The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 8

How are you, George, my rhyming brother?

We should be kinder to each other, For we are kindred souls at least; I don't mean kindred, like the beast,-- Mere blood and bones and flesh and matter,-- But what this last is makes no matter.

Philosophers have tried to teach it, But all their learning cannot reach it; 'Tis matter still, "that's what's the matter"

With all their philosophic chatter, And Latin, Greek, and Hebrew clatter, Crucibles, retorts, and receivers, Wedges, inclined planes, and levers, Screws, blow pipes, electricity and light, And fifty other notions, quite Too much to either read or write.

Just ask the wisest, What is matter?

And notice how he will bespatter The subject, in his vain endeavor, With deep philosophy so clever, To prove you what you knew before, That matter's matter, and no more.

Well, this much then, we know at least, That matter's substance, and the beast And bird and fish and creeping thing That moves on foot, with fin or wing, Is matter, just like you and me.

Are they our kindred? Must it be That all the fools in all creation, And knaves and thieves of every station In life, can call me their relation?

But that's not all--the horse I ride, The ox I yoke, the dog I chide, The flesh and fish and fowl we feed on Are kindred, too; is that agreed on?

Then kindred blood I quite disown, Though it descended from a throne, For it connects us down, also, With everything that's mean and low-- Insects and reptiles, foul and clean, And men a thousand times more mean.

Let's hear no more of n.o.ble blood, For n.o.ble brains, or actions good, Are only marks of true n.o.bility.

The kindred which I claim with you, Connects us with the just and true, And great in purpose, heart and soul, And makes us parts of that great whole Whose bonds of all embracing love A golden chain will ever prove To bind us to the good above.

Then strive to elevate mankind By operating on the mind; The empire of good will extend, A helping hand in trouble lend, Go to thy brother in distress, One kindly word may make it less, A single word, when fitly spoken, May heal a heart with sorrow broken, A smile may overcome your foe, And make his heart with friendship glow, A frown might turn his heart to steel.

And all its tendencies congeal, Be it our constant aim to cure The woes our fellow men endure, Teach them to act toward each other As they would act toward a brother.

Thus may our circle wider grow, The golden chain still brighter glow; And may our kindred souls, in love United live, here and above, With all the good and wise and pure, While endless ages shall endure.

ANNIVERSARY HYMN.

Written for the anniversary of the Jackson Sabbath School, Aug.

23rd, 1870.

The ever rolling flood of years, Is bearing us, our hopes and fears, With all we are or crave, Into that fathomless abyss-- A world of endless woe or bliss, Beyond the darksome grave.

One year of priceless time has pa.s.sed, Since we in Sabbath school were cla.s.s'd, To read and sing and pray; To hear the counsels of the good; Have we improved them as we should?

How stands the case to-day?

How have we used this fleeting year?

Have we grown wiser? O, I fear, And tremble to reflect, How sadly it has gone to loss, How I have shunn'd my daily cross, Some idol to erect.

To gain some trifling, selfish end, It may be I have wronged a friend, And turned his love to hate; How many idle words I've said; How many broken vows I've made; How shunn'd the narrow gate!

O Lord! forgive our wanderings wide, Our oft departures from thy side, And keep us in thy fold; Be thou our Shepherd and our all; Protect these lambs, lest any fall, And perish in the cold.

On this our Anniversary, Help us to put our trust in Thee, And lean upon Thy arm; Direct us through the coming year; Protect us, for the wolf is near, And shield us from all harm.

Our Superintendent superintend; On him Thy special blessings send, And guide him in the way; Enrich our Treasurer with Thy grace, So that he may adorn the place, He fills so well to-day.

Write on our Secretary's heart Thy perfect law; and O, impart, To our Librarian dear, The volume of thy perfect love Which cometh only from above, And casteth out all fear.

In pastures green, O lead us still!

And help us all to do thy will, And all our wants supply; Help us in every grace to grow, And when we quit thy fold below, Receive us all on high.

Then, by life's river broad and bright, Our blissful day will have no night; On that immortal plain May all the Jackson scholars meet, And all their loving teachers greet, And never part again.

THE INTELLECTUAL TELEGRAPH.

ADDRESSED TO MISS C. CASHO.

Dear friend! O, how my blood warms at that word, And thrills and courses through my every vein; My inmost soul, with deep emotion stirr'd-- Friend! Friend! repeats it o'er and o'er again.

I'll make a song of that sweet word, and sing It oft, to cheer me in my lonely hours, Till list'ning hills, and dells, and woodlands ring, And echo answers, Friend! with all her powers.

'Tis truly strange, and strangely true; I doubt If any can explain, though all have seen, How kindred spirits find each other out, Though deserts vast or oceans lie between.

Some golden sympathetic cords unseen, Unite their souls as if with bands of steel, So finely strung, so sensitively keen, The slightest touch all in the circle feel.

Their pulses distance electricity, And leave the struggling solar rays behind, The slightest throb pervades immensity, And instant reaches the remotest mind.

'Tis an inspiring, glorious thought to me, Which raises me above this earthly clod, To think the cords which bind our souls may be Connected some way with the throne of G.o.d.

I sometimes think my wild and strange desires, And longings after something yet unknown, Are currents pa.s.sing on those hidden wires To lead me on and upward to that throne.

These visions often do I entertain, And, if they are but visions, and the birth Of fancy, still they are not all in vain; They lift the soul above the things of earth.

They teach her how to use her wings though weak, And all unequal to the upward flight-- The eaglet flaps upon the mountain peak, Then cleaves the heavens beyond our utmost sight.

LINES ON AN INDIAN ARROW-HEAD.

Rude relic of a lost and savage race!

Memento of a people proud and cold!

Sole lasting monument to mark the place Where the red tide of Indian valor rolled.

Cold is the hand that fashion'd thee, rude dart!

Cold the strong arm that drew the elastic bow!

And cold the dust of the heroic heart, Whence, cleft by thee, the crimson tide did flow.

Unnumbered years have o'er their ashes flown; Their unrecovered names and deeds are gone; All that remains is this rude pointed stone, To tell of nations mighty as our own.

Such is earth's pregnant lesson: through all time Kingdom succeeds to kingdom--empires fall; From out their ashes, others rise and climb, Then flash through radiant greatness, to their fall.

ACROSTIC

TO MISS ANNIE ELIZA M'NAMEE.

My much respected, fair young friend In youth's bright sunshine glowing: Some friendly token I would send, Some trifle, worth your knowing.

A lovely bird; the garden's pride; Nurs'd with the utmost care, No flow'r, in all the gardens wide; Incited hopes so rare: Each pa.s.sing day develops more Each beauty, than the day before.

Lovely in form, in features mild; In thy deportment pure: Zealous for right, e'en from a child, A friend, both true and sure.

May thy maturer years be bright, Cloudless and fair thy skies; No storms to fright, nor frosts to blight, And cause thy fears to rise.