Written in 1856, during the struggle in Kansas, between the pro-slavery and anti-slavery settlers.
Written in 1856, during the struggle in Kansas, between the pro-slavery and anti-slavery settlers.
Freemen of the north, why stand you still,While fiends in Kansas your brothers kill,Will you bow down to the tyrant’s God,And worship slavery beneath the rod?No, never! you cry, no God have we,But the God of love and liberty,To Him we’ll bow, and for Him we’ll fight,For liberty, justice and our right.Then shoulder your arms, prepare for the west,A rifle provide, take one of Sharp’s best,For there on the soil of Kansas do trod,The foes of man and blasphemers of God.March to the battle, assist the brave few,Now fighting nobly and looking to you,Let them not look in vain, but lend a hand,That will bring freedom and peace to their land.Hark! hear the patriots cry from their graves,“Liberty for Kansas, freedom for slaves,Drive out the foul demons that curse your land,And rule you like slaves with a tyrant’s hand.“For freedom we lived, for country we died,And may many heroes lie by our side,Ere the tyrant wins, to curse with the slave,‘The land of the free and home of the brave’.”The heart cries vengeance and justice says fight,For peace in Kansas, liberty and right,Vengeance for our martyrs, peace by their tomb,Where God in mercy may grant us a home.Remember for God and freedom you fightAnd never forsake liberty and right,But stand like a rock and fight to the last,With eyes on the future, hearts on the past.When you meet your enemies in the field,Go fight them bravely with no thought to yield,But boldly cry out at ev’ry breath,“Give us liberty, or give us death.”
Freemen of the north, why stand you still,While fiends in Kansas your brothers kill,Will you bow down to the tyrant’s God,And worship slavery beneath the rod?No, never! you cry, no God have we,But the God of love and liberty,To Him we’ll bow, and for Him we’ll fight,For liberty, justice and our right.Then shoulder your arms, prepare for the west,A rifle provide, take one of Sharp’s best,For there on the soil of Kansas do trod,The foes of man and blasphemers of God.March to the battle, assist the brave few,Now fighting nobly and looking to you,Let them not look in vain, but lend a hand,That will bring freedom and peace to their land.Hark! hear the patriots cry from their graves,“Liberty for Kansas, freedom for slaves,Drive out the foul demons that curse your land,And rule you like slaves with a tyrant’s hand.“For freedom we lived, for country we died,And may many heroes lie by our side,Ere the tyrant wins, to curse with the slave,‘The land of the free and home of the brave’.”The heart cries vengeance and justice says fight,For peace in Kansas, liberty and right,Vengeance for our martyrs, peace by their tomb,Where God in mercy may grant us a home.Remember for God and freedom you fightAnd never forsake liberty and right,But stand like a rock and fight to the last,With eyes on the future, hearts on the past.When you meet your enemies in the field,Go fight them bravely with no thought to yield,But boldly cry out at ev’ry breath,“Give us liberty, or give us death.”
Freemen of the north, why stand you still,While fiends in Kansas your brothers kill,Will you bow down to the tyrant’s God,And worship slavery beneath the rod?
No, never! you cry, no God have we,But the God of love and liberty,To Him we’ll bow, and for Him we’ll fight,For liberty, justice and our right.
Then shoulder your arms, prepare for the west,A rifle provide, take one of Sharp’s best,For there on the soil of Kansas do trod,The foes of man and blasphemers of God.
March to the battle, assist the brave few,Now fighting nobly and looking to you,Let them not look in vain, but lend a hand,That will bring freedom and peace to their land.
Hark! hear the patriots cry from their graves,“Liberty for Kansas, freedom for slaves,Drive out the foul demons that curse your land,And rule you like slaves with a tyrant’s hand.
“For freedom we lived, for country we died,And may many heroes lie by our side,Ere the tyrant wins, to curse with the slave,‘The land of the free and home of the brave’.”
The heart cries vengeance and justice says fight,For peace in Kansas, liberty and right,Vengeance for our martyrs, peace by their tomb,Where God in mercy may grant us a home.
Remember for God and freedom you fightAnd never forsake liberty and right,But stand like a rock and fight to the last,With eyes on the future, hearts on the past.
When you meet your enemies in the field,Go fight them bravely with no thought to yield,But boldly cry out at ev’ry breath,“Give us liberty, or give us death.”
A Spanish physician on his way from Cuba to Spain, on arriving at New York about October 1, 1898, was asked about the reconcentrados, and answered sarcastically, “There are no reconcentrados now.” This answer was understood to mean that they had all died of starvation excepting the few that were saved by the United States.
A Spanish physician on his way from Cuba to Spain, on arriving at New York about October 1, 1898, was asked about the reconcentrados, and answered sarcastically, “There are no reconcentrados now.” This answer was understood to mean that they had all died of starvation excepting the few that were saved by the United States.
Lives there a man in the United States,That knows of the Cubans’ horrible fates,Whose cheeks do not burn with the blush of shame,When he hears these reproachful words of blame—“There are no reconcentrados now?”Where are the parents feeble, old and gray,Driven from their own quiet homes away?Where are the children, are they too all dead?Is it a fact, can it truly be said—“There are no reconcentrados now?”Where are the mothers with babes at the breast?Where are the infants, are they too at rest?Where are the sick and all in need of care?Were they left to perish, they are not there?“There are no reconcentrados now.”Where are the crops of food once stored in domes,Around ten thousand humble Cuban homes?Devoured by fire and borne in flames away,No wonder then that men can truly say—“There are no reconcentrados now.”Robbed of their cattle, crops and homes destroyed,Years of hard labor in hours rendered void,Huddled near cities, watched like beasts of prey,Deprived of food they all have passed away,“There are no reconcentrados now.”Shorn of liberty, bound in lines of death,They know their fate and dread the buzzard’s breath;They pray for mercy, turn their eyes to God,Then fall in death on their loved Cuban sod,“There are no reconcentrados now.”They beg for bread, but cruel Spain denies,She does not heed heartrending children’s cries,Nor the mother pleading in anguish wild,“Pray give a morsel to my starving child.”“There are no reconcentrados now.”No father’s prayer, however strong and good,Can draw from Spain a single ounce of food;No mother’s tears, however freely shed,Can make one less among the Cuban dead:“There are no reconcentrados now.”See the starving babe, hear its wailing cry,Searching for food it finds the fountain dry;What sorrow racks the dying mother’s head,The babe must die, alas! the mother’s dead:“There are no reconcentrados now.”See the hollow cheeks, see the sunken eyes,See the shrivelled limbs, hear the children’s cries,Their flesh all gone, reduced to skin and bone,With scarcely strength to give a dying moan:“There are no reconcentrados now.”See the poor creatures dropping to the ground,And ravenous vultures hov’ring around,Watching life flicker, and with ghoulish shout,Greedy to come and tear the vitals out:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Hear the brave father plead in manly tones,“Starve me, tyrant, but spare my little ones,Then take your dagger and with demon’s art,Plunge it to the hilt in my broken heart:”“There are no reconcentrados now.”Many are the crimes cruel man has done,From the early ages to the present one,But of all crimes against the human race,This great crime of Spain brought the most disgrace:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Who would think a so called Christian nation,Would kill the innocent by starvation,When before did the non-combatant’s cry,Receive the answer—you must starve and die?“There are no reconcentrados now.”Listen, Christendom, hear these people pray,Poor fellow creatures, turn them not away,Haste to bring them food, take a manly part,If they perish ’twill grieve the Christian heart,“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Lives there a man in the United States,That knows of the Cubans’ horrible fates,Whose cheeks do not burn with the blush of shame,When he hears these reproachful words of blame—“There are no reconcentrados now?”Where are the parents feeble, old and gray,Driven from their own quiet homes away?Where are the children, are they too all dead?Is it a fact, can it truly be said—“There are no reconcentrados now?”Where are the mothers with babes at the breast?Where are the infants, are they too at rest?Where are the sick and all in need of care?Were they left to perish, they are not there?“There are no reconcentrados now.”Where are the crops of food once stored in domes,Around ten thousand humble Cuban homes?Devoured by fire and borne in flames away,No wonder then that men can truly say—“There are no reconcentrados now.”Robbed of their cattle, crops and homes destroyed,Years of hard labor in hours rendered void,Huddled near cities, watched like beasts of prey,Deprived of food they all have passed away,“There are no reconcentrados now.”Shorn of liberty, bound in lines of death,They know their fate and dread the buzzard’s breath;They pray for mercy, turn their eyes to God,Then fall in death on their loved Cuban sod,“There are no reconcentrados now.”They beg for bread, but cruel Spain denies,She does not heed heartrending children’s cries,Nor the mother pleading in anguish wild,“Pray give a morsel to my starving child.”“There are no reconcentrados now.”No father’s prayer, however strong and good,Can draw from Spain a single ounce of food;No mother’s tears, however freely shed,Can make one less among the Cuban dead:“There are no reconcentrados now.”See the starving babe, hear its wailing cry,Searching for food it finds the fountain dry;What sorrow racks the dying mother’s head,The babe must die, alas! the mother’s dead:“There are no reconcentrados now.”See the hollow cheeks, see the sunken eyes,See the shrivelled limbs, hear the children’s cries,Their flesh all gone, reduced to skin and bone,With scarcely strength to give a dying moan:“There are no reconcentrados now.”See the poor creatures dropping to the ground,And ravenous vultures hov’ring around,Watching life flicker, and with ghoulish shout,Greedy to come and tear the vitals out:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Hear the brave father plead in manly tones,“Starve me, tyrant, but spare my little ones,Then take your dagger and with demon’s art,Plunge it to the hilt in my broken heart:”“There are no reconcentrados now.”Many are the crimes cruel man has done,From the early ages to the present one,But of all crimes against the human race,This great crime of Spain brought the most disgrace:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Who would think a so called Christian nation,Would kill the innocent by starvation,When before did the non-combatant’s cry,Receive the answer—you must starve and die?“There are no reconcentrados now.”Listen, Christendom, hear these people pray,Poor fellow creatures, turn them not away,Haste to bring them food, take a manly part,If they perish ’twill grieve the Christian heart,“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Lives there a man in the United States,That knows of the Cubans’ horrible fates,Whose cheeks do not burn with the blush of shame,When he hears these reproachful words of blame—“There are no reconcentrados now?”
Where are the parents feeble, old and gray,Driven from their own quiet homes away?Where are the children, are they too all dead?Is it a fact, can it truly be said—“There are no reconcentrados now?”
Where are the mothers with babes at the breast?Where are the infants, are they too at rest?Where are the sick and all in need of care?Were they left to perish, they are not there?“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Where are the crops of food once stored in domes,Around ten thousand humble Cuban homes?Devoured by fire and borne in flames away,No wonder then that men can truly say—“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Robbed of their cattle, crops and homes destroyed,Years of hard labor in hours rendered void,Huddled near cities, watched like beasts of prey,Deprived of food they all have passed away,“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Shorn of liberty, bound in lines of death,They know their fate and dread the buzzard’s breath;They pray for mercy, turn their eyes to God,Then fall in death on their loved Cuban sod,“There are no reconcentrados now.”
They beg for bread, but cruel Spain denies,She does not heed heartrending children’s cries,Nor the mother pleading in anguish wild,“Pray give a morsel to my starving child.”“There are no reconcentrados now.”
No father’s prayer, however strong and good,Can draw from Spain a single ounce of food;No mother’s tears, however freely shed,Can make one less among the Cuban dead:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
See the starving babe, hear its wailing cry,Searching for food it finds the fountain dry;What sorrow racks the dying mother’s head,The babe must die, alas! the mother’s dead:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
See the hollow cheeks, see the sunken eyes,See the shrivelled limbs, hear the children’s cries,Their flesh all gone, reduced to skin and bone,With scarcely strength to give a dying moan:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
See the poor creatures dropping to the ground,And ravenous vultures hov’ring around,Watching life flicker, and with ghoulish shout,Greedy to come and tear the vitals out:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Hear the brave father plead in manly tones,“Starve me, tyrant, but spare my little ones,Then take your dagger and with demon’s art,Plunge it to the hilt in my broken heart:”“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Many are the crimes cruel man has done,From the early ages to the present one,But of all crimes against the human race,This great crime of Spain brought the most disgrace:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Who would think a so called Christian nation,Would kill the innocent by starvation,When before did the non-combatant’s cry,Receive the answer—you must starve and die?“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Listen, Christendom, hear these people pray,Poor fellow creatures, turn them not away,Haste to bring them food, take a manly part,If they perish ’twill grieve the Christian heart,“There are no reconcentrados now.”
“Where is the God that tribes with manna fed?Where is the Christ that gave the thousands bread?Where are the men with noble heart and mind?Where, O where! is the love of human kind?“Where is liberty, is there ground for hope?Where is charity, where’s the blessed Pope?Where is Germany, freedom loving land?Where’s the Emperor with his helping hand?“Where is Russia, nation great and strong,With mighty power to rectify wrong?Where is France, rich and beautiful France,Will she not give us one sweet loving glance?“Where is Great Britain, land of wealth and fame,Whose acts of kindness glorify her name?Oft has she helped the starving sick and sore,Pray come, kind nation, and do so once more.“Where is America, land of the free?Most noble country, we appeal to thee;We know you pity our sorrow and need,And our sore distress must make your heart bleed.“You are a nation powerful for good,Your cars and ships are loaded down with food,Mighty with inventions, speedy with plans,What is the matter, brave Americans?“Arouse, great country, and if need there beBreak the Spanish bonds and set Cuba free;Remember Spain is feeble, old and slow,And lost her glory many years ago.“Wars just for conquest there should never be,But for the cause of life and liberty,Nations may grasp the sword of righteousness,Crush out tyranny and relieve distress.“No other nation has courage to come,All other countries to our cries are dumb,Our prayers will be to our latest breath,Come, blessed country, and save us from death.”Thank God! our country heard the Cuban plea,And gave notice to Spain: “This shall not be;You must not murder and starve any more,The innocent people so near our shore:”“There are no reconcentrados now.”Fired with pity, the American heart,For humanity’s sake took Cuba’s part,And with our heroes on sea and on land,Soon opened the way for charity’s hand:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Forts were destroyed and the proud Spanish fleet,And the Spanish army forced to retreat,And soon as ever we possibly could,We sent to the starving ship loads of food:“There are no reconcentrados now.”There has not been since history beganA grander act in the progress of man,By so nobly taking poor Cuba’s partA load was lifted from the human heart:“There are no reconcentrados now.”No braver men e’er fought for liberty,Than risked their lives that Cuba might go free;No holier triumph was ever won,Since the record of war was first begun:“There are no reconcentrados now.”No other nation, either young or old,Ever gave so many millions in gold,To feed the starving and set the bond free,In the grand cause of human liberty:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Henceforth this saying our maxim shall be,We’ll bear it aloft o’er land and o’er sea,And that all civilized nations may know,Will proudly proclaim wherever we go,“There are no reconcentrados now.”Wherever our grand old flag is unfurled,In Cuba, or any part of the world,Love, mercy, and peace will go with it there,And bring the oppressed full freedom to share:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Nations respect us for the good work done,And freely concede the glory we won;We get the honor, the world gets the gain,Mankind is lifted to a higher plain,“There are no reconcentrados now.”United for peace all nations should be,Protecting man in his right to be free,And if one nation man’s freedom restrain,The rest should join and restore it again:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Humanity’s cause henceforth must prevail,No nation will dare man’s rights to assail,The example we set lays down the plan,Nations will follow in lifting up man:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
“Where is the God that tribes with manna fed?Where is the Christ that gave the thousands bread?Where are the men with noble heart and mind?Where, O where! is the love of human kind?“Where is liberty, is there ground for hope?Where is charity, where’s the blessed Pope?Where is Germany, freedom loving land?Where’s the Emperor with his helping hand?“Where is Russia, nation great and strong,With mighty power to rectify wrong?Where is France, rich and beautiful France,Will she not give us one sweet loving glance?“Where is Great Britain, land of wealth and fame,Whose acts of kindness glorify her name?Oft has she helped the starving sick and sore,Pray come, kind nation, and do so once more.“Where is America, land of the free?Most noble country, we appeal to thee;We know you pity our sorrow and need,And our sore distress must make your heart bleed.“You are a nation powerful for good,Your cars and ships are loaded down with food,Mighty with inventions, speedy with plans,What is the matter, brave Americans?“Arouse, great country, and if need there beBreak the Spanish bonds and set Cuba free;Remember Spain is feeble, old and slow,And lost her glory many years ago.“Wars just for conquest there should never be,But for the cause of life and liberty,Nations may grasp the sword of righteousness,Crush out tyranny and relieve distress.“No other nation has courage to come,All other countries to our cries are dumb,Our prayers will be to our latest breath,Come, blessed country, and save us from death.”Thank God! our country heard the Cuban plea,And gave notice to Spain: “This shall not be;You must not murder and starve any more,The innocent people so near our shore:”“There are no reconcentrados now.”Fired with pity, the American heart,For humanity’s sake took Cuba’s part,And with our heroes on sea and on land,Soon opened the way for charity’s hand:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Forts were destroyed and the proud Spanish fleet,And the Spanish army forced to retreat,And soon as ever we possibly could,We sent to the starving ship loads of food:“There are no reconcentrados now.”There has not been since history beganA grander act in the progress of man,By so nobly taking poor Cuba’s partA load was lifted from the human heart:“There are no reconcentrados now.”No braver men e’er fought for liberty,Than risked their lives that Cuba might go free;No holier triumph was ever won,Since the record of war was first begun:“There are no reconcentrados now.”No other nation, either young or old,Ever gave so many millions in gold,To feed the starving and set the bond free,In the grand cause of human liberty:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Henceforth this saying our maxim shall be,We’ll bear it aloft o’er land and o’er sea,And that all civilized nations may know,Will proudly proclaim wherever we go,“There are no reconcentrados now.”Wherever our grand old flag is unfurled,In Cuba, or any part of the world,Love, mercy, and peace will go with it there,And bring the oppressed full freedom to share:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Nations respect us for the good work done,And freely concede the glory we won;We get the honor, the world gets the gain,Mankind is lifted to a higher plain,“There are no reconcentrados now.”United for peace all nations should be,Protecting man in his right to be free,And if one nation man’s freedom restrain,The rest should join and restore it again:“There are no reconcentrados now.”Humanity’s cause henceforth must prevail,No nation will dare man’s rights to assail,The example we set lays down the plan,Nations will follow in lifting up man:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
“Where is the God that tribes with manna fed?Where is the Christ that gave the thousands bread?Where are the men with noble heart and mind?Where, O where! is the love of human kind?
“Where is liberty, is there ground for hope?Where is charity, where’s the blessed Pope?Where is Germany, freedom loving land?Where’s the Emperor with his helping hand?
“Where is Russia, nation great and strong,With mighty power to rectify wrong?Where is France, rich and beautiful France,Will she not give us one sweet loving glance?
“Where is Great Britain, land of wealth and fame,Whose acts of kindness glorify her name?Oft has she helped the starving sick and sore,Pray come, kind nation, and do so once more.
“Where is America, land of the free?Most noble country, we appeal to thee;We know you pity our sorrow and need,And our sore distress must make your heart bleed.
“You are a nation powerful for good,Your cars and ships are loaded down with food,Mighty with inventions, speedy with plans,What is the matter, brave Americans?
“Arouse, great country, and if need there beBreak the Spanish bonds and set Cuba free;Remember Spain is feeble, old and slow,And lost her glory many years ago.
“Wars just for conquest there should never be,But for the cause of life and liberty,Nations may grasp the sword of righteousness,Crush out tyranny and relieve distress.
“No other nation has courage to come,All other countries to our cries are dumb,Our prayers will be to our latest breath,Come, blessed country, and save us from death.”
Thank God! our country heard the Cuban plea,And gave notice to Spain: “This shall not be;You must not murder and starve any more,The innocent people so near our shore:”“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Fired with pity, the American heart,For humanity’s sake took Cuba’s part,And with our heroes on sea and on land,Soon opened the way for charity’s hand:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Forts were destroyed and the proud Spanish fleet,And the Spanish army forced to retreat,And soon as ever we possibly could,We sent to the starving ship loads of food:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
There has not been since history beganA grander act in the progress of man,By so nobly taking poor Cuba’s partA load was lifted from the human heart:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
No braver men e’er fought for liberty,Than risked their lives that Cuba might go free;No holier triumph was ever won,Since the record of war was first begun:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
No other nation, either young or old,Ever gave so many millions in gold,To feed the starving and set the bond free,In the grand cause of human liberty:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Henceforth this saying our maxim shall be,We’ll bear it aloft o’er land and o’er sea,And that all civilized nations may know,Will proudly proclaim wherever we go,“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Wherever our grand old flag is unfurled,In Cuba, or any part of the world,Love, mercy, and peace will go with it there,And bring the oppressed full freedom to share:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Nations respect us for the good work done,And freely concede the glory we won;We get the honor, the world gets the gain,Mankind is lifted to a higher plain,“There are no reconcentrados now.”
United for peace all nations should be,Protecting man in his right to be free,And if one nation man’s freedom restrain,The rest should join and restore it again:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
Humanity’s cause henceforth must prevail,No nation will dare man’s rights to assail,The example we set lays down the plan,Nations will follow in lifting up man:“There are no reconcentrados now.”
The following verses were written in November, 1889, when it was supposed the World’s Fair at Chicago, to celebrate the four hundreth anniversary of the discovery of America, would be held in 1892.
The following verses were written in November, 1889, when it was supposed the World’s Fair at Chicago, to celebrate the four hundreth anniversary of the discovery of America, would be held in 1892.
In eighteen hundred ninety-twoWe will have a celebration,And prove our manners good and true,By inviting ev’ry nation;We’ll advertise from shore to shore,And tell how we have expanded,For just four hundred years before,Christopher Columbus landed.We will build a mighty tower,Much higher than any steeple,And give it the strength and power,To hold twenty thousand people;We’ll build it strong and very high,And elegant in size and form,So it will please the cultured eye,And ride triumphant ev’ry storm.A thousand feet we’ll raise the pile,Yes, a thousand feet high and more,Twelve hundred feet, a quarter mile,Where never building reached before;For it is our real intent,To gage its height by measure true,To finding of this continent,In fourteen hundred ninety-two.And in the top we’ll place a light,One hundred thousand candle strong,To guide the trav’ler in the night,More than a hundred miles along;And over all a flag will fly,The largest, handsomest and best,That ever charmed the human eye,Or fired the love in loyal breast.When independence day shall come,In eighteen hundred ninety-two,We’ll march to tune of fife and drum,In every state the union thru,And bless the land we love so dear,United States of America,Ten million voices then will cheer,Hip, hip, hurrah! hurrah!! hurrah!!!
In eighteen hundred ninety-twoWe will have a celebration,And prove our manners good and true,By inviting ev’ry nation;We’ll advertise from shore to shore,And tell how we have expanded,For just four hundred years before,Christopher Columbus landed.We will build a mighty tower,Much higher than any steeple,And give it the strength and power,To hold twenty thousand people;We’ll build it strong and very high,And elegant in size and form,So it will please the cultured eye,And ride triumphant ev’ry storm.A thousand feet we’ll raise the pile,Yes, a thousand feet high and more,Twelve hundred feet, a quarter mile,Where never building reached before;For it is our real intent,To gage its height by measure true,To finding of this continent,In fourteen hundred ninety-two.And in the top we’ll place a light,One hundred thousand candle strong,To guide the trav’ler in the night,More than a hundred miles along;And over all a flag will fly,The largest, handsomest and best,That ever charmed the human eye,Or fired the love in loyal breast.When independence day shall come,In eighteen hundred ninety-two,We’ll march to tune of fife and drum,In every state the union thru,And bless the land we love so dear,United States of America,Ten million voices then will cheer,Hip, hip, hurrah! hurrah!! hurrah!!!
In eighteen hundred ninety-twoWe will have a celebration,And prove our manners good and true,By inviting ev’ry nation;We’ll advertise from shore to shore,And tell how we have expanded,For just four hundred years before,Christopher Columbus landed.
We will build a mighty tower,Much higher than any steeple,And give it the strength and power,To hold twenty thousand people;We’ll build it strong and very high,And elegant in size and form,So it will please the cultured eye,And ride triumphant ev’ry storm.
A thousand feet we’ll raise the pile,Yes, a thousand feet high and more,Twelve hundred feet, a quarter mile,Where never building reached before;For it is our real intent,To gage its height by measure true,To finding of this continent,In fourteen hundred ninety-two.
And in the top we’ll place a light,One hundred thousand candle strong,To guide the trav’ler in the night,More than a hundred miles along;And over all a flag will fly,The largest, handsomest and best,That ever charmed the human eye,Or fired the love in loyal breast.
When independence day shall come,In eighteen hundred ninety-two,We’ll march to tune of fife and drum,In every state the union thru,And bless the land we love so dear,United States of America,Ten million voices then will cheer,Hip, hip, hurrah! hurrah!! hurrah!!!
Hail, Ontario, dear land of my birth,Blessed Ontario, rich spot of earth;Born upon the mountains,I’ve played at thy fountains,And drank from the sweet rills,At the foot of thy hills.Lovely Ontario, land of the free,Happy Ontario, blessings on thee;I have played with thy boys,And partook of their joys,Before school and after,With shouts and with laughter.Glorious Ontario, land of delight,Peaceful Ontario, great is thy might;I have loved thy sweet girls,And have toyed with their curls,Kissed the rose on their cheeks,And then laughed at their freaks.Gallant Ontario, land of glory,Blooming Ontario, grand in story;Thy ladies are truthful,Lovely and beautiful,Safe will the nation be,While they have liberty.Sparkling Ontario, land of brave acts,Roaring Ontario, with cataracts;Thy men are heroes born,Brave both at night and morn,Nobly they stand and fight,For God, truth and the right.Beaming Ontario, with beautiful fields,Teeming Ontario, with bountiful yields,Rich in great mines of wealth,Filled with large stores of health,Great is the love we owe,Beautiful Ontario.
Hail, Ontario, dear land of my birth,Blessed Ontario, rich spot of earth;Born upon the mountains,I’ve played at thy fountains,And drank from the sweet rills,At the foot of thy hills.Lovely Ontario, land of the free,Happy Ontario, blessings on thee;I have played with thy boys,And partook of their joys,Before school and after,With shouts and with laughter.Glorious Ontario, land of delight,Peaceful Ontario, great is thy might;I have loved thy sweet girls,And have toyed with their curls,Kissed the rose on their cheeks,And then laughed at their freaks.Gallant Ontario, land of glory,Blooming Ontario, grand in story;Thy ladies are truthful,Lovely and beautiful,Safe will the nation be,While they have liberty.Sparkling Ontario, land of brave acts,Roaring Ontario, with cataracts;Thy men are heroes born,Brave both at night and morn,Nobly they stand and fight,For God, truth and the right.Beaming Ontario, with beautiful fields,Teeming Ontario, with bountiful yields,Rich in great mines of wealth,Filled with large stores of health,Great is the love we owe,Beautiful Ontario.
Hail, Ontario, dear land of my birth,Blessed Ontario, rich spot of earth;Born upon the mountains,I’ve played at thy fountains,And drank from the sweet rills,At the foot of thy hills.
Lovely Ontario, land of the free,Happy Ontario, blessings on thee;I have played with thy boys,And partook of their joys,Before school and after,With shouts and with laughter.
Glorious Ontario, land of delight,Peaceful Ontario, great is thy might;I have loved thy sweet girls,And have toyed with their curls,Kissed the rose on their cheeks,And then laughed at their freaks.
Gallant Ontario, land of glory,Blooming Ontario, grand in story;Thy ladies are truthful,Lovely and beautiful,Safe will the nation be,While they have liberty.
Sparkling Ontario, land of brave acts,Roaring Ontario, with cataracts;Thy men are heroes born,Brave both at night and morn,Nobly they stand and fight,For God, truth and the right.
Beaming Ontario, with beautiful fields,Teeming Ontario, with bountiful yields,Rich in great mines of wealth,Filled with large stores of health,Great is the love we owe,Beautiful Ontario.
On the manner in which the union of these countries should take place, from an address delivered at Niagara Falls, Ontario, July 4th, 1888.
On the manner in which the union of these countries should take place, from an address delivered at Niagara Falls, Ontario, July 4th, 1888.
Let it come as the seasons come,With gradual change of weather;Let it come as the waters come,And quietly mingle together.Let it come as the gentle rain,Refreshing the air and the land;Let it come as the golden grain,With promise of harvest at hand.Let it come as the evening sun,With the peace and quiet of night;Let it come as the morning sun,In a blaze of glory and light.
Let it come as the seasons come,With gradual change of weather;Let it come as the waters come,And quietly mingle together.Let it come as the gentle rain,Refreshing the air and the land;Let it come as the golden grain,With promise of harvest at hand.Let it come as the evening sun,With the peace and quiet of night;Let it come as the morning sun,In a blaze of glory and light.
Let it come as the seasons come,With gradual change of weather;Let it come as the waters come,And quietly mingle together.
Let it come as the gentle rain,Refreshing the air and the land;Let it come as the golden grain,With promise of harvest at hand.
Let it come as the evening sun,With the peace and quiet of night;Let it come as the morning sun,In a blaze of glory and light.
The following blank verse was written in January, 1864, during the war of the rebellion, when many people in the northern states were advocating peace on almost any terms.
The following blank verse was written in January, 1864, during the war of the rebellion, when many people in the northern states were advocating peace on almost any terms.
The constitution our fathers made,Long may it protect us.The fine example our fathers set,Long may we follow it.The pure principles our fathers loved,Long may we cherish them.The perfect laws that our fathers made,Long may we obey them.Sacredly they pledged their lives and their honor,All for their country’s sake, freedom not power;Freely their blood was spilled, battling for justice,All for their country’s sake, they were not selfish;Boldly the trial made, God crowned their efforts,Thanks to His providence their country was saved.Grandly their thoughts were framed glowing with wisdom,Wise were the laws they made, all the world blessed them;Gray hairs honored them, old age and glory,Then was their noble work left for their children.Shall we their descendants forget the pure motives,That guided our fathers in times of distress?Shall we prove unworthy the boon they left us,Or bravely defend the cause of liberty?Large is the sacrifice, greatly ’tis needed,Freely we grant it, for in God is our trust;Our lives and fortunes like our fathers before,Are pledged to the cause of justice and freedom,Bravely we’ll defend it, let no traitor destroy,The land of our fathers, the home of the free,With strong arms and stout hearts we’ll continue to fight,In perfect faith that God will favor the right.
The constitution our fathers made,Long may it protect us.The fine example our fathers set,Long may we follow it.The pure principles our fathers loved,Long may we cherish them.The perfect laws that our fathers made,Long may we obey them.Sacredly they pledged their lives and their honor,All for their country’s sake, freedom not power;Freely their blood was spilled, battling for justice,All for their country’s sake, they were not selfish;Boldly the trial made, God crowned their efforts,Thanks to His providence their country was saved.Grandly their thoughts were framed glowing with wisdom,Wise were the laws they made, all the world blessed them;Gray hairs honored them, old age and glory,Then was their noble work left for their children.Shall we their descendants forget the pure motives,That guided our fathers in times of distress?Shall we prove unworthy the boon they left us,Or bravely defend the cause of liberty?Large is the sacrifice, greatly ’tis needed,Freely we grant it, for in God is our trust;Our lives and fortunes like our fathers before,Are pledged to the cause of justice and freedom,Bravely we’ll defend it, let no traitor destroy,The land of our fathers, the home of the free,With strong arms and stout hearts we’ll continue to fight,In perfect faith that God will favor the right.
The constitution our fathers made,Long may it protect us.The fine example our fathers set,Long may we follow it.The pure principles our fathers loved,Long may we cherish them.The perfect laws that our fathers made,Long may we obey them.Sacredly they pledged their lives and their honor,All for their country’s sake, freedom not power;Freely their blood was spilled, battling for justice,All for their country’s sake, they were not selfish;Boldly the trial made, God crowned their efforts,Thanks to His providence their country was saved.Grandly their thoughts were framed glowing with wisdom,Wise were the laws they made, all the world blessed them;Gray hairs honored them, old age and glory,Then was their noble work left for their children.Shall we their descendants forget the pure motives,That guided our fathers in times of distress?Shall we prove unworthy the boon they left us,Or bravely defend the cause of liberty?Large is the sacrifice, greatly ’tis needed,Freely we grant it, for in God is our trust;Our lives and fortunes like our fathers before,Are pledged to the cause of justice and freedom,Bravely we’ll defend it, let no traitor destroy,The land of our fathers, the home of the free,With strong arms and stout hearts we’ll continue to fight,In perfect faith that God will favor the right.
What is it lures the tender heart,From paths of joy and pleasures sweet,To rush into the crowded mart,And lift the fallen to their feet?What is it prompts the loving soul,To go among the poor and sick,Where sorrow and the empty bowl,Stir one’s compassion to the quick?Why should one go where hunger reigns,And meet the dreaded starving face,Where life is full of aches and pains,And sickness finds a brooding place?Why go where dread disease prevails,And screams and groans afflict the heart,Where death the struggling life assails,And feel the pang of sorrow’s dart?Why go not to the palace grand,Where fruits and wines await the guest,With works of art on ev’ry hand,And bask in comfort, peace and rest?Why go not where the flowers bloom,And birds make music in the trees,Where all is joy, there is no gloom,And life and health ride on the breeze?Is it for love of doing good,And working out the Master’s plan,Or doing as all others should,To elevate our fellow man?There is a motive in the mind,That moves to noble, gen’rous deeds,To sacrifice and actions kind,And to relieving human needs.Some ruling thought, some spirit fair,Or inward spring I can not see,Whate’er it is, love must be there.O that I knew what it can be.Arouse, my soul, increase my sight,Awake, my muse, stay my blindness,Ah! now I see by brighter light,’Tis the milk of human kindness.There is a fountain whence it flows,A source from whence it takes its start,Reviving hopes as on it goes,That fountain is the human heart.God bless the hearts that feed the stream,That fills the soul with tenderness,God bless the lives that yield the cream,From the milk of human kindness.
What is it lures the tender heart,From paths of joy and pleasures sweet,To rush into the crowded mart,And lift the fallen to their feet?What is it prompts the loving soul,To go among the poor and sick,Where sorrow and the empty bowl,Stir one’s compassion to the quick?Why should one go where hunger reigns,And meet the dreaded starving face,Where life is full of aches and pains,And sickness finds a brooding place?Why go where dread disease prevails,And screams and groans afflict the heart,Where death the struggling life assails,And feel the pang of sorrow’s dart?Why go not to the palace grand,Where fruits and wines await the guest,With works of art on ev’ry hand,And bask in comfort, peace and rest?Why go not where the flowers bloom,And birds make music in the trees,Where all is joy, there is no gloom,And life and health ride on the breeze?Is it for love of doing good,And working out the Master’s plan,Or doing as all others should,To elevate our fellow man?There is a motive in the mind,That moves to noble, gen’rous deeds,To sacrifice and actions kind,And to relieving human needs.Some ruling thought, some spirit fair,Or inward spring I can not see,Whate’er it is, love must be there.O that I knew what it can be.Arouse, my soul, increase my sight,Awake, my muse, stay my blindness,Ah! now I see by brighter light,’Tis the milk of human kindness.There is a fountain whence it flows,A source from whence it takes its start,Reviving hopes as on it goes,That fountain is the human heart.God bless the hearts that feed the stream,That fills the soul with tenderness,God bless the lives that yield the cream,From the milk of human kindness.
What is it lures the tender heart,From paths of joy and pleasures sweet,To rush into the crowded mart,And lift the fallen to their feet?
What is it prompts the loving soul,To go among the poor and sick,Where sorrow and the empty bowl,Stir one’s compassion to the quick?
Why should one go where hunger reigns,And meet the dreaded starving face,Where life is full of aches and pains,And sickness finds a brooding place?
Why go where dread disease prevails,And screams and groans afflict the heart,Where death the struggling life assails,And feel the pang of sorrow’s dart?
Why go not to the palace grand,Where fruits and wines await the guest,With works of art on ev’ry hand,And bask in comfort, peace and rest?
Why go not where the flowers bloom,And birds make music in the trees,Where all is joy, there is no gloom,And life and health ride on the breeze?
Is it for love of doing good,And working out the Master’s plan,Or doing as all others should,To elevate our fellow man?
There is a motive in the mind,That moves to noble, gen’rous deeds,To sacrifice and actions kind,And to relieving human needs.
Some ruling thought, some spirit fair,Or inward spring I can not see,Whate’er it is, love must be there.O that I knew what it can be.
Arouse, my soul, increase my sight,Awake, my muse, stay my blindness,Ah! now I see by brighter light,’Tis the milk of human kindness.
There is a fountain whence it flows,A source from whence it takes its start,Reviving hopes as on it goes,That fountain is the human heart.
God bless the hearts that feed the stream,That fills the soul with tenderness,God bless the lives that yield the cream,From the milk of human kindness.
Text: A newspaper item said that shop girls are often insulted on the streets by men who assume that they are immoral because they are poor.
Text: A newspaper item said that shop girls are often insulted on the streets by men who assume that they are immoral because they are poor.
I am only a working girl, ’tis true,And my mother a widow poor and weak;I am glad when I find some work to do,For the bloom has faded from mother’s cheek.There are four little ones to clothe and feed,And mother must work sixteen hours a day;She struggles hard to provide what they need,And I know is wearing her life away.I am old enough to go out and work,And healthy and strong, thanks to mother’s care,I could not bear my duty to shirk,And mother’s burdens I am pleased to share.The money I earn pays for coal and rent,And mother furnishes the food we eat,Ev’ry dollar she gets is wisely spent,And our cottage is always clean and neat.Mother takes washing and sewing to do,And works like a slave until late at night,I help her each evening an hour or two,And don’t complain for I know it is right.I go to the church and the Sunday School,And perform all my duties well and true,I strive hard to live by the golden rule,And that’s about all a poor girl can do.We’re not so unhappy as you might think,For love reigns supreme in our humble dome,And tho often near to starvation’s brink,No money could coax me to leave my home.Mother is cheerful and good as can be,And sings to us nightly songs that are choice,No sound ever heard is so dear to me,As the rich sweet sound of my mother’s voice.I met a strange man on the street one day,With a dashing style and a brazen cheek,Who said “Good night, my dear, just come my way,”And alarmed me so that I could not speak.I hastened to mother’s protecting arms,And asked if a poor girl must be on guard,Who claims neither beauty, nor loving charms,And whose dress cost only five cents a yard.“I’ll tell you, my dear, for I understand,Why that bold bad man set your head awhirl.He saw that poverty held you in hand,And you were only a poor working girl.”“But tell me, mother, have the poor no rights,Must one be rich to command respect?Our minister tells us that God delights,In the honest and poor of ev’ry sect.”“I know, my dear, what the ministers preach,But I state the fact so well as I can,Tho Christ has proclaimed what his priests shall teach,They have not overcome the sin in man.“Some men are good as they know how to be,While others repel life’s chastening rod,The rich meet temptations we never see,The good honest poor are nearest to God.”Thanks, my dear mother, your life is my guide,I will work night and day just as you do,When temptation comes I’ll thrust it aside,Grow nearer to God and nearer to you.When my work in this life has all been done,I will wend my way to the gates of pearl,And present this plea to the Holy One:“Dear Lord, I am only a working girl.”
I am only a working girl, ’tis true,And my mother a widow poor and weak;I am glad when I find some work to do,For the bloom has faded from mother’s cheek.There are four little ones to clothe and feed,And mother must work sixteen hours a day;She struggles hard to provide what they need,And I know is wearing her life away.I am old enough to go out and work,And healthy and strong, thanks to mother’s care,I could not bear my duty to shirk,And mother’s burdens I am pleased to share.The money I earn pays for coal and rent,And mother furnishes the food we eat,Ev’ry dollar she gets is wisely spent,And our cottage is always clean and neat.Mother takes washing and sewing to do,And works like a slave until late at night,I help her each evening an hour or two,And don’t complain for I know it is right.I go to the church and the Sunday School,And perform all my duties well and true,I strive hard to live by the golden rule,And that’s about all a poor girl can do.We’re not so unhappy as you might think,For love reigns supreme in our humble dome,And tho often near to starvation’s brink,No money could coax me to leave my home.Mother is cheerful and good as can be,And sings to us nightly songs that are choice,No sound ever heard is so dear to me,As the rich sweet sound of my mother’s voice.I met a strange man on the street one day,With a dashing style and a brazen cheek,Who said “Good night, my dear, just come my way,”And alarmed me so that I could not speak.I hastened to mother’s protecting arms,And asked if a poor girl must be on guard,Who claims neither beauty, nor loving charms,And whose dress cost only five cents a yard.“I’ll tell you, my dear, for I understand,Why that bold bad man set your head awhirl.He saw that poverty held you in hand,And you were only a poor working girl.”“But tell me, mother, have the poor no rights,Must one be rich to command respect?Our minister tells us that God delights,In the honest and poor of ev’ry sect.”“I know, my dear, what the ministers preach,But I state the fact so well as I can,Tho Christ has proclaimed what his priests shall teach,They have not overcome the sin in man.“Some men are good as they know how to be,While others repel life’s chastening rod,The rich meet temptations we never see,The good honest poor are nearest to God.”Thanks, my dear mother, your life is my guide,I will work night and day just as you do,When temptation comes I’ll thrust it aside,Grow nearer to God and nearer to you.When my work in this life has all been done,I will wend my way to the gates of pearl,And present this plea to the Holy One:“Dear Lord, I am only a working girl.”
I am only a working girl, ’tis true,And my mother a widow poor and weak;I am glad when I find some work to do,For the bloom has faded from mother’s cheek.
There are four little ones to clothe and feed,And mother must work sixteen hours a day;She struggles hard to provide what they need,And I know is wearing her life away.
I am old enough to go out and work,And healthy and strong, thanks to mother’s care,I could not bear my duty to shirk,And mother’s burdens I am pleased to share.
The money I earn pays for coal and rent,And mother furnishes the food we eat,Ev’ry dollar she gets is wisely spent,And our cottage is always clean and neat.
Mother takes washing and sewing to do,And works like a slave until late at night,I help her each evening an hour or two,And don’t complain for I know it is right.
I go to the church and the Sunday School,And perform all my duties well and true,I strive hard to live by the golden rule,And that’s about all a poor girl can do.
We’re not so unhappy as you might think,For love reigns supreme in our humble dome,And tho often near to starvation’s brink,No money could coax me to leave my home.
Mother is cheerful and good as can be,And sings to us nightly songs that are choice,No sound ever heard is so dear to me,As the rich sweet sound of my mother’s voice.
I met a strange man on the street one day,With a dashing style and a brazen cheek,Who said “Good night, my dear, just come my way,”And alarmed me so that I could not speak.
I hastened to mother’s protecting arms,And asked if a poor girl must be on guard,Who claims neither beauty, nor loving charms,And whose dress cost only five cents a yard.
“I’ll tell you, my dear, for I understand,Why that bold bad man set your head awhirl.He saw that poverty held you in hand,And you were only a poor working girl.”
“But tell me, mother, have the poor no rights,Must one be rich to command respect?Our minister tells us that God delights,In the honest and poor of ev’ry sect.”
“I know, my dear, what the ministers preach,But I state the fact so well as I can,Tho Christ has proclaimed what his priests shall teach,They have not overcome the sin in man.
“Some men are good as they know how to be,While others repel life’s chastening rod,The rich meet temptations we never see,The good honest poor are nearest to God.”
Thanks, my dear mother, your life is my guide,I will work night and day just as you do,When temptation comes I’ll thrust it aside,Grow nearer to God and nearer to you.
When my work in this life has all been done,I will wend my way to the gates of pearl,And present this plea to the Holy One:“Dear Lord, I am only a working girl.”
Suggested by reading the testimony of the severe whippings given with the “cat o’ eight tails” in the Industrial School for Girls at Adrian, Michigan. Written May, 1899.
Suggested by reading the testimony of the severe whippings given with the “cat o’ eight tails” in the Industrial School for Girls at Adrian, Michigan. Written May, 1899.
Strip off my clothes, expose my back,From shoulder to the hip,Hold fast my hands in vise like rack,Nor once let go the grip.Now raise your weapon high in air,And strike with all your might,On my poor back now white and fair,Nor hide the brutal sight.A single lash is not enoughTo bring the color quick,A “cat o’ eight tails” strong and tough,Will sooner make me sick.Rain down the blows nor halt to rest,Till you are out of breath,Another brute with equal zest,Will whip me most to death.See now the color pinky bright,But just over my heart,There still remain some streaks of white,Don’t miss this vital part.Measure your blows and deal them straight,Bring out the redder hue,Nor let your cruel strokes abate,Till all is black and blue.Now burns my back as if by fire,Red roasted in a flame,What more can cruel fate require,Of my poor trembling frame?I shrink with fear, I scream with pain,I pray “O spare my life,”So squeals the pig and squeals in vain,For deeper goes the knife.My voice is hushed, I faint, I choke,Death hovers closely by,Down falls another last hard stroke,“Take that, you wretch, and die.”O Michigan, my Michigan,Let your heart strings unfurl,Blot out the stain of Adrian,And pity the wayward girl.
Strip off my clothes, expose my back,From shoulder to the hip,Hold fast my hands in vise like rack,Nor once let go the grip.Now raise your weapon high in air,And strike with all your might,On my poor back now white and fair,Nor hide the brutal sight.A single lash is not enoughTo bring the color quick,A “cat o’ eight tails” strong and tough,Will sooner make me sick.Rain down the blows nor halt to rest,Till you are out of breath,Another brute with equal zest,Will whip me most to death.See now the color pinky bright,But just over my heart,There still remain some streaks of white,Don’t miss this vital part.Measure your blows and deal them straight,Bring out the redder hue,Nor let your cruel strokes abate,Till all is black and blue.Now burns my back as if by fire,Red roasted in a flame,What more can cruel fate require,Of my poor trembling frame?I shrink with fear, I scream with pain,I pray “O spare my life,”So squeals the pig and squeals in vain,For deeper goes the knife.My voice is hushed, I faint, I choke,Death hovers closely by,Down falls another last hard stroke,“Take that, you wretch, and die.”O Michigan, my Michigan,Let your heart strings unfurl,Blot out the stain of Adrian,And pity the wayward girl.
Strip off my clothes, expose my back,From shoulder to the hip,Hold fast my hands in vise like rack,Nor once let go the grip.
Now raise your weapon high in air,And strike with all your might,On my poor back now white and fair,Nor hide the brutal sight.
A single lash is not enoughTo bring the color quick,A “cat o’ eight tails” strong and tough,Will sooner make me sick.
Rain down the blows nor halt to rest,Till you are out of breath,Another brute with equal zest,Will whip me most to death.
See now the color pinky bright,But just over my heart,There still remain some streaks of white,Don’t miss this vital part.
Measure your blows and deal them straight,Bring out the redder hue,Nor let your cruel strokes abate,Till all is black and blue.
Now burns my back as if by fire,Red roasted in a flame,What more can cruel fate require,Of my poor trembling frame?
I shrink with fear, I scream with pain,I pray “O spare my life,”So squeals the pig and squeals in vain,For deeper goes the knife.
My voice is hushed, I faint, I choke,Death hovers closely by,Down falls another last hard stroke,“Take that, you wretch, and die.”
O Michigan, my Michigan,Let your heart strings unfurl,Blot out the stain of Adrian,And pity the wayward girl.
Written for Rose Gearing, a grandchild seven years old, while at Lorain, O., November, 1897.
Written for Rose Gearing, a grandchild seven years old, while at Lorain, O., November, 1897.
One day I went out walking,And the road was hard and long,No friend was with me talking,And no bird gave out a song.The air was raw and chilly,The warm summer days had past,My path was rough and hilly,The flowers were fading fast.The winds were blowing madly,Lake Erie was lashed to foam,And I was feeling sadly,Two hundred long miles from home.I tried to stop that feeling,And remove it from my mind,But what would do the healing,Was a thing I had to find.I thought of a nice river,Where the water ever flows,But God the mighty giver,Soon reminded me of Rose.My heart with joy went beaming,My spirits were lifted up,Away went idle dreaming,I had found the healing cup.Hereafter when in sadness,Bewailing ill-fortune’s blows,My thoughts will turn with gladness,To the love of my sweet Rose.And when I need elixir,That is pleasant, safe and sure,I’ll go to my sweet mixer,And quickly take—The Rose Cure.I know of nothing neater,Than my darling’s love for me,And none more pure, or sweeter,Than my love for her shall be.
One day I went out walking,And the road was hard and long,No friend was with me talking,And no bird gave out a song.The air was raw and chilly,The warm summer days had past,My path was rough and hilly,The flowers were fading fast.The winds were blowing madly,Lake Erie was lashed to foam,And I was feeling sadly,Two hundred long miles from home.I tried to stop that feeling,And remove it from my mind,But what would do the healing,Was a thing I had to find.I thought of a nice river,Where the water ever flows,But God the mighty giver,Soon reminded me of Rose.My heart with joy went beaming,My spirits were lifted up,Away went idle dreaming,I had found the healing cup.Hereafter when in sadness,Bewailing ill-fortune’s blows,My thoughts will turn with gladness,To the love of my sweet Rose.And when I need elixir,That is pleasant, safe and sure,I’ll go to my sweet mixer,And quickly take—The Rose Cure.I know of nothing neater,Than my darling’s love for me,And none more pure, or sweeter,Than my love for her shall be.
One day I went out walking,And the road was hard and long,No friend was with me talking,And no bird gave out a song.
The air was raw and chilly,The warm summer days had past,My path was rough and hilly,The flowers were fading fast.
The winds were blowing madly,Lake Erie was lashed to foam,And I was feeling sadly,Two hundred long miles from home.
I tried to stop that feeling,And remove it from my mind,But what would do the healing,Was a thing I had to find.
I thought of a nice river,Where the water ever flows,But God the mighty giver,Soon reminded me of Rose.
My heart with joy went beaming,My spirits were lifted up,Away went idle dreaming,I had found the healing cup.
Hereafter when in sadness,Bewailing ill-fortune’s blows,My thoughts will turn with gladness,To the love of my sweet Rose.
And when I need elixir,That is pleasant, safe and sure,I’ll go to my sweet mixer,And quickly take—The Rose Cure.
I know of nothing neater,Than my darling’s love for me,And none more pure, or sweeter,Than my love for her shall be.
The following verses were suggested by seeing a large and beautiful drop of snow, in the form of a star, descend slowly and gradually melt away on my clothing. The first three verses came to me spontaneously and come the nearest to being an inspiration of anything I have written up to January, 1888. I had only to write down the words, which were ready without the labor of composition. I mention this fact not because there is any merit in the verses, but because I had a touch of inspiration, and have ever since believed that writers and speakers are sometimes inspired with thoughts that come to them without passing thru the process of thinking. Written December, 1859.
The following verses were suggested by seeing a large and beautiful drop of snow, in the form of a star, descend slowly and gradually melt away on my clothing. The first three verses came to me spontaneously and come the nearest to being an inspiration of anything I have written up to January, 1888. I had only to write down the words, which were ready without the labor of composition. I mention this fact not because there is any merit in the verses, but because I had a touch of inspiration, and have ever since believed that writers and speakers are sometimes inspired with thoughts that come to them without passing thru the process of thinking. Written December, 1859.
A little thing of icy clearness.Came dropping from the sky above,Filling joyful hearts with gladness,And others with the tears of love.For while hearts are upward bending,Humbly praying for food to eat,Others joy and mirth are blending,Making their many pleasures sweet.Yet this little drop keeps falling,And covers up man’s darkest deeds,As if ’twere its only calling,To drive temptation from our heads.Then let this pure emblem’s features,Teach what we owe to God aboveAnd to all our fellow-creatures,Make a payment with our love.
A little thing of icy clearness.Came dropping from the sky above,Filling joyful hearts with gladness,And others with the tears of love.For while hearts are upward bending,Humbly praying for food to eat,Others joy and mirth are blending,Making their many pleasures sweet.Yet this little drop keeps falling,And covers up man’s darkest deeds,As if ’twere its only calling,To drive temptation from our heads.Then let this pure emblem’s features,Teach what we owe to God aboveAnd to all our fellow-creatures,Make a payment with our love.
A little thing of icy clearness.Came dropping from the sky above,Filling joyful hearts with gladness,And others with the tears of love.
For while hearts are upward bending,Humbly praying for food to eat,Others joy and mirth are blending,Making their many pleasures sweet.
Yet this little drop keeps falling,And covers up man’s darkest deeds,As if ’twere its only calling,To drive temptation from our heads.
Then let this pure emblem’s features,Teach what we owe to God aboveAnd to all our fellow-creatures,Make a payment with our love.
Tune:A Life on the Ocean Wave.
A home with my darling wife,Along with my children dear,Away from trouble and strife,From sorrow, danger and fear;Let some be gloomy and sad,I shall be happy and free,My wife be joyful and glad,And our children full of glee.No storms shall darken our path,The way is open and straight,Ne’er yield our reason to wrath,But aim for Heaven’s wide gate;’Twill open and let us in,And the Lord be glad to see,Living in Heaven with Him,My wife and children and me.
A home with my darling wife,Along with my children dear,Away from trouble and strife,From sorrow, danger and fear;Let some be gloomy and sad,I shall be happy and free,My wife be joyful and glad,And our children full of glee.No storms shall darken our path,The way is open and straight,Ne’er yield our reason to wrath,But aim for Heaven’s wide gate;’Twill open and let us in,And the Lord be glad to see,Living in Heaven with Him,My wife and children and me.
A home with my darling wife,Along with my children dear,Away from trouble and strife,From sorrow, danger and fear;Let some be gloomy and sad,I shall be happy and free,My wife be joyful and glad,And our children full of glee.
No storms shall darken our path,The way is open and straight,Ne’er yield our reason to wrath,But aim for Heaven’s wide gate;’Twill open and let us in,And the Lord be glad to see,Living in Heaven with Him,My wife and children and me.
In this beautiful world,Where love’s flag is unfurledAnd given free scope to wave and entwine;It does not become manTo complain of the plan,Established by a Creator divine.And on Thanksgiving DayWhile we sing and we pray,And give thanks for the rich stores we possess;Our hearts should open wide,To the poor by our side,And take measures to relieve their distress.For happy is the part,Where there’s love in the heart,To lighten the sorrows of one in need;And peace comes to the breast,When we help the distrest,And, O God, what joy comes from a good deed.
In this beautiful world,Where love’s flag is unfurledAnd given free scope to wave and entwine;It does not become manTo complain of the plan,Established by a Creator divine.And on Thanksgiving DayWhile we sing and we pray,And give thanks for the rich stores we possess;Our hearts should open wide,To the poor by our side,And take measures to relieve their distress.For happy is the part,Where there’s love in the heart,To lighten the sorrows of one in need;And peace comes to the breast,When we help the distrest,And, O God, what joy comes from a good deed.
In this beautiful world,Where love’s flag is unfurledAnd given free scope to wave and entwine;It does not become manTo complain of the plan,Established by a Creator divine.
And on Thanksgiving DayWhile we sing and we pray,And give thanks for the rich stores we possess;Our hearts should open wide,To the poor by our side,And take measures to relieve their distress.
For happy is the part,Where there’s love in the heart,To lighten the sorrows of one in need;And peace comes to the breast,When we help the distrest,And, O God, what joy comes from a good deed.
Composed for the occasion of the marriage of my daughter, Flora, to Howard C. Beck, June 17th, 1891.
Composed for the occasion of the marriage of my daughter, Flora, to Howard C. Beck, June 17th, 1891.
Howard and Flora, there’s a beautiful land,Where trees and flowers grow pretty and sweet,Where many kind friends will lend you a hand,And line with pleasure a path for your feet.’Tis not among stars that twinkle with light,’Tis not in the moon so cheerless and cold,’Tis not just beyond great shadows of night,To reach it requires no silver or gold.This beautiful land is easily found,Its gates are open to virtue and worth,Where peace and good will and reason abound,This beautiful land is this lovely earth.If you would enjoy this beautiful land,And crown with glory the days you have spent,Let heart beat to heart and hand join with hand,And travel thru life in peace and content.Your aim should be high, your walk should be straight,Your lives fill with joy your parents and friends,Your record keep bright and honor your state,And tread the true path where happiness tends.Howard, should Flora once chance to go wrong,With kind loving words the stain wash away,When she shows weakness then you should be strong,And quarrels never will darken your way.Flora, should Howard a moment be weak,And stray from the path that leads men above,Don’t hasten to bring a blush to his cheek,But cover his fault with mantles of love.Thus in harmony and peace may you dwell,Your knowledge expand, your pleasures increase,Always be happy and always be well,And end your journey in Heaven and peace.
Howard and Flora, there’s a beautiful land,Where trees and flowers grow pretty and sweet,Where many kind friends will lend you a hand,And line with pleasure a path for your feet.’Tis not among stars that twinkle with light,’Tis not in the moon so cheerless and cold,’Tis not just beyond great shadows of night,To reach it requires no silver or gold.This beautiful land is easily found,Its gates are open to virtue and worth,Where peace and good will and reason abound,This beautiful land is this lovely earth.If you would enjoy this beautiful land,And crown with glory the days you have spent,Let heart beat to heart and hand join with hand,And travel thru life in peace and content.Your aim should be high, your walk should be straight,Your lives fill with joy your parents and friends,Your record keep bright and honor your state,And tread the true path where happiness tends.Howard, should Flora once chance to go wrong,With kind loving words the stain wash away,When she shows weakness then you should be strong,And quarrels never will darken your way.Flora, should Howard a moment be weak,And stray from the path that leads men above,Don’t hasten to bring a blush to his cheek,But cover his fault with mantles of love.Thus in harmony and peace may you dwell,Your knowledge expand, your pleasures increase,Always be happy and always be well,And end your journey in Heaven and peace.
Howard and Flora, there’s a beautiful land,Where trees and flowers grow pretty and sweet,Where many kind friends will lend you a hand,And line with pleasure a path for your feet.
’Tis not among stars that twinkle with light,’Tis not in the moon so cheerless and cold,’Tis not just beyond great shadows of night,To reach it requires no silver or gold.
This beautiful land is easily found,Its gates are open to virtue and worth,Where peace and good will and reason abound,This beautiful land is this lovely earth.
If you would enjoy this beautiful land,And crown with glory the days you have spent,Let heart beat to heart and hand join with hand,And travel thru life in peace and content.
Your aim should be high, your walk should be straight,Your lives fill with joy your parents and friends,Your record keep bright and honor your state,And tread the true path where happiness tends.
Howard, should Flora once chance to go wrong,With kind loving words the stain wash away,When she shows weakness then you should be strong,And quarrels never will darken your way.
Flora, should Howard a moment be weak,And stray from the path that leads men above,Don’t hasten to bring a blush to his cheek,But cover his fault with mantles of love.
Thus in harmony and peace may you dwell,Your knowledge expand, your pleasures increase,Always be happy and always be well,And end your journey in Heaven and peace.