shall your name be immortal like his in far-off 
 
 Achaia, 
 Who sang in the earliest daydawn, a musical bird 
 
 of the twilight. 
 Then my name through you shall be lustrous and 
 
 shine through the ages. 
 
 49
 
 Send me more snatches of music, notes from your 
 quivering harpstrings, 
 
 Prophecies rich of your triumph, telling already 
 your glory! 
 
 I shall be charmed with the melody, more with 
 your purpose 
 
 Every hindrance to master and climb to the sum 
 mit 
 
 Where stand the victors and monarchs in splendor 
 undying! 
 
 EVOLUTION 
 
 The old church watched the new one 
 
 With stern and critical eye, 
 As through the golden autumn 
 
 It lifted itself on high, 
 Never its gaze for a moment 
 
 Turned from the growing pile, 
 Never its frowning features 
 
 Softened into a smile. 
 
 I wondered what strange emotions 
 
 Were stirring the ancient fane; 
 If it looked at its brave successor 
 
 With a heart of grief and pain; 
 If cruel envy had entered 
 
 And clung to the altar s side; 
 If a bitter and jealous hatred 
 
 Had ventured there to hide. 
 
 One night, while the city slumbered, 
 I heard, as I thought, a cry 
 
 From the tower of the ancient temple, 
 Tremulous, sad and high; 
 
 50
 
 A voice to the newly risen : 
 " What are you doing there? 
 
 What do you mean by coming 
 My honor and toil to share?" 
 
 And out from the comely structure 
 
 Of brownstone down the street, 
 The answer came in a moment, 
 
 In accents mild and sweet: 
 "My honored predecessor, 
 
 From Gothic Hall to you 
 Was a step that all commended, 
 
 A move to wisdom due; 
 
 And now from you to me, friend, 
 
 With my decked, substantial wall, 
 Is another step of progress, 
 
 Approved by judges all. 
 I scarcely need remind one 
 
 So old as you and sage, 
 That theistic evolution 
 
 Is the watchword of the age." 
 
 51
 
 AN EXPERIENCE 
 
 I entered a gloomy valley 
 
 Where the air was damp and chill, 
 And the dewdrops seemed like teardrops 
 
 As they heavy hung and still; 
 And my soul was as dark as the shadows 
 
 That lay in the somber vale, 
 And the fears that sprang within me 
 
 Bade hope and courage fail. 
 
 Hither and thither I wandered, 
 
 And gloomier grew the way, 
 And I said, "Here ends the journey, 
 
 I never shall find the day;" 
 And visions of sunny hilltops 
 
 Where I d breathed enchanted air 
 And glimpses of vanished beauty 
 
 Were haunting me to despair. 
 
 A horrible night oppressed me 
 
 And I know not what befell, 
 Yet misery hid in its grimness 
 
 That tongue nor pen could tell; 
 But at length, I was wearily conscious 
 
 Of a glimmer of rosy dawn, 
 And that some of the shadows near me 
 
 Were thinning, and some were gone. 
 
 Above, on a tree-branch, a songster 
 
 Burst forth into melody sweet; 
 A tremor of hope stirred within me, 
 
 I wonderingly rose to my feet; 
 And lo, just before me the pathway 
 
 That led from the valley of gloom, 
 Inviting my feet to the uplands 
 
 Aflame with their sunshine and bloom !
 
 I passed to their beauty and brightness, 
 
 I stand on their hights to-day; 
 With eyes dim with voiceless emotion 
 
 I gaze o er the terror-strewn way; 
 And my prayer is, "God take it and use it, 
 
 The life that was brought so low; 
 God guide to the light all who wander 
 
 Dismayed in the valley of woe!" 
 
 53
 
 THE WILTON PULPIT 
 
 Its Surroundings and Associations 
 
 What sacred and tender memories throng 
 
 This consecrated space! 
 Cherubic and glorious wings must e er 
 
 O ershadow the holy place. 
 
 O many a sanctified, blessed spot 
 
 This beautiful earth can boast; 
 But to scores here met, this Altar of God 
 
 Is the place that is hallowed most. 
 
 A mantle of glory descends 
 
 On those who minister here, 
 Whose radiant folds have ever wrapped 
 
 The worthy and the dear. 
 
 No surplice of shimmering white 
 
 Nor robe that a prelate wore, 
 Compares with this tribute of love and power 
 
 From those who have gone before. 
 
 Forgive me, but I recall 
 
 A day when this mantle of might 
 Less warmly I here desired, than one 
 
 That should bury me out of sight. 
 
 For on this very desk 
 
 As an altar of sacrifice, 
 My first-born sermon I offered up 
 
 With countless fears and sighs. 
 
 Paul spoke of the "feeble knees," 
 
 And I well knew what he meant. 
 For mine beneath their weight of woe 
 
 Like reeds in a tempest bent.
 
 And David tells of the tongue 
 
 That cleaves to the roof of the mouth, 
 
 And mine seemed firmly packed 
 In the dust of an August drouth. 
 
 "You ll find my text," said I, 
 
 And thereupon all grew dim, 
 And I scarce could tell if twas Holy Writ 
 
 That I needed to give or a hymn ! 
 
 And the congregation danced 
 
 And whirled in a curious way, 
 Decidedly festive, it seemed to me, 
 
 For the holy Sabbath day. 
 
 And I thought, an earthquake now, 
 
 If such a thing could be, 
 Would bring a fitting reward to them 
 
 And a great relief to me! 
 
 My heart, it quaked instead, 
 
 And I labored my sermon through, 
 
 And it seemed that ere I could say "Amen," 
 The sunset would be due. 
 
 But the agony closed at last, 
 
 And I found as I went away, 
 That while I claimed to have suffered, 
 
 The people thought it was they! 
 
 And so this sacred desk 
 
 O er which bright memories break, 
 I still must regard, somewhat, 
 
 As the martyr regards the stake.
 
 FIRST CHURCH, WATERBURY 
 
 1891 
 
 One night I was sitting on Center square 
 Charmed with the scene that is ever fair, 
 Watching the elms in their silvery glow, 
 And their shadows flung on the grass below; 
 Noting the bronzes, tall and grand, 
 That grace the common on either hand. 
 But little I thought of the eager life 
 With which the beautiful scene was rife; 
 The pictures wrought in the evening s glow 
 Suggested others of long ago. 
 
 While I was looking, St. John s sweet bell 
 To the present recalled with its lingering knell, 
 Proclaiming afar that another hour 
 Had passed beyond human reach and power. 
 The radiant picture again I knew, 
 To fact, not fancy, its features true. 
 "I must leave," said I; when near me drew, 
 As I thought, a figure in somber hue, 
 Of style antique and of saintly air, 
 And of face as dignified as fair. 
 A startled look filled his searching eyes 
 As of gravest doubt or of wild surprise. 
 W ith courtesy bowing, he eagerly said, 
 " In just returning from realms of the dead 
 I sought to discover again the place, 
 Familiar so long with my form and face. 
 And I thought it was here, but all I can see 
 Appears but a puzzling mystery. 
 Name for me, sir, if you will, this town; " 
 Astonished, I said, "It has great renown; 
 Do you carry a watch?" and the words we sing 
 Regarding the "everlasting spring" 
 Suggested their most irrelevant rhyme. 
 But I murmured, "You take no note of time. 
 Tis Waterbury town," said I, 
 56
 
 "A place where so many would live and die 
 
 That real estate is exceedingly high; 
 
 Where brass is moulded to forms untold, 
 
 And ever transmuted to shining gold; 
 
 Where hammer and anvil ne er cease to ring, 
 
 Nor busiest wheels to whirl and sing, 
 
 Where", but he stopped me. "Somewhere here 
 
 I preached the gospel for many a year 
 
 But just where it was I m not so clear. 
 
 I thought I remembered the sacred spot, 
 
 But going thither, my soul waxed hot 
 
 At finding uplifted against the sky 
 
 A brazen horse on an altar high, 
 
 An idol vaunting itself just there 
 
 Where I warned them of idols to beware. 
 
 Shocked at the horrible sight I had seen, 
 
 I fled to the opposite end of the Green, 
 
 When, lo, on another altar there 
 
 The form of a woman appeared in air. 
 
 Whether Fate or Fury I could not tell, 
 
 Or Diana of Ephesus, noted well, 
 
 Or the Virgin Mary, or other dame; 
 
 But my soul was crushed with the awful shame. 
 
 And I saw, and no grief could equal mine, 
 
 The lighted candles about her shrine. 
 
 Oh, tell me, sir, can it truly be, 
 
 That this town has lapsed to idolatry?" 
 
 "Oh, no," I answered, with stifled laugh, 
 
 "Don t take our horse for a golden calf. 
 
 We never worship yon prancing steed, 
 
 Preferring a record for better speed. 
 
 And as for the woman over there, 
 
 With the coronet circling her nut-brown hair, 
 
 It s Victory, holding the wreath of bays 
 
 For the heroes worthy of deathless praise. 
 
 If a woman we worshipped, we d bow the knee 
 
 To a creature of not so high metal as she. 
 
 57
 
 But please, sir, who are you?" I now inquired, 
 
 For to know the quaint visitor I aspired. 
 
 Said he, "When I threaded this spacious park 
 
 And here was abiding, they called me Mark. 
 
 Through more than a century s half I stood 
 
 For all I thought noble and pure and good, 
 
 And tried, with such powers as I had, to win 
 
 The people I loved from the grasp of sin. 
 
 The fruit of my labor I do not know ; 
 
 They ve wholly forgotten, all, long ago, 
 
 The earnest w^ords that I uttered here, 
 
 And him who spake them, I greatly fear. 
 
 All is so changed; it cannot be 
 
 That Waterbury remembers inc. " 
 
 "Why, Rev. Mark Lea ven worth, " I replied; 
 
 "Your name and your influence have not died. 
 
 The seeds of truth that you planted here 
 
 Yield blossom and fruitage, year by year. 
 
 Look over this busy, progressive town, 
 
 Extending the fertile valley down, 
 
 And climbing the slopes to the sunny hight 
 
 That w r atches and guards us on left and right; 
 
 Consider the palaces here of toil, 
 
 The beautiful homes that garland the soil, 
 
 The buildings reared for the children s weal, 
 
 And the temples where thousands humbly kneel; 
 
 Observe how the bustle of life is here 
 
 With its ceaseless vigor and hope and cheer, 
 
 And in all that is best in this noble town 
 
 You ve a right to discover your own renown. 
 
 You and the others laid broad and sure 
 
 Foundation stones that will ever endure. 
 
 Integrity flawless and purpose true, 
 
 The justice that never withholds the due, 
 
 A public spirit that s high and strong, 
 
 Conscience to scuttle the public wrong, 
 
 Regard for the welfare of man that sees 
 
 Far over the bounds of present ease, 
 
 58
 
 All these in the early days you taught 
 
 And thus for the future you grandly wrought. 
 
 Your life mid these latest, most stirring days, 
 
 Goes throbbing on through our crowded ways, 
 
 And Waterbury s responsive still 
 
 To the force of your sturdy and manly will." 
 
 The old man smiled, and he asked, "But where 
 Now worship the people of my care?" 
 I pointed at once to the graceful spire 
 All flooded and gilt with electric fire; 
 "Here in a temple both rich and strong 
 Your dear old Church is uplifting its song 
 And worshiping Him with reverent soul 
 Who lives unchanged while the ages roll. " 
 "But who stands now where I stood, to tell 
 The slippery ways that lead to hell?" 
 "One Joseph now points to the heavenly bliss, 
 And urges the people to strive for this. " 
 "Not Joseph Bellamy here returned, 
 A mightier logic having learned? 
 Ah, here he would often weave his chain 
 From a fervid heart and glowing brain, 
 And with it would leave his listeners bound 
 As under a magic spell profound. 
 He cannot be here again to show 
 The ills that the non -elect shall know?" 
 "That Bethlehem star is set," I said, 
 "Your ancient Bellamy s with the dead. 
 Perchance were he, sainted, to come again 
 To labor on earth for the souls of men, 
 He long might live as a man at large, 
 Enrolled as a minister without charge. 
 The world has been moving as you must know 
 Since he, sir, and you in death lay low. 
 Old issues are passing, new truths appear, 
 Earth s vision is broadening year by year. 
 The clergyman stands of his age a part, 
 The product of forces that pulse in its heart, 
 Athrill with its thought and aglow with its zeal, 
 59
 
 Discerning the false and embracing the real 
 That leap into view at the turn of the wheel. 
 His sensitive spirit is pained with the need 
 Of society given to lust and to greed, 
 And he eagerly lifts to the view of mankind 
 The perfect ideal, the heavenly mind, 
 Strength wedded with gentleness, virtue unpriced, 
 The splendor of manhood, the crown of the Christ. 
 And thus, while its product, he fashions his age, 
 And leads ever up to a worthier stage; 
 His voice as the trumpet whose musical peal 
 To conflict calls onward, to conquest as real. 
 Our Joseph, succeeding you here, we esteem 
 As a man for his time, in his office supreme, 
 Awake to the truth and the need of the hour 
 And bringing to duty high culture and power." 
 My visitor listened, and studied the while 
 The church uplifting its shadow-wreathed pile. 
 He seemed to be dreaming of years that are past 
 As he waited in silence; then suddenly asked, 
 "How solves he the question, profound and sub 
 lime, 
 
 The deepest and grandest inquiry of time? 
 I mean, sir," now turning in wonder to me, 
 "How God can be sovereign and man can be free; 
 The question we struggled with, year after year 
 And settled with logic as weighty as clear, 
 And found, having ended and laid down our pen, 
 That the question was there to be settled again. 
 Has this my successor, mid time s evolution, 
 Secured what is truly a valid solution?" 
 
 "He s come quite as near it, " I answered, "as man 
 
 In the dim light of earth ever needs to, or can. 
 
 A word that explains it has dropped from above, 
 
 As sweet as the music of angels; tis Love. 
 
 The love of the Father that streams to the earth 
 
 Brings sunshine and beauty and gladness to birth. 
 
 Incarnate in verdure, in blossom, in song, 
 
 60
 
 In perfume and tint that to summer belong, 
 In the sweetness of meadow, the luster of sky, 
 The glory of worlds that sweep silently by, 
 This love from the fathomless spirit divine, 
 Doth man in its tenderness ever enshrine; 
 Awakens his pulses and nurtures the flame 
 That flashes and glows in his marvelous frame; 
 Endows him with passion and eager desire, 
 With affections that thrill arid hopes that inspire; 
 Gives home for his solace, the world for his field 
 That shall discipline, skill and development yield; 
 Bestows princely honor through all of life s span, 
 Conferring the freedom that makes him a man. 
 Love maketh him free, and love sits on the throne 
 Claiming sovereignity full and forever its own. 
 So to us freedom here and dominion above 
 Are but phases of one indivisible love." 
 A shake of his head made me feel, I confess, 
 That my speaking for Joseph was not a success. 
 
 61
 
 THE PURITAN MINISTER S COURTSHIP 
 
 " Twos here I won the maid," he said, 
 
 "I well recall the hour 
 When first she on my bosom lay, 
 
 A pure and perfect flower. 
 
 Twas in the glowing summer-time 
 
 When skies were blue and gold, 
 And heavenly peace seemed everywhere 
 
 Creation to enfold. 
 
 I d just received an urgent call 
 
 To preach the gospel here, 
 But felt that first of all the flock 
 
 I must secure her ear. 
 
 The shadows pointed toward the east 
 
 Whence glories new should dawn; 
 I looked for glory to my soul 
 
 Ere daylight should be gone. 
 
 With throbbing heart I hither came, 
 
 Uncertain of my fate, 
 Eager, yet loath to pass within 
 
 Her father s wicket gate. 
 
 Just here, beside the cottage wall, 
 
 The clustering lilacs made 
 A bower of beauty and of peace 
 
 Enwrapped in deepest shade. 
 
 What was my joy to see the girl 
 
 Sit spinning here alone, 
 As dignified and calm and sweet 
 
 As queen upon her throne.
 
 Her profile only was in view, 
 
 But this was classic grace; 
 And filmy wreaths of sunny hair 
 
 Bordered the noble face. 
 
 I saw that while she twirled the wheel, 
 
 Her eyes would oft incline 
 To letters which I recognized 
 
 (O blessed fact !) as mine. 
 
 Against the background of the years 
 
 That picture still I see, 
 The maiden at her spinning-wheel, 
 
 So beautiful to me. 
 
 Her robe was homespun, white and blue, 
 
 Her folded kerchief gray, 
 Her snowy apron wrought with flowers, 
 
 The apple-blooms of May. 
 
 Her brow was decked with dainty cap, 
 A rosebud gemmed her breast; 
 
 She wore a look of thoughtfulness 
 And yet of peace and rest. 
 
 She charmed me as I stood and gazed, 
 She seemed so pure and fair; 
 
 I could have thought an angel sat 
 In her old oaken chair. 
 
 O Ruth, my Ruth, at length I said, 
 
 And hastened to her side; 
 I ve come to give you all my heart, 
 
 And pray you be my bride. 
 
 She started, and the mantling blush 
 
 Rose over cheek and brow; 
 Will you be mine? I eager said, 
 
 O tell me, tell me now. 
 
 63
 
 She sat me down beside her there 
 
 Within the lilacs shade, 
 And said, Of that of which you speak 
 
 I earnestly have prayed. 
 
 And yet I cannot clearly see 
 The way my feet should tread, 
 
 And know not if my heart be right 
 In urging me to wed. 
 
 Our God has called you to a course 
 
 Of duty grand and high, 
 A work too lofty to be shared 
 
 With one so weak as I. 
 
 I think I love the holy Lord, 
 
 And wish His will to do; 
 And so I wait the certain sign 
 
 That I should go with you. 
 
 Ruth, let us pray, I humbly said; 
 
 We fell upon our knees; 
 I heard the robin s happy song, 
 
 The whisper of the trees. 
 
 O Thou, whose mighty reign is love, 
 
 Reveal to us Thy way, 
 O take us, guide us as Thou wilt, 
 
 Unitedly we pray. 
 
 As we uprose, Ruth turned to me 
 And placed her hand in mine; 
 
 I m yours, she said, my soul receives 
 The Master s holy sign. 
 
 For, as you prayed, a glory fell 
 That filled my raptured heart, 
 
 And in it came a voice to me: 
 With him till death shall part. 
 
 64
 
 She laid her cheek upon my breast, 
 
 Her eyes agleam with bliss, 
 And then with holy tenderness 
 
 I gave the virgin kiss. 
 
 And nature seemed athrill with song, 
 
 Rose-fragrance filled the air, 
 A brighter sun was pouring down 
 
 Its glory everywhere. 
 
 The months rolled by, and when at length 
 
 I here found blest employ, 
 A bride I brought her to my home, 
 
 My youth s sweet strength and joy." 
 
 65
 
 NORWALK, 1901 
 
 Two Hundred and Fiftieth Anniversary 
 
 We ve come to a sweet and hallowed time 
 
 When the past broods o er the town 
 And wakes again the scenes and men 
 
 Of conflict and renown. 
 A dreamy light is on the bay 
 
 And its rippling waters tell 
 Of clumsy craft and homespun sail 
 
 Which once they knew so well. 
 The hills stand silent as if in thought, 
 
 In their ancient robe of green, 
 And lift their heads as if to speak 
 
 Of the things that they have seen. 
 There are murmured tales, if we understood, 
 
 In the sobbing of the rills, 
 And every vale and slope and wood 
 
 With retrospection thrills. 
 Colonial homes exult to-day 
 
 In their heritage of years, 
 And boast superior style, while each 
 
 At modern structures sneers. 
 And up in their attics, as I suspect, 
 
 While there s no one there to see, 
 All "Grandma s treasures" are prone to share 
 
 In a burst of old-time glee. 
 The great wheel says to the linen-wheel, 
 
 "Let s honor these passing days," 
 And they whirl in a jig while the snapping reel 
 
 Keeps time to their merry maze; 
 And the warming pan with its cymbal lid 
 
 Applauds as they chasse, 
 And the footstove rattles its ashes cold 
 
 In a musical sort of way. 
 And the bellows flutter the blackened herbs 
 
 That hang from the garret wall, 
 
 66
 
 And the boneset leaves and the motherwort 
 
 Into the cradle fall. 
 And the ancient churn that has rested long 
 
 Its dasher lifts once more, 
 
 While the straight-backed chairs join arms and 
 skip 
 
 O er the blackened oaken floor; 
 And the shell that used to sweep the fields 
 
 With its clear-toned call to dine, 
 Says to the brass-nailed, oxhide trunk, 
 
 "Your style s as loud as mine." 
 And the pewter platters clap their hands, 
 
 And the old blue pitcher dreams 
 Of the times gone by when its nose was whole 
 
 And it caught the cider streams; 
 And grandfather s clock that stands apart, 
 
 With its hands before its face, 
 With a desperate effort strikes the hour 
 
 With much of its former grace. 
 these are days, we may well believe, 
 
 Of honest and hearty mirth, 
 W T ith all that in far-off golden years 
 
 Can boast exalted birth. 
 
 67
 
 THE YOUNG PURITAN S WOOING 
 
 Across the road from father s house 
 
 The Matthew Marvins dwelt, 
 And Sarah was the girl for whom 
 
 A deep regard I felt. 
 And as the years rolled on and we 
 
 Together talked and played, 
 And often through the open fields 
 
 And by the water strayed, 
 That "deep regard" of mine increased 
 
 Until I came to feel 
 That if I had her faithful love 
 
 Twould all my sorrows heal. 
 I thought that with her company 
 
 My life, though filled with care, 
 Would blossom out in loveliness 
 
 And fruit immortal bear. 
 For Sarah was as sweet a girl 
 
 As ever breathed the air, 
 As graceful as a forest rose, 
 
 And just as bright and fair. 
 Her cheeks were pink as dawning day, 
 
 Her hair w r as finest gold, 
 Her eyes were blue as ocean waves, 
 
 Her charm could ne er be told. 
 One springtime, twas in 79, 
 
 If I remember right, 
 And just a day like this, when earth 
 
 And sky were wondrous bright; 
 I in the furrow left the plough, 
 
 I had no heart for work, 
 Though none had ever dared to call 
 
 Young Thomas Betts a "shirk." 
 Across the path I went in haste, 
 
 And Sarah asked, if she 
 That afternoon would take a walk 
 
 Away down by the sea. 
 
 68
 
 I told her that the samphire then 
 
 Had reached a goodly size, 
 And that with quantities thereof 
 
 Her mother we d surprise. 
 She was agreed, and so we came 
 
 And reached this very spot, 
 And of the sea-washed succulent 
 
 Gathered a generous lot. 
 And then we sat upon the point 
 
 Where we are met to-day, 
 And heard the waters lap, and saw 
 
 Them sparkle far away. 
 And after hitching all about, 
 
 And struggling with a cough, 
 And sitting close to her and then 
 
 Removing farther off, 
 At length I said, "You, Sarah, know," 
 
 And then my courage fell, 
 "You, Sarah, know how pleasant tis 
 
 To see the waters swell. 
 No, no, it isn t that I d say, 
 
 But that you know full well, 
 How pleasant tis down by the sea 
 
 A little time to dwell! 
 For shame" I cried, "You, Sarah, know, 
 
 What I can never tell, 
 But though I have a stumbling tongue, 
 
 My heart it loves you well. 
 And I have long desired to learn 
 
 If you will be my wife, 
 And bring a heavenly charm and joy 
 
 Into my lonely life. " 
 She sat in all her radiant youth 
 
 Where you are sitting now, 
 With dreamy eyes and glowing cheek 
 
 And calm and thoughtful brow; 
 And she replied, "You re dear to me, 
 
 And that you well must know, 
 
 69
 
 For the sweet secret of my heart 
 
 I m sure I could but show. 
 But is it meet that with our love 
 
 Life s fleeting years we fill? 
 Has it for us been thus decreed? 
 
 Is it the Father s will? 
 We must, in fear, our souls prepare 
 
 For pleasures that endure, 
 And make our calling, mid earth s scenes, 
 
 And our election sure. 
 I ve asked that God would guide aright 
 
 In these affairs of mine, 
 And yet, if He have heard my prayer, 
 
 He gives no certain sign. 
 
 that while here in joy we meet 
 Beside the laughing sea, 
 
 Some token might be given us 
 
 If you are meant for me : 
 Look, Thomas, see yon rock that lifts 
 
 Its head above the wave, 
 
 1 wonder if its rugged hight 
 The rising tide will lave. 
 
 Let s pray that if it be His will 
 
 That you be wholly mine, 
 That rock, ere night, shall hide itself 
 
 Beneath the crystal brine. " 
 And so we asked that He whose hand 
 
 Directs the shifting tide 
 Might thus declare if twere His will 
 
 That she should be my bride. 
 And then we watched, O slowly rose 
 
 The waters of the bay, 
 Never so slowly as upon 
 
 That far-off, fateful day! 
 We sat in silence, knowing well 
 
 How much the signal meant, 
 And all my soul in pleading prayer 
 
 To heaven for mercy went! 
 
 70
 
 Slowly, so slowly rose the tide, 
 
 Yet steadily it came, 
 While over it the western skies 
 
 Burst into gorgeous flame. 
 At last, the waters swept the rock ! 
 
 They settled o er its head! 
 They hid it neath their blessed waves! 
 
 "It is His will," she said. 
 And while the wavelets leaped and laughed 
 
 And splendor filled the skies, 
 A look of heavenly rapture stole 
 
 Into her soulful eyes. 
 "Let s praise our gracious God, " I said, 
 
 Our voices blent in one 
 As grateful psalm we sang, and gazed 
 
 Upon the setting sun. 
 "The sea is His; He made its waves; 
 
 He lifts them at His will; 
 And sea and land and storm and sun 
 
 His purposes fulfill." 
 At length we took the samphire home, 
 
 Our errand a success; 
 But no one knew what joy had come 
 
 Our inmost souls to bless. 
 In violet tints the twilight glowed, 
 
 The west was shining still, 
 And from the forest swept the note 
 
 Of happy whip-poor-will. 
 "Tis heaven begun," my Sarah cried; 
 
 "My soul exultant sings; 
 Yon sunset clouds seem seraphs bright 
 
 Afloat on snowy wings." 
 
 71
 
 THE NEW ENGLAND PIONEER 
 
 He never heard the rhythmic fire 
 Of odes and idyls that inspire 
 From Tennyson s immortal lyre. 
 
 He never trod the heathered hight 
 
 With Burns, nor caught his fancies bright, 
 
 Nor shared the "Cotter s Saturday Night." 
 
 And Walter Scott ne er charmed him so 
 With "Kenilworth" and "Ivanhoe," 
 That he forgot to plough and sow. 
 
 Mark Twain ne er moved him to a laugh, 
 Nor Dudley Warner bade him quaff 
 His humor-pathos, half and half. 
 
 America s great authors all 
 Appeared upon this earthly ball 
 Too late to answer to his call. 
 
 He never knew the struggle great 
 As presidential candidate 
 Ascends to his imperial state! 
 
 In fact as we his life recall . 
 
 So destitute as to appall, 
 
 We wonder that he lived at all ! 
 
 And yet, the vital things he saw, 
 The majesty of moral law 
 Ordained of God without a flaw; 
 
 The law of man, that subtle force 
 That binds the cultured and the coarse, 
 As sacred as its heavenly source;
 
 These he essential did esteem, 
 
 And sought to realize his dream 
 
 Of law enthroned and made supreme. 
 
 The depths of human love he knew, 
 The passion pure and sweet and true, 
 That yields its object homage due. 
 
 As lover he was all aflame, 
 
 As husband, faithful to his dame, 
 
 As father, worthy of the name. 
 
 And in his soul a faith sublime 
 Reached far beyond the bounds of time 
 And dared the throne eternal climb. 
 
 "The man with the hoe," but not "a clod," 
 His face he lifted from the sod, 
 A lover and a child of God! 
 
 He worshiped as he trod the strand 
 Or turned the furrows of his land 
 Or sowed the seed with liberal hand. 
 
 The daisies still with dewdrops wet, 
 The lilies mid the grasses set, 
 The roses in the wild wood met; 
 
 The iris by the river s brink, 
 The flute-notes of the bobolink, 
 The shaded brooklet s pensive clink; 
 
 The daybreak rose, the sunset gold, 
 The spheres along the midnight rolled, 
 Of an almighty Sovereign told. 
 
 Of Him he ever stood in awe; 
 His radiant righteousness he saw 
 And feared the thunders of His law. 
 
 73
 
 And, far above this earthly sod, 
 
 Yet brightening all the paths he trod, 
 
 Behold, the kingdom of His God! 
 
 Upon these shores he saw it rise, 
 Decked with the glory of the skies, 
 And voiced with notes of Paradise. 
 
 Perhaps it was presumptuous sin 
 To think that he might enter in 
 To that which the elect should win. 
 
 And yet he prayed and struggled on, 
 The flesh denied, and hoped anon 
 That he celestial robes might don. 
 
 Meanwhile the humble pioneer 
 The firm foundations settled here 
 On which we ve rested many a year. 
 
 Ever to his convictions true, 
 He builded better than he knew 
 The while the busy decades flew. 
 
 And then he passed, his labor done, 
 And at the setting of the sun 
 Found God s eternal day begun! 
 
 74
 
 A PURITAN WEDDING 
 
 Davenport Bishop, Sept. 6, 1722 
 
 Where now stands a noble mansion, 
 
 Crowned with stately, windowed tower, 
 
 I upon a humble cabin 
 
 Labored many a weary hour. 
 
 And when it was wholly finished, 
 And the latchstring hanging out, 
 
 And, beneath, the valleys blooming 
 And the hills all green about; 
 
 In the colony there was not, 
 Wheresoever one might roam, 
 
 By the sea or in the inland, 
 Any cosier, prettier home. 
 
 But, as yet, the house was empty, 
 Which of course no house should be, 
 
 And a maiden down in Stamford 
 Had engaged to marry me. 
 
 So I thought that as the fullness 
 Of the times had surely come, 
 
 And the nest was waiting for her, 
 I would bring my Sarah home. 
 
 Paradise just lent its beauty 
 
 To the day that made us one, 
 Verdant earth and placid waters 
 
 Smiled beneath the cloudless sun. 
 
 Shall I tell you, curious ladies, 
 
 How my bonny bride was dressed? 
 
 Pearly robe of sUk enwrapped her, 
 And a kerchief crossed her breast; 
 
 75
 
 And she wore a snowy apron, 
 Lawn her needle had enriched 
 
 With a choice and flowery pattern 
 All about its border stitched. 
 
 And I wore a garb of homespun, 
 Fruit of precious mother s toil; 
 
 Dearer far to me than velvet 
 Bought for gold on foreign soil. 
 
 All the youths and maidens gathered, 
 With their gifts and with their glee; 
 
 And each man among them told me 
 That he deeply envied me! 
 
 Solemn were the words and tender 
 That my father spoke that day, 
 
 As our hands were joined together 
 And our lives were linked for aye. 
 
 Then when eastward fell the shadow 
 Of the maple on the moor, 
 
 Friends we bade farewell, and started 
 On our homeward bridal tour. 
 
 Twas a stalwart steed that bore us, 
 Light to him the double load; 
 
 Soon the village fled behind us, 
 And right on, right up we rode. 
 
 It was in the sweet September, 
 Autumn s banners just unfurled; 
 
 Harvest odors breathed around us, 
 Peace was over all the world. 
 
 Birds from out the forest fluttered, 
 Sang their nuptial song and fled; 
 
 And the goldenrod and aster 
 
 All our path with beauty spread. 
 
 76
 
 Twas a dream most sweet and holy, 
 Twas a poem rich and rare, 
 
 Twas an hour of Eden rapture, 
 Only we and God were there ! 
 
 She had heard from early childhood 
 Cruel tales of Indian greed, 
 
 And whene er the forest deepened 
 She would bid me haste our speed. 
 
 And I felt the arms that wreathed me, 
 Press me with a firmer hold; 
 
 While the fluttering heart against me 
 Of her anxious spirit told. 
 
 And without a thought of peril, 
 Mourned I that along our way, 
 
 More of elm and birch and hemlock 
 Had not been allowed to stay. 
 
 On we came, the hills surmounting, 
 Till at just the set of sun, 
 
 At our cottage we alighted 
 
 And our bridal tour was done. 
 
 And the west, with radiance sheeted, 
 Touched our humble roof to gold; 
 
 And the glory crossed the threshold 
 And through all the cottage rolled. 
 
 And I said, with head uncovered, 
 While we knelt upon the sward, 
 
 "It s the blessing come before us; 
 It s the welcome of the Lord! 
 
 This is Canaan, land of promise, 
 Land of honey, milk and wine! 
 
 Heaven s smile here rests upon us 
 And shall rest on thine and mine. " 
 
 77
 
 And when heavenly constellations 
 Beamed along the heavenly dome, 
 
 There was light within our dwelling, 
 Fire-light, love-light, light of home. 
 
 78
 
 THE ORDINATION BALL 
 
 At Wolcott, in 1811 
 
 Are you filled with consternation 
 At the curious combination 
 Of a ball with ordination, 
 Of an Ordination Ball? 
 
 But why is it amazing? 
 
 Don t you know the Lord s own praising, 
 
 To use the Scripture phrasing, 
 
 Is "with timbrel and with dance?" 
 
 You surely must recall 
 Miriam s bit of sacred ball 
 With her dancing maidens all, 
 On the Red Sea s sandy shore. 
 
 And how on one occasion 
 David needed no persuasion, 
 But disdaining all evasion, 
 
 Bravely danced before the Lord. 
 
 And how on his returning 
 From a slaughter and a burning, 
 All the women there sojourning 
 Danced attendance on the chief. 
 
 And how the prodigal repenting 
 Found his father s house relenting 
 And the household joy fermenting 
 In the music and the dance. 
 
 In profane and sacred story, 
 After conflict crowned with glory, 
 Both the youthful and the hoary 
 Into the dance have swung. 
 
 79
 
 And why when candidating 
 Has been followed by a mating, 
 With all the people stating, 
 "We ve found the man at last; 
 
 In him the Lord has spoken, 
 He s heaven s special token, 
 The mould is surely broken, 
 None like him will appear;" 
 
 Why then should not pure gladness 
 Quickly scatter gloom and sadness, 
 And, avoiding moral madness, 
 The parish leap for joy? 
 
 Thus our dear saints were thinking, 
 And so with naught of blinking, 
 Or cowardice or shrinking, 
 
 They planned the festive hour. 
 
 An excellent committee 
 Of piety and pity, 
 Of serious and of witty, 
 Arranged the whole affair. 
 
 Thus ran the invitation: 
 "After the ordination, 
 Those prone to contemplation 
 Of the supreme event, 
 
 And proper celebration 
 Of this gracious dispensation 
 In its manifold relation 
 To Zion s welfare here; 
 
 Will meet at candle-lighting 
 For a little social biting 
 And a dance not uninviting, 
 At Pitman Stowe s hotel." 
 
 80
 
 The summons widely scattered 
 Its glad recipients flattered, 
 And objections all were shattered 
 By the language it contained. 
 
 All the ministers there staying 
 Who had come to do the praying, 
 Were asked to share the playing 
 Of the glad and grateful flock. 
 
 And the most of them consented 
 And remained there quite contented 
 And their satisfaction vented 
 At the happy plan proposed. 
 
 But the brother just ordained 
 Emphatically refrained 
 And quietly remained 
 
 With his newly wedded spouse. 
 
 Some thought it his mistake 
 The harmony to break, 
 And such a chance forsake 
 To know his chosen charge. 
 
 But he was conscientious 
 And inclined to be contentious, 
 And some thought quite pretentious 
 For a stranger to the place. 
 
 He said he looked on dancing 
 As a sort of pagan prancing, 
 Well fitted for romancing, 
 But not for growth in grace. 
 
 He preferred a celebration 
 Of his inauguration 
 To the holiest vocation 
 Of quite another sort. 
 
 81
 
 However, many a year had flown 
 Since such occasion they had known; 
 A ball was "needed to give tone" 
 To the ordination day. 
 
 And from the valley and the hill, 
 Was one expression uttered still, 
 "We ll have the dance for good or ill, 
 The ordination ball. "
 
 JONATHAN AND HANNAH SCOTT 
 
 Watertown, June 3, 1908 
 
 Gather we beside the dead, 
 
 Rear the granite o er their head, 
 
 Twine our wreaths and strew our flowers, 
 
 With their story gild the hours, 
 
 Crown each homely, worthy name 
 
 With the benizon of fame, 
 
 Give the honor richly due 
 
 To their heroism true. 
 
 Sweetly sleep they here below 
 
 While the decades come and go, 
 
 Whether on their couch repose 
 
 Driven snow or blushing rose, 
 
 Whether summer zephyr sigh 
 
 Or the wintry storm sweep by. 
 
 Not again will fear or dread 
 
 Throw its shadow o er their bed; 
 
 Never more will savage yell 
 
 Pierce the silence where they dwell, 
 
 Nor the burst of midnight flame 
 
 Deeds of violence proclaim. 
 
 While the centuries roll, they rest, 
 
 Peace the mantle of their breast; 
 
 And upon their honored head 
 
 Reverence shall its homage shed 
 
 And affection bless the dead. 
 
 Since the worthy pioneer 
 
 Found a lowly refuge here, 
 
 What a change the world has known, 
 
 How has human knowledge grown! 
 
 Nature treasures vast revealed 
 
 That for ages were concealed; 
 
 Art attempted with success 
 
 Schemes whose aim these ne er could guess; 
 
 Science mastered, as of course, 
 
 83
 
 Many a gleaming, potent force; 
 Visions rare have been made clear, 
 Strains unheard addressed the ear. 
 If these sleepers could to-day 
 Issue from their house of clay, 
 And amid the living stand 
 Gazing on this sunny land, 
 Clad in robes that once they wore, 
 Seeming as they seemed of yore; 
 From the eighteenth century stepped, 
 All its ways peculiar kept; 
 Strange the appearance to our eyes, 
 Overwhelming their surprise. 
 
 Let us think of these our friends 
 As from ashes each ascends, 
 Summoned this memorial day 
 An important part to play. 
 Jonathan, in quaint attire 
 Patterned from his Pilgrim sire; 
 Waistcoat wrought of homespun gross, 
 Fashioned long and buttoned close; 
 Nether garments to the knee 
 Tied with ribbons gracefully; 
 Woolen hose by firelight knit, 
 Buckled shoes that scarcely fit; 
 Collar square and falling down 
 O er the shoulders of his gown; 
 Hat a sugarloaf in black; 
 Straggling locks adown the back; 
 Face that fiercest storms have swept, 
 Which has yet its sunshine kept; 
 Towering form of martial size; 
 Courage in his deep-set eyes; 
 Bearing as becomes a man 
 Fashioned on such noble plan; 
 View him thus, as if he stood 
 In our active brotherhood, 
 Jonathan, the brave, the good. 
 
 84
 
 And beside him, Hannah Scott, 
 Who has shared his earthly lot, 
 Shows the furrows on her brow 
 Turned by trouble s cruel plough; 
 And upon her faded cheek 
 Lines that of her weeping speak. 
 Yet through all most clearly shine 
 Proofs of peace and patience fine. 
 She, like Hannah famed of old, 
 Shows devotion s purest gold 
 And a force of faith untold. 
 Note the garb that wraps her form, 
 Linsey-woolsey, soft and warm; 
 Snowy kerchief to the waist 
 With its foldings interlaced; 
 And upon her head a hood, 
 Homespun linen, firm and good. 
 Should the "Merry Widow" hat 
 Smile contemptuously at that, 
 And its flaunting feathers sneer 
 At such prim and modest gear; 
 Let it know that mid her ills 
 Hannah left intrusive quills 
 To the hostile Indian chief 
 Who so rudely planned her grief. 
 Thus they stand before us here; 
 Quaint and curious they appear, 
 Relics of the centuries gone 
 In the twentieth century s dawn. 
 And we hail them with our praise, 
 For, amid the earlier days 
 They were of the valiant host 
 Standing firmly at their post, 
 Who this goodly land prepared 
 For the life they never shared, 
 For the scenes that us engage 
 In this wondrous later age. 
 
 85
 
 Jonathan and Hannah Scott, 
 
 You shall never be forgot 
 
 While these wide-spread meadows glow 
 
 With the daisies or the snow; 
 
 While the river hastes to hide 
 
 In the salt sea s silvery tide; 
 
 While the hills keep watch and ward 
 
 O er the names we here record; 
 
 While your sons and daughters dwell 
 
 In the land you loved so well, 
 
 And amid life s rush and roar 
 
 Show the character you bore. 
 
 For your blended strength and grace 
 
 Surely have impressed your race; 
 
 And their generations show 
 
 Virtues that to you they owe. 
 
 86
 
 EASTER 
 
 O chiming bells, ring on, ring on, 
 O er all the land your rapture fling, 
 
 Ye celebrate the Victory 
 Of Christ, the King. 
 
 Break into flower, O lily buds, 
 Your choicest incense scatter far, 
 
 With matchless sweetness greet our Christ, 
 The Morning Star. 
 
 Thrust from the earth your fairy bloom, 
 O dainty crocus, frail and sweet, 
 
 And all your beauty spread before 
 The Conqueror s feet. 
 
 Let all your wilderness of tubes, 
 O organ, gush with noblest strains, 
 
 In praise of Him, the Crucified, 
 Who lives and reigns. 
 
 On far off shores, O restless sea, 
 On coral reef, or marble strand, 
 
 Rehearse in thunder tones to-day 
 The story grand. 
 
 Wake human hearts, your fears dispel, 
 Be all your sorrows chased away, 
 
 Rejoice, exult in Christ your Lord, 
 This glorious day. 
 
 Dear saints who ve left our flinty ways 
 And found amid immortal bowers 
 
 The Christ we love, we envy you, 
 These Easter hours. 
 
 87
 
 give to Him to-day the love 
 Our each adoring spirit sends, 
 
 And lilies and forget-me-nots, 
 "From earthly friends." 
 
 THE WELCOME 
 
 To the new pastor 
 
 We gladly greet thy coming, 
 
 O servant of the Lord, 
 And yield thee warmest welcome 
 
 With one accord. 
 
 Thou comest while the springtime 
 Is bringing golden hours, 
 
 Enwreathing earth with sunshine 
 And with flowers. 
 
 And thee we hail as sent us, 
 
 A gift of love divine, 
 Who blossoms plucked from heaven 
 
 For us wilt twine. 
 
 Come to us in the spirit 
 Of Him whom we adore, 
 
 And He and we will bless thee 
 Forevermore. 
 
 Welcome, thrice welcome, brother, 
 Our pastor, helper, friend, 
 
 Amid life s ceaseless struggle 
 Thine aid to lend. 
 
 88
 
 HOME AGAIN 
 
 Grand are the mountains 
 Towering in their beauty; 
 
 Grander still are home 
 And fellowship and duty. 
 
 Musical the billows 
 
 O er the pebbles dashing; 
 
 Sweeter far the organ, 
 
 Whispering, chiming, crashing. 
 
 Fair are the landscapes, 
 
 Distant views and near ones! 
 
 Fairer much the faces 
 Of our faithful dear ones. 
 
 Nature ever charms us 
 With its wood and river; 
 
 But the temple shows us 
 God, the glorious giver. 
 
 Weeks of rest are grateful, 
 But we re ever yearning 
 
 For the day that brings us 
 To the glad returning. 
 
 89
 
 THE FUTURE 
 
 We wonder what the future holds 
 
 For thee and me; 
 Its shade or sun, its bloom or blast, 
 
 We may not see. 
 
 Yet, in the future stands our God, 
 
 The surest friend, 
 To whose benignant sovereignty 
 
 All forces bend. 
 
 And so the future for us holds 
 
 A blessing true; 
 Whether enwrapped in calm or storm, 
 
 In dust or dew. 
 
 In it may wait the sweetest flower 
 
 Or sharpest rod; 
 Yet all its weeks and days and hours 
 
 Are full of God. 
 
 THE NEW STAR, 1907 
 
 A new star breaks upon our western world, 
 
 Its full-orbed beauty challenging our praise, 
 
 Blending its light with that of gems that shine 
 Through centuries with calm, unclouded rays. 
 
 Stars of the north and south and ancient east 
 Flash it a welcome with their radiance pure, 
 
 Bidding it gleam with ever richer tints 
 
 While the great constellation shall endure. 
 
 How splendid grows the coronet she wears, 
 Our nation, throned betwixt the silver seas! 
 
 How rich her robes, the crimson and the snow, 
 With all the starry light engilding these ! 
 90
 
 SONNETS
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Amid the early, troublous days he towers, 
 The man of character and worth sublime, 
 Perchance the most illustrious of time, 
 
 The marvel whom we proudly claim as ours. 
 
 Like an abutment stands he, huge and square, 
 From which the span of liberty should spring, 
 The great republic s lofty arches swing, 
 
 The destiny of countless hosts to bear. 
 
 O Washington, across the shining years 
 
 Made glorious by thy regal manhood s might, 
 We humbly hail thee father of our land. 
 
 First in the great succession of our peers, 
 
 Our sovereign of thine own unquestioned right, 
 Primal American, serene and grand. 
 
 LINCOLN 
 
 From lowly cabin to the halls of state, 
 From humble toil a kingly task to share, 
 A nation s deadly griefs and fears to bear 
 
 And rescue freedom from its threatened fate; 
 
 Thus was he called, the soul inviolate, 
 
 Trained in the cruel school of want and care 
 But eager from his youth to do, to dare, 
 
 The heroes of mankind to imitate. 
 
 O chieftain, sent to break the captive s chains, 
 
 From tarnished flag to wipe the stain away 
 
 And make the great republic free indeed; 
 
 Though decades fly, our love for thee remains, 
 Increasing as, each anniversary day, 
 
 With eyes bedewed the high romance we read.
 
 WHITTIER 
 
 He walked before us in the simple guise 
 Of manly purity and modest worth, 
 Proud of New England and his lowly birth, 
 His soul as kind and generous as wise. 
 Compassion flamed within his deep-set eyes, 
 His pity wept o er all the sad of earth, 
 The sighs and groans of men he changed to mirth, 
 He bade the slave be free, the fallen rise. 
 The air is sweeter for his rippling songs, 
 The world is richer for his wealth of love, 
 His childlike faith has brought the Father 
 
 near. 
 
 Eternal goodness righting human wrongs, 
 By him revealed upon the throne above, 
 
 From countless lives has banished doubt and 
 fear. 
 
 CYRUS W. FIELD 
 
 Gently and sadly lay him down to rest 
 Within the circlet of the glorious hills 
 Whose wooded slopes and clear and tuneful 
 
 rills 
 
 To him were always loveliest and best. 
 Flowers be his pillow, and upon his breast 
 
 Drop fadeless palms. Let wild birds chant 
 
 their trills 
 
 Above his couch, while dreamy sunlight fills 
 The beauteous scene by holiest memories blessed. 
 Here sleeps the man whose name the world reveres, 
 The genius who with thrilling nerves of steel 
 Has firmly linked and wedded shore to shore; 
 The patient vanquisher of foes and fears, 
 Who space compelled to own itself unreal, 
 And made mankind a unit evermore. 
 
 94
 
 FANNY J. CROSBY 
 
 O for a touch, beloved, of the power 
 
 That ever shapes thy notes to music rare, 
 That I might fittingly the joy declare 
 
 With which I hail again thy natal hour! 
 
 Thy life unfolds like some symmetric flower, 
 Calling the world new loveliness to share, 
 With added radiance tinting all the air, 
 
 And yielding human hearts increasing dower. 
 
 Accept the gratulations of a friend 
 
 Who holds thy friendship as a jewel fine 
 Untarnished by the touch of time and tears. 
 
 Long mays! thou linger, sweetest truths to blend 
 In measures swelling to the throne divine, 
 Thus gladdening for us all the hurrying years. 
 
 O man of sturdy frame and sturdier soul, 
 Piercing as with an eagle s pure-eyed gaze 
 The thoughts of God; interpreting His ways 
 
 To human comprehension, till the whole 
 
 Seemed radiant as the stars that wreathe the pole; 
 Proclaiming truths that gild the gloomiest days 
 And guide through earth s entangling, wildering 
 maze 
 
 To human life s supreme and blissful goal; 
 
 Not for thy giant intellect alone 
 
 Wilt thou be honored through the coming time, 
 But for thy heart of sweetest, tenderest grace. 
 
 The woes of others thou didst count thine own, 
 And with thy love beget a hope sublime 
 In countless stricken spirits of our race. 
 
 95
 
 THEODORE I. DRIGGS 
 
 He lived among us in the winning guise 
 
 Of manhood pure and genial, strong and sweet, 
 Treading the worthy path with eager feet, 
 
 The glow of kindness in his deep-set eyes; 
 
 Determination, calm and cool and wise 
 Finding on lip and brow expression meet, 
 His soul with pulsing harmonies abeat, 
 
 His course accordant with the rhythmic skies. 
 
 The city yields him gratitude and praise, 
 He served it well in many a place of trust, 
 The impress of his hand twill ever bear. 
 
 A shadow falls along its crowded ways 
 
 As sinks his noble, honored head to dust; 
 Tears for the dead! For stricken hearts 
 a prayer! 
 
 MRS. MARY L. MITCHELL 
 
 Another year its light and shade has thrown 
 Along the pathway thou, dear friend, hast trod, 
 And in the gloom and in the brightness, God 
 
 To thee has tender care and favor shown; 
 
 And daily thou to us hast dearer grown, 
 Thine autumn, as with radiant goldenrod 
 And purple asters that enrich the sod, 
 
 So much of rarest loveliness has known. 
 
 We hail the happy day that gave thee birth, 
 And greet thee lovingly, and bid thee stay 
 For many a year to bless us with thy love. 
 
 All benedictions crowd thy life on earth, 
 
 Till those who from thine arms have flown away 
 Shall call thee to the sweeter life above. 
 
 96
 
 GOV. R. S. WOODRUFF 
 
 A picture came to me the other day, 
 
 The picture of a loved and honored friend 
 Whose kindly thought and warm affection blend 
 To bless me while the decades roll away. 
 I gaze upon the manly face and note 
 
 The rounded cheek, the forehead broad and 
 
 high, 
 
 The genial lips, the clear, straight-forward eye, 
 In which the soul s high purpose seems afloat. 
 And I esteem the picture as a prize 
 
 That I have won, I know not when nor how, 
 But which I ll treasure while my powers 
 
 endure. 
 And to me it will ever say, "How wise 
 
 The business man who keeps the Christian s 
 
 vow, 
 The patriot whose hands are ever pure. " 
 
 MRS. MARY E. FOSTER 
 
 Clifton Springs Sanitarium 
 
 The years press on and like a silvery tide 
 Are swiftly bearing us to scenes unknown, 
 To realms illumined by the radiant throne 
 
 From which He rules who lived and loved and died. 
 
 Another year, dear lady, far and wide 
 
 The influence of thy gracious soul has flown, 
 And many a spirit thou hast made thine own 
 
 Through gifts of truth and kindness that abide. 
 
 Accept congratulations that a life 
 
 So rich in benefaction has been thine 
 
 And still is thine wherewith to bless the world. 
 
 Long may it linger, void of pain and strife, 
 
 In more than worth ancestral beam and shine 
 Till o er thee all heaven s glories are unfurled. 
 97
 
 MRS. F. J. KINGSBURY 
 
 How sweet to pass from life to happier life, 
 
 From earth s bright dream to heaven s sub 
 stantial joy 
 
 Without a pang the spirit to annoy, 
 Without a moment s agony or strife; 
 How sweet to leave a memory so fine, 
 
 Inwrought with all that s beautiful and dear, 
 Echoing forever words that lift and cheer, 
 Lustrous with graces that will ever shine. 
 Thou hast not said "good bye," there was no need, 
 The bond of fellowship unbroken still 
 
 Unites the happy past with future bliss. 
 The morning broke, the promise of thy creed, 
 "Life everlasting" grandly to fulfill, 
 
 Exchanging heaven s all-glorious home for 
 this! 
 
 CLARENCE 
 
 Greetings to thee, my boy, this lovely morn! 
 The skies are sapphire and the trees are gold, 
 The hills and meadows show a grace untold, 
 
 And yet my heart is mournful and forlorn. 
 
 So long it is since thou, our dear first-born, 
 Fair with thy mother s eyes and dainty mould, 
 Yet in thy vigor manly, firm and bold, 
 
 With us laughed earthly toil and care to scorn. 
 
 Be certain, darling, that our love remains 
 Through all the busy, separating years, 
 
 In which thy merry voice has silent been. 
 
 We claim thee still, and memory retains 
 Thy sprightly image, and our spirit hears 
 
 The accents that would ever charm and win. 
 
 98
 
 DR. JOSEPH ANDERSON, 1903 
 
 And so another year has wreathed thy brow, 
 
 Brother beloved, with its flower and thorn; 
 
 Paving thy way with glow of lustrous morn 
 Or bidding thee among the shadows bow. 
 Seems far the coast whence first thine untried 
 prow 
 
 Essayed the sea where tempests fierce are born? 
 
 Life s sea, where oft sweet rainbow tints adorn 
 The waves the jewel-dropping skies endow? 
 But think of countless storms forever past; 
 
 Of darkness that will not again enshroud, 
 
 Of surges that will never toss thee more; 
 And look beyond! The splendor deepens fast, 
 
 The horizon lifts its arch without a cloud, 
 The Master waits thee on the farther shore. 
 
 THE SAME, 1906 
 
 December s gloomy features frown again 
 Upon the earth adream of sunnier days, 
 And winter with its marbles paves our ways 
 And fills with Parian statues vale and glen. 
 But, mid the chill and gloom there s brightness 
 
 when 
 
 The heart fraternal eager tribute pays 
 To one that s long received its love and praise, 
 Still strong and active in the world of men. 
 Can it be true, my friend, that seventy years 
 Have heaped their blessing on thine honored 
 
 head, 
 
 Twining for thee the sunlight and the shade? 
 Once that was "age, " yet now it but appears 
 As rich and crowning favor on thee shed, 
 Heaven s special privilege to thee conveyed. 
 
 99
 
 AN ACROSTIC 
 
 Joy waits for thee to-day, beloved friend! 
 On every side the earth in festal white 
 Seems with the azure heavens to unite 
 Exultant greetings, while glad spirits blend 
 Persistent gratulations that extend 
 Heartfelt, affectionate good wishes, bright 
 And warm and true and eager, as of right, 
 Nor lacking prayer that God His blessing send. 
 Dear art thou to a circle large and fine, 
 Endeared more fully as time glides along, 
 Ripening thy powers toward manhood s highest 
 
 goal. 
 
 Still love and lead us; teach us how to shine 
 On every hight of duty, till heaven s song 
 Near rendered, flood with bliss thy crowned soul. 
 
 REV. EDWIN P. PARKER, D. D. 
 
 O man of God, the swiftly gliding years 
 Have richly opened to thy raptured gaze 
 The golden meaning of His works and ways, 
 
 And shown heaven s remedy for human fears. 
 
 What privilege to dry the mourner s tears, 
 To guide from sin s bewildering, cruel maze, 
 The downcast face, the fallen soul to raise, 
 
 And point where everlasting hope appears. 
 
 We thank thee for the work so nobly done, 
 An inspiration to thy brethren all, 
 Bidding us faithfully to follow on. 
 
 The love and praise of thousands thou hast won ; 
 And when for thee the Master late shall call, 
 The radiant robes of victory thou shalt don. 
 
 100
 
 REV. E. G. BECKWITH, D. D. 
 
 M arch 3, 1909. 
 
 O watcher by Pacific s sunny strand, 
 Sweeping the horizon with expectant eye 
 If thou the shadowy argosy shouldst spy 
 Sent forth to bring thee to the heavenly land; 
 At last thy waiting ends, for, swift and grand, 
 The bark celestial plows the waters nigh, 
 And while thy loved ones wave their sad "good 
 
 bye," 
 
 Thou sailest forth at the divine command. 
 A thousand grateful spirits follow thee 
 
 With kindly thought for all that thou hast done, 
 With grief that they no more shall greet thee 
 
 here; 
 Assured that in God s blest eternity 
 
 A glorious post of honor thou hast won, 
 O faithful pastor, heaven-illumined seer. 
 
 GOV. GEORGE L. LILLEY 
 
 Amid a wealth of bloom he calmly sleeps, 
 The peace of God upon his marble brow, 
 No shaft of enmity assailing now, 
 
 As by his bier a stricken people weeps. 
 
 Beside him dirge pathetic swells and sweeps, 
 And men of lofty station humbly bow 
 And all his manly might and charm avow, 
 
 While Honor there its watch majestic keeps. 
 
 From lowly to exalted state he rose, 
 
 Climbing the steep by force of manly will 
 And brave, untiring energy alone. 
 
 Through strenuous life he early found repose. 
 His rare career aspiring youth will thrill, 
 Connecticut will proudly boast her own. 
 
 101
 
 HENRY L. WADE 
 
 He walked among us in a modest guise, 
 Claiming no honor, seeking for no power, 
 Content to meet the duty of the hour 
 
 Nor struggle make for any earthly prize. 
 
 Yet was he strong, far-seeing, keen and wise, 
 Of energy and enterprise the flower, 
 In time of storm and doubt a granite tower, 
 
 Mighty to plan, accomplish and advise. 
 
 Great hearted was he, sympathy and love 
 
 His life adorning with their wondrous charm, 
 And none that needed aid were turned away. 
 
 A gentleness like that which reigns above 
 All rancor or indifference would disarm 
 
 And win him friendship that should last for 
 aye. 
 
 THOMAS EDWARD MURPHY 
 
 Good by, beloved! Countless hearts repeat 
 The tearful word, and with it breathe the prayer 
 That God may hold thee in His tender care 
 And into pleasant paths may guide thy feet; 
 That round thee all things bright and pure and 
 
 sweet 
 
 May bud and blossom, while the air 
 With love s own blessed sunshine warm and 
 
 fair 
 
 Shall fold thy life in radiance complete. 
 In hours of darkness we shall oft recall 
 
 The faith and hope that saw the heavens aglow 
 
 And through thine eyes behold a clearer day. 
 
 Thrust by the ruthless tempter to the wall, 
 
 The weapons thou hast furnished we shall show 
 
 And pass unscathed along the upward way. 
 
 102
 
 REV. A. MOSS MERWIN 
 
 O genial friend, O brother wise and true, 
 Man of the sunny face and sunnier heart, 
 A multitude it deeply grieves to part 
 
 With one so winning and so dear as you. 
 
 Your sweet companionship was as the dew 
 
 To thirsty flowers; your life the lustrous chart 
 That showed the shining way from lowly start 
 
 To its completion in the heavenly blue. 
 
 We think of you amid celestial souls 
 Pointing them ever to some loftier hight 
 And calling to some undiscovered joy; 
 
 And thus, while time unmeasured softly rolls, 
 W ith good accomplished marking all its flight, 
 Conferring blessedness without alloy. 
 
 REV. H. DEWITT WILLIAMS 
 
 Beloved brother, on thy pulseless breast 
 
 Affection s rarest offering we lay, 
 
 Such buds as open toward the cloudless day, 
 Such laurels as befit the victor blest. 
 We hail thee truest, kindest, worthiest, best; 
 
 And as the saddened years shall roll away, 
 
 With us thy precious memory will stay, 
 Calling to faithful toil, to heavenly rest. 
 Thou wast an Israelite devoid of guile, 
 
 Thy faithfulness to duty knew no bound, 
 
 O tireless laborer for man and God. 
 How we shall miss thy genial word and smile, 
 
 Thy simple utterance of truth profound; 
 
 Heaven help us meekly bear the heavy rod. 
 
 103
 
 THE SENIOR TO THE JUNIOR 
 
 Why hast thou fallen asleep, O brother dear, 
 Long ere the noontide has to twilight grown, 
 Or thou the weariness of age hast known, 
 When life and love and duty claimed thee here? 
 Why couldst thou not have tarried many a year, 
 To note the harvest thou thyself hast sown, 
 And gather richest fruitage all thine own, 
 And labor till the evening star appear? 
 I never dreamed that thou wouldst first ascend 
 The hills of God and meet our dear ones there, 
 And raptured gaze upon the Master s face. 
 Twas mine, I thought, the heavenward way to 
 
 wend, 
 
 And welcome thee at length, the bliss to share, 
 And show thee all the splendors of the place. 
 
 CONTINUED 
 
 Freely we talked of many, many things, 
 
 The ways of man with God, of God with man, 
 Discussed the marvels of the eternal plan 
 Through which the Lord our race to glory brings; 
 Spoke often of the light that ceaseless springs 
 Where saints redeemed God s mysteries may 
 
 scan, 
 
 And love s pure flame to fuller radiance fan, 
 WTiile angel choir the hallelujah sings. 
 I was the senior then, but thou art now, 
 For in thy knowledge thou dost far exceed 
 
 Thy lonely brother left upon the earth. 
 The seal of God is on thy saintly brow, 
 And with the vision glorious thou indeed 
 
 Dost know salvation s boundless, priceless 
 worth. 
 
 104
 
 HE AND I 
 
 "He must increase," the man of brain and brawn 
 On whom still rests the balmy dew of youth, 
 The stalwart champion of right and truth, 
 His eyes yet radiant with the growing dawn. 
 "I must decrease," the midday fervor gone, 
 The slanting sunbeams lengthening fast for 
 sooth, 
 
 Life s glow and glamour chastened into ruth, 
 
 Ambition s stimulating cup withdrawn. 
 
 Hope lays her verdant wreath upon his brow, 
 
 Entwined with lustrous laurels bravely won; 
 
 Mine memory crowns with sweet but fading 
 
 flowers; 
 
 Yet, both before the Sovereign meekly bow, 
 And at the dawn or at the set of sun 
 
 Accept what Love appoints for us and ours. 
 
 REV. RICHARD W. MICOU 
 
 Thou wilt be sorely missed, O man of God, 
 From all the city that has loved thee well; 
 From blighted homes where pain land > sorrow 
 
 dwell 
 
 And spirits faint beneath the chastening rod; 
 From flinty paths by want and misery trod, 
 From death s dark vale where thou didst 
 
 sweetly tell 
 
 The hopes that from the lips of Jesus fell 
 To cheer the mortal sinking to the sod. 
 And from the sacred courts where thou hast 
 
 wrought 
 So faithfully through all the busy years 
 
 And won so many to the blessed Christ 
 And all the gladness of His service taught, 
 There thou lt be missed and mourned, and 
 
 many tears 
 
 Will seal the memory of thy work unpriced. 
 105
 
 FREDERICK J. KINGSBURY, LL.D. 
 
 O man of noble gifts and culture rare, 
 Of spirit genial as the sunny May, 
 We miss and mourn thee as we meet to-day 
 And fail thy gracious fellowship to share. 
 How can we evermore thy wisdom spare, 
 
 Thy words illumined, whether grave or gay, 
 Thy counsels never leading us astray, 
 Thy vision high and broad beyond compare? 
 Yet, thou life s trial and burden long hast borne, 
 Hast served with faithfulness this wondrous age, 
 Hast ripened neath these storm-swept skies 
 
 of earth. 
 
 For thee we re glad that thou hast ceased to mourn 
 Hast onward passed to life s exalted stage, 
 And mid God s crowned ones hast found thy 
 birth. 
 
 CONTINUED 
 
 Remembering thee we heavenward gaze to-day 
 And wave our tender, tearful, sad adieu, 
 And through faith s crystal lenses thee we view 
 
 In toil congenial now absorbed for aye. 
 
 The fields of thought spread forth in bright array, 
 Unbounded realms above our clouded blue, 
 Untrodden vistas of the good and true. 
 
 How these must tempt thy glowing soul to stay. 
 
 And yet we think of thee as most of all 
 
 Exultant in that thou hast found once more 
 The loved ones who anticipated thee; 
 
 Who flew to meet thee at thy yearning call, 
 And bade thee welcome to the shining shore 
 That lies beyond death s sullen, mist- veiled 
 sea. 
 
 106
 
 GEORGE N. ELLS 
 
 Through tear-moist eyes I gaze upon the flowers 
 So sweet and beautiful, and think of him, 
 Your loved and lost one, who beyond the rim 
 
 Of mortal life has found immortal bowers; 
 
 And much I wonder if these sacred hours 
 
 That mark his birthday, to their golden brim 
 Are filled with special joys that never dim, 
 
 And wreathed with rapture by celestial Powers. 
 
 I thank you, friends, and deem it honor great 
 Thus to be linked in thought with him you 
 
 loved, 
 Who with us lately trod these earthly ways. 
 
 May sweetness from beyond the pearly gate 
 To-day a message bring you from above, 
 
 Waking your gratitude and love and praise. 
 
 REV. M. S. DUDLEY 
 
 Nantucket 
 
 friend and brother of the former days 
 When life with us was in its crimson dawn, 
 Nor aught of all its bloom and freshness gone, 
 
 But every moment winged with joy and praise; 
 
 Tis sweet for me again to find our ways 
 
 For these brief, golden hours together drawn, 
 While, as when thrilled with lusty brain and 
 brawn, 
 
 In company we thread life s wondrous maze. 
 
 1 shall remember from the press of toil, 
 
 The beauteous island where thy lot is cast, 
 
 The all-embracing, sapphire, glorious sea, 
 The ancient homes, the mill, the sanded soil, 
 The quaint associations of the past, 
 
 And, most of all, I shall remember thee. 
 
 107
 
 MR. AND MBS. J. H. BAIRD 
 
 So fifty happy years have flitted past 
 
 Since that bright winter day when you were wed 
 And o er your nuptial bliss kind heaven shed 
 
 The benediction that should life outlast! 
 
 And now that evening shadows gather fast 
 
 And golden starlight shimmers on your head, 
 And anxious care and toil are backward fled, 
 
 And God s rich robe of peace is o er you cast; 
 
 We gratulate you out of hearts sincere 
 
 That love s sweet bond withstands the flight of 
 
 time 
 And all the stress and strain of mortal woe. 
 
 Long may your gracious presence charm us here, 
 And then at last within a sunnier clime 
 
 Be yours the rapture the immortals know! 
 
 AMZI BENEDICT DAVENPORT 
 
 So he has gone, the man of soul sincere, 
 Of vision broad, of spirit keen, intense, 
 Whose calm research and fine historic sense 
 Brought distant scenes and generations near! 
 The man whose royal nature made him dear, 
 Whose love attracted love, whose faith immense 
 Embraced a nobler future, and from thence 
 Drew boundless hope, and cloudless, changeless 
 
 cheer! 
 
 So he has gone! Beneath autumnal skies 
 He sleeps the holy slumber of the blest, 
 
 While royal purple blossoms drape his tomb; 
 
 And yet he wakes, and views with raptured eyes 
 
 And greets with bliss the great and good who 
 
 rest 
 Beyond earth s weariness and pain and gloom. 
 
 108
 
 "NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP." 
 
 As supposed to be offered by a Boston child! 
 
 The time has come when, like a sinking star, 
 That lingers for a moment on the horizon s 
 
 brim 
 
 As if its glowing lamp to feed and trim, 
 And then is lost in darkness deep and far; 
 So I must sink to rest. O do Thou bar 
 
 My trustful spirit from each specter grim, 
 Thou mighty Power whose praise the heavens 
 
 hymn, 
 
 Nor suffer aught my peaceful rest to mar. 
 If in the night the parting hour arrive 
 
 When I to earth must give the last farewell, 
 Receive the spark divine that in me glows; 
 That, thought and intuition still alive, 
 
 I consciously with Thee in light may dwell, 
 And know as Thy transcendent reason knows ! 
 
 THE JOURNEY TO FLORIDA 
 
 "So long Thy power hath blessed me, surely still 
 Will lead me on," I murmured o er and o er 
 As through the night, adown Atlantic s shore 
 
 The sturdy engine whirled us at its will. 
 
 Swiftly behind us flitted vale and hill, 
 
 And miles and leagues increasing more and more 
 Thrust farther from me cherished scenes of yore 
 
 And friends whose love my heart must ever thrill. 
 
 And then, at length, appeared a land most fair, 
 A realm of sunshine and of wondrous bloom 
 Amid whose loveliness I stood amazed. 
 
 And mid the song and tint and fragrance rare, 
 Chasing away all lingering trace of gloom, 
 On faces loved of old I fondly gazed. 
 
 109
 
 OUR FLAG 
 
 O banner streaming in the sun-lit air, 
 
 With tear-dimmed eyes we on thy beauty gaze, 
 Viewing with loving wonder and amaze 
 
 Thy matchless grace as thou dost ripple there! 
 
 Thy red is eloquent of heroes rare 
 
 Who poured their blood amid the battle blaze, 
 The white forever speaks the worthy praise 
 
 Of patriot purity beyond compare! 
 
 Thine azure field, reflecting heaven s own hue, 
 Tells of the Providence that all the way 
 
 Has overarched the nation s grand career. 
 
 Thou art the shadowed soul, the symbol true 
 
 Of all we are and all for which we pray, 
 
 Of all that makes America so dear! 
 
 INDEPENDENCE DAY 
 
 We hear again the clashing bells resound 
 That told the story of a nation born ! 
 What though the king-ruled world should laugh 
 
 to scorn 
 
 And judge our action with a sneer profound? 
 Swiftly the eager, glorious years roll round 
 And usher in this twentieth-century morn 
 Which shows the great republic not forlorn, 
 But for its strength and majesty renowned. 
 To-day we bow before our fathers God 
 With praise and adoration for the way, 
 
 The wondrous way that He had led us on; 
 Praying His blessing on the sacred sod 
 Of free America, the while with bay 
 
 We wreathe our Lincoln, Grant and Washing 
 ton. 
 
 110
 
 STAMFORD, 1641 
 
 Down slope the forests to the pebbly shore; 
 
 The swelling hills their brilliant banners raise; 
 Mianus glides along its ample ways; 
 Noro ton s waters through the valley pour; 
 The placid bay is swept by white wings o er, 
 Or by the swift canoe that now displays 
 Its shadowy form amid the golden haze, 
 And now is gone like phantom bark of old. 
 O er all the scene a silence lies profound 
 
 Save where the woodland bird uplifts its song, 
 Or bounds through bush and brake the 
 
 startled deer; 
 
 Or where, returned from prosperous hunting- 
 ground, 
 
 With accents that to passion s realm belong, 
 The dusky lover charms his maiden s ear. 
 
 STAMFORD, 1892 
 
 O Time, thou great magician! what a change 
 In all the view thy potent hand hath wrought! 
 What mighty forces thou hast hither brought 
 
 Transforming all within the vision s range! 
 
 No oriental dream so wild and strange 
 As this reality ! How out of naught 
 The splendid picture rises, richly fraught 
 
 With mansion, temple, mart and goodly grange! 
 
 O Stamford, beauteous on thy castled hights, 
 Thy beauty mirrored in the glassy sea, 
 Rehearse in full to-day the thrilling tale 
 
 Of sires heroic struggling for their rights, 
 Of sons devoted, energetic, free, 
 
 Of God whose grace and guidance never fail. 
 
 Ill
 
 MEMORIES 
 
 Sometimes amid the whirl of busy years, 
 
 When burdens press us and our spirits faint, 
 And of the woes of life make sore complaint, 
 
 There come to us through all our harrowing fears 
 
 Echoes of college bells that move to tears; 
 And then the voice of philosophic saint, 
 And glimpses of the beauty he would paint 
 
 Enwrapping all where holy love appears. 
 
 And somehow, as amid a blinding storm 
 
 A sunburst from a riven cloud brings peace, 
 And stays the tempest, making fair again; 
 
 So such remembrance with its pathos warm 
 Bids all heart-wearying care and murmuring 
 
 cease, 
 And sends us cheerful to our toil for men. 
 
 DEPARTING FRIENDS 
 
 Good-by, beloved; prosperous breezes blow 
 You safely o er a gently swelling sea, 
 And radiant skies o erarch you lovingly 
 
 And touch your sapphire way with golden glow. 
 
 From out the sunny lands to which you go 
 
 May fragrance wafted give you welcome sweet, 
 And gorgeous fields outpour before your feet 
 
 The fairest blossoms that the seasons know. 
 
 And whether ancient, vaulted fane you tread, 
 
 Or watch the heather glassed in Scottish lake 
 
 Or view the Jungfrau lift its hands in prayer, 
 
 Amid the blessings art and nature shed, 
 
 And all the splendor that will round you break, 
 We ll hold you still in loving thought and 
 care. 
 
 112
 
 PROSPECT 
 
 The sun was setting and the hills around 
 
 Stood all agleam, enwrapped in cloth of gold, 
 While Prospect s monument the story told 
 Of heroes and their sacrifice profound; 
 When, suddenly, the trumpet s martial sound 
 In mellow notes o er all the landscape rolled 
 The signal, "Taps," "Lights out," "The day 
 
 grows old 
 
 And soon night s gloom and shadow r will abound. " 
 
 "Lights out." Alas, the loved and loving youth 
 
 Who mid the fleeting years the call have heard, 
 
 The summons to the long and dreamless 
 
 sleep. 
 
 For righteousness they fell and sacred truth, 
 And with us left their name, a priceless word, 
 Which balmed in holy tears we ll ever keep. 
 
 THE ORGAN 
 
 The organ knew its master, and its keys 
 Impatient waited for his loving touch, 
 And all its tubes exultant gushed with such 
 
 Of Music as his cultured soul should please. 
 
 It sang in strains that angels might admire; 
 It lifted heavenward the holy psalm; 
 It soothed the ruffled spirit into calm; 
 
 It taught the earthbound mortal to aspire. 
 
 The gladness of the nuptial hour it caught; 
 Telling in rapturous notes the joy of youth; 
 It wailed and sobbed above our precious dead ; 
 
 How it will miss the hand of him who wrought 
 So charmingly in furtherance of the truth, 
 Whose skill was fast to high devotion wed. 
 
 113
 
 MAY-TIME 
 
 We wandered forth beneath the skies of May, 
 The air was soft and sweet with breath of flowers, 
 We trod the greensward fresh from balmy 
 showers, 
 
 And plucked the columbine s ethereal spray. 
 
 Charmed with the genial hours we could but stray 
 Amid the upland pastures, where the bowers 
 Their whisperings ceased not nor regarded ours 
 
 As, tremulous, they drank the perfect day. 
 
 Within this Paradise, while flitting birds 
 Chanted the Eden song of rapturous love, 
 I freely offered her my heart, my life. 
 
 And as I breathless waited for her words, 
 
 She plucked an oaken wreath that hung above 
 And crowned me victor in the fateful strife. 
 
 EASTER 
 
 Unstop, fair lily, all thy sweets to-day, 
 Display thy gold, O affluent daffodil, 
 With fragrance every forest nooklet fill, 
 Arbutus, lovely harbinger of May. 
 Outspread, O crocus bloom, thy starlike ray, 
 O violet, hiding underneath the hill, 
 With beauty s vision rare the sunshine thrill 
 And gem the sward where springtime takes its 
 
 way, 
 New light is breaking over earth and sky, 
 
 The risen Christ with glory floods the world 
 
 And wakes to rapture every living thing; 
 He triumphs over death, no more to die, 
 And bids life s glorious banners be unfurled, 
 While ransomed man and nature hail Him 
 King! 
 
 114
 
 THANKSGIVING 
 
 Thanksgiving comes again; the teeming year 
 Has laid its priceless treasures at our feet, 
 Its sun and shade, its rain and dewdrops sweet 
 Wrought into flowers that charm and fruits that 
 
 cheer; 
 While home and church and friends we hold so 
 
 dear, 
 
 And liberty with privilege replete 
 The benedictions of the past repeat 
 And crown our life with happiness sincere. 
 Thanksgiving comes again; prepare the feast, 
 And bid the wandering children gather home, 
 And care for those for whom no welcome 
 
 waits ; 
 
 And let us all, the greatest and the least, 
 Lift grateful praises to the heavenly dome 
 As, jubilant, we throng the sacred gates. 
 
 THE FIRST BAPTIST CHURCH 
 
 Church of the living God, who all the way 
 
 Hast walked with Him amid the hurrying years, 
 Through shade and sun, through smiles and 
 
 bitter tears, 
 
 Until the century is complete to-day; 
 We gratulate thee, and sincerely pray 
 
 That while the favored past thy spirit cheers, 
 The future, as its deepening dawn appears, 
 On thee may ever richer blessing lay. 
 How many a wanderer thou hast guided home! 
 How many a breaking heart hast bound with 
 
 love! 
 
 How many a weary captive hast set free! 
 Still lead thou on, till neath the starry dome 
 A countless throng shall praise the Lord above, 
 Tracing their blessedness to Him and thee. 
 115
 
 THE CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH 
 
 Naugatuck, 1906 
 
 A century and a quarter s work of love, 
 
 O Church of God, stands back of thee to-night, 
 The story penned in characters of light 
 
 And read with joy and praise in courts above. 
 
 O years o erbrooded by the heavenly Dove! 
 O decades with devotion wondrous bright! 
 O hosts that through the great Redeemer s 
 might 
 
 Have struggled upward toward eternal love! 
 
 We gratulate thee on the triumphs won, 
 On all the virtue that has from thee gone 
 
 To bless, uplift, and crown with endless weal ! 
 
 May the good work so gloriously begun, 
 Continue till the blest millennial dawn 
 Upon thy faithful service set its seal. 
 
 THE WATERTOWN MONUMENT 
 
 The flowers with which we deck the lowly bed 
 Where heroes sleep the shining years away, 
 Fade in the sunlight of the growing day 
 
 And crown with withered bloom the honored dead. 
 
 But here, enduring bronze with granite wed, 
 Alike at rosy dawn and twilight gray, 
 Mid winter s gloom and summer s genial ray, 
 
 Will benedictions o er the soldier shed. 
 
 And here, as at a sacred shrine, we ll learn 
 The beauty and the glory of a soul 
 
 That offers self that native land may live. 
 
 And patriotism here will glow and burn, 
 Inspiring, as the lustrous ages roll, 
 
 For country s weal, our best, our all, to give. 
 
 116
 
 THE CLASS OF 1869, WILLIAMS 
 
 Here s to the Class, the Class of 69, 
 
 Sturdy, though small, with grip and grit and 
 grace, 
 
 Its members pressing on to worthy place 
 And striding upward with a purpose fine! 
 How very proud was I to call it mine 
 
 In the far days, when meeting face to face 
 
 We plucked the flowering of the Roman race, 
 Or gazed perplexed at angle and at sine! 
 Now I rejoice in all your victories gained 
 
 In politics, in business and in love, 
 
 In all that makes you broader, nobler men. 
 My choice regard for you has never waned, 
 
 Nor will until we meet in halls above 
 
 And study truths surpassing mortal ken. 
 
 1906 
 
 When fades the summer of this passing year 
 And down the slopes the purple asters bloom, 
 And tassels of the golden-rod shall loom 
 
 Along the vales, the deepening shade to cheer; 
 
 A quarter of a century, O Church most dear, 
 Will be complete since thou and I made room 
 Each in the other s heart, through joy or gloom 
 
 To live and labor on together here. 
 
 What blessed hours we have together spent! 
 What sweet and holy fellowship have known! 
 What charming visions of the living Christ! 
 
 How many a loved one up the bright ascent 
 Has passed from view, leaving us sad and lone 
 Yet bound by deathless ties to hopes un 
 priced ! 
 
 117
 
 THE SOLDIER BOY 
 
 Firmly he grasped the cup of mortal life; 
 Its rim was garlanded with blossoms rare, 
 Its sparkling contents perfumed all the air, 
 
 It seemed with joy and inspiration rife. 
 
 From it he quaffed, then turned to face the strife, 
 Earth s heaviest burdens coveting to bear, 
 Eager the hights most difficult to dare, 
 
 The while he praised the thrilling cup of life! 
 
 Sweet, priceless drops it yielded to his lips; 
 Success in study, prominence in toil, 
 
 Warmest esteem and love of countless scores; 
 
 Into great nature s mysteries he dips, 
 And then, a soldier on an alien soil, 
 
 On freedom s altar life s bright cup outpours. 
 
 118
 
 THE CLASS OF 63 
 WILLIAMS 
 
 There is a Class of classes all the best, 
 So we affirm who fondly call it ours, 
 As back we glance to those illustrious towers 
 Where each was Alma Mater s honored guest; 
 Where in the heat and glow of youthful zest 
 We sought to curb and train incipient powers, 
 And deck ourselves with learning s sweetest 
 
 flowers 
 
 As to the scholar s goal we eager pressed! 
 And now, while some have fallen by the way, 
 And others toil along the westering road, 
 
 Perchance with whitened brow and trembling 
 
 knee, 
 We still are one, as when in earlier day 
 
 With ranks unbroken, proudly on we strode, 
 The sturdy, peerless Class of Sixty-Three! 
 
 119
 
 THE LOVED AND LOST OF 63 
 
 Here s wreath of laurel, pine and fadeless bay, 
 Thick set with rose and sweet forget-me-not, 
 And gemmed with tears, for those whose earthly 
 
 lot 
 
 Has sadly ended ere the close of day. 
 Brothers of purpose high and pure were they, 
 Of character and fame without a blot, 
 Leaving a priceless memory begot 
 Of valiant bearing mid earth s fierce affray. 
 With tenderness we call each cherished name, 
 And see through gathering mists their faces 
 
 dear, 
 
 And hear again the voices loved of yore. 
 And oft we wonder, are they still the same? 
 And as of old will they at length appear 
 
 And with us learn God s truth forevermore? 
 
 120
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 CAYUORO
 
 A 000 564 495