S 3545 H5225 5 919 lopy 1 3n ^tx^t BY G. A. WHITE SHORT CREEK WEST VIRGINIA Cltxiiigltts 3jt ^tx^t OCT 29 1919 BY G. A. WHITE short'creek west virginia SZSZSH5"ESZSSSHSHSZ5Z5H5Z5Z5B5ESESZFESZ5dSZFS5HS1E '5^5HSE5ESE5^SHS55ZS3ESESZS^5HS^5HS?5ESHS■aSH5ceB TO MY READERS yQ^^\S^^oS^ I desire to offer an apolog-y for part of the contents of these pages; I had not intended to use some of these "attempts," but owing- to circumstances over which I had no control my most valuable M. SS. was destroyed or went astray, and a number of things of far more value found a similar destination. However, it is not my desire to burden you by reciting those occurances. Several acquaintances have insisted that I place this small number (partly discards) before you. The result is the copy you now see. Trusting that by ^our reading, there may be a thought suggested v/hich will develop into good. They are at your consider- ation. Accepted or rejected. The thoughts of other men Should not pass unnoticed by; For oft a bubbling spring is found Where everything seems dry. — G. A. W. 3. Meadowdale. 4. The West. 4. Potters Field. 5. Then and Now. Written previous to with- drawal of U. S. Troops from Foreign Fields. 6. The Old Maid. 7. A Soldier. 8. The Aeroplane. 9. To a Returned Dollar. 10. Two Roads. 11. Man. 12. Success. 13. Dead or Sleeping? 14. WHiich Is Best? 15. The Nurse. 16. Flowers. 17. Heaven. 18. Truth. 19. The Best Boy. 19. Hell. 20. The Sculptor.' 20. To a Daisy. 21. Theodore Roosevelt (In Memory) of 22. The River Ohio. 23. The Indian. C1A533837 MEADOWDALE A Country Church. Nestled down between the hills, Near the silent stream which flows Onward with many a crook and turn; To somewhere — no one knows. With its sing-le hand points heavenwards, A guide for all to see; It beckons to the erring" one. Whoever they may be. The ploughman as he tills the soil. That near it always yields The choicest crops; his fondest hopes, Its presence here reveals. Then when the week-end ushers in The Glorious Sabbath Day; Here's where the entire country-side; Quietly wend their way. To seek the blessings of their God, Whom they have served so long; They praise Him here with hearts atune In prayer and joyful song. Here in the quiet burial ground, In silent sleep, repose The forms of their dear loved ones; Forgotten all their woes. The lessons true — of Truth Divine Poured out upon the ear Of this dear folk, brings rest; And peace forever dwelleth here. The Spirit's presence here is felt, It spreads o'er hill and vale May God his iriches shower on thee Bhst, quiet Meadowdale. — G. A. W, Three. THE WEST Upon the hilltop oft I sit and gaze With discontent unconQuered in my breast; At scenes almost obscured by distance, That stretches on lorever — toward the West. At morn the sun peeps up and smiles, The earth blinks back and both are blest; Somewhere a beckoning- hand must move, For like a child, he wan-ders off — toward the ^Vesf. Two hemispheres this grain of sand includes, For long the Eastern one was thought the best; But words ard deeds, to all the world have proved The hands of progress, point — toward the West. Suppressions bov/ was broken, and burdens yoke No longer on our ancestors' necks found res:, They Hung it at the English Crown, Where their ships sailed out — toward the West. Ah, grandeur of those shades of Natu.'e's art. That greets the eye — when upon the mountains crest; The sun appears to hesitate and ponder o'er his journey As he onward wends his way — toward the West. When life is past, its scenes forever ended, And deaths cold hand upon our brow is pressed; I woi.dor, will that realm excel in splendor The one which seems to lure us on — towai'd the ■'\'est. — G. A. W. o THE POTTER'S FIELD Forsaken weed-entangled spot; Unto to the eyes of men; A picture you present, too sad To be described by pen. Adjoining this well-kept field. You seem quite out of place; Those grass-grown mounds unmarked. Reveal poverty and disgiaee. And yet I'm sure if all wero known Concerning" some who sleep. Bene a h this tanuled mass of weeds. The world itself would Vv^eep. Some worihy li^ouls lie buried here, ^Vho strove with all their might; To lift the \v'eak — to down the wrong, And i-ut the vvurld to right. -G. A. W. Four, THEN AM) NOW NOTE: Written previous to the wthi-cira\val of America's forces from the World Conflict. When poor Belgium begged for mercy, 'i o the German it was tun; lo behold them in their suffering; Did he spare them? Not a one. When old Hindenburg- and others. In gay Paree thought they'd dine; The shrieks of woman's voices. To their ears was music .^ne. All the pleas of these dear mothers. For their daughters chaste and fair; Brought no mercj-, but much jeering. Brought them nothing but despair. To the Hell Hounds of the Kaiser, Mothers wept and plead in vain; That their daughter.? and their sisters. Be spared from disgrace and shame. feut the answer of those wretches. Crazed with thoughts of victory; Were those deeds of German Kultur; Wrough upon humanity. Worse than all the drunken orgies. E'er committed 'neath the sun; — AVere tho.^e frightful scenes, enacted In the dug-out of the Hun. When he sank the Lusitania, And the Sussex, too, went down; Where was the mercy of the Hun? Or was there any shown? That all Avas fair, in love or war, Was applicable to the Hun; Until his dream had vanished, And we had him on the run. So now he begs for mercy, His eyes with tears are dim; Shall we give him his "just dues?" Or shall we pitv him? - (3. A. \V. THE OLD 31 AID She sat with care-worn visage, Her hair unkempt anou answer nothing, ]''or there's sadness in all mirth; And through sorrow cometh gladness; I'll accept you at jour worth. — G. A. W. Nine. TWO EOADS Remember well my reader friend, As your way you onward wend Through this world of stress and strife; All's not here there is of life. That after life has once begun. Thru countless ages it will run; And as you make it here, 'twill be The same throughout eternity. And if in the spring of youth. You've ever loyal been to truth; And followed in the paths of right. Heaven's lamp will be your light. But if instead, you've courted vice. So surely you will pay the price When all your purchasing is o'er: And sometimes you must pay before. Dame folly doth feel quite secure. And knowing credit is a lure. Extends it often, unto men; That she might obtain hold on them. And once within her mighty grasp 'Tis very few her hands unclasp; She weaves a net of magic spell Around a man, which leads to hell. The walks that lead unto her door. Are trod alike by rich and poor; There wit and mirth both wend their way; And unto her their homage pay. Strong men, brave men, have often walked Into her snare, and loudly talked About her winning ways of grace; Their lives were lost to wickedness. Ah! Come with me and follow them, These imen who might have been real men. And on the burnished walls of fame Modeled and carved themselves a name. How great the number beneath the sod Are buried where? — In the field of blood* In that lone forsaken burial spot, Man and his wit is soon forgot. * — Potters field. Ten. .And many an unknown gravp doth keep, The memory of those who fell asleep, Rei using- to even speak the name Of friend or foe, because of shame. All these are gone, they counted naught While here on earth, except to blot The lives of many a Aveaker one. Who in their footsteps followed on. If, on history's pag-es their name f^ppears, You'll find it linked with only tears. The heartaches of a world have shed Because they lived; not that they're dead. I trust you've seen enough to know. That vice is an expensive show; Her slittering-, shining, dazzling way Leads to, but darkness — ^day by day. A life once lived, can not retrace A step, nor deed erase; There's just two roads, remember well; One leads to heaven, the other, hell. -G. A. W 37.4 .Y The earth exists within, and is I'art of a systematic plan. Of nature's own construction For the benefit of man. And here he dwells, the king of all That treads upon the sphoie: The powers of reason, thought and speech Proclaim he is the peer. Within him .Justice lifts its scales Goncience. rules the judgment seat; Memory bring her treasures down, Will, and the trio meet. No other living creature Betwixt the earth and skies; Can comprehend the ways of man, Or boast such factulties. He is the chosen vessel. The Maker's finished dream; And of Heaven's Royal discourse. The topic and the theme. -O. A. V\ Eleven. SUCCESS Note: Written in Reference to My Fi'iend, Mr. Jacob Ashcrat't. Nature in her kindness bestowed with lavish hand Upon you a gift, and an unfinished task; That you may quietly persistence lend. And seek the answer to the questions she would ask. The hands of years repeatedly, have moved around And brushed the face of time with many a caress. Since she looked in upon the scene; And there beheld you filled w^th eag-erness. Scarce had you began, or the echo of her footsteps plain Had ceased to fall upon your ear with solemn tread, You thought the g-oal in sig-ht; And oft thru hours of night your answer to her read. Sometimes she seemed to listen, her patience Hung, or seemed to hang on ever.s' word; Your efforts praised she showed you then, Wherein j'our vision had been blurred. With golden hopes she led j'ou on, and mountains Appeared as only ant-hills in your v/ay; Incessant toil has wrought the question's answer. Experience has been your only pay. But had gold iheen heaped about you The yellow glittering horde would only make you poor. Compared unto the wealth by modest quiet stealth You now possess in wisdom — quite secure. We must not ba.=;e success o'!^ silver or on gold. For greed the motive is. behind the plan That reaches out to wealth, with thought of only self; And often steals his virtue from the man. Real success, like real virtue does not wear a gaudy g-own And parade before the people as a show. But unto the path of right — Wisdom's eve.r-ready light Shines success, upon the one who walks below. — G. A. W. I^v^elve. DEAD OR SLEEPISG? In silence I stand beside this mound, And wonder if my presence here (s known by you or if in expectancy You've awaited my drawing- near. Youi- name in oft repeated echoes Falls back upon the ear, but still — No answer greets, no form appears And silence only, lingers with a chill. This marble with its inscription plain Pays silent tribute — its face I read; The lettei-s boldly proclaim unto the world. Dear one, that thou are dead. Oil can you not stei) back across the vale For just a moment; And assurance give Though this life is past and gone Departed here, that somewhere yet you live? I listen with quickening breath to catch The faintest echo or word from thee; All senses alert await the faintest sound, But silence only greets me. In life, a single word would summon .\ resjMmse and welcome cheer; A\'ith laughing liji.*, youi- \\ords as soft As moonlight waves would float upon the air. Your p)'esence then. left no unbroken link In the chain of living facts, the end T now find here; and faith's fire too cool The severed piece to mend. \Vords of sym'pathy do not give comfort, Thev only serve the attention to divert, find peace No longer stays than time requires their utterance When their vibrant echoes cease. T stand beside your tomb and cry aloud, T kneel and bov.' uncovered head; My tears drop down but fail to move The voiceless lips of unreplying dead. Ah Death! seem.=: as if this were victory. T^or yon within thf^ confines of your grasp, Hold all, except the stings of pain. Left in the pathwav of your asp. — G. A. W. Thirteen. WHICH IS BEST Which is best, to live and die Unknowing- and unknown; With but a few to miss your presence And fewer still to care; Or seek through years of struggle, to gain Within the courts of wisdom's throne, a chair? The road upon which the sage journeys At the last turn Bends doiwnward to the end; And paralells the beggars path; Both to Death Descend; — • Whether roses upon life's highway grew, Or thorns interlaced across the road That reaches from the cradle to the grave, It matters not; for life doth ever goa^ Us onward; And we must haste To make room for others We cannot waste a moment, There is no stopping place The thing called life, forced upon us; "We value much, but yet We've not the choice To keep it long; it must be spent. Tis sad in either case not our consent. For many weep that they must die. And not a few that they must live The latter can't be counted on for much. But since the fate of all is Death — Eternal Death — without awakening; The efforts man puts forth Amount to naught; for time Will declare them obsolete And as the moon behind a cloud Is hid, they fade from sight And lose their worth. The very few — whom life has favored Appear as great a little while; 'Tis only temporary beams Their stars of life shine out. The century-wheel will turn But few times 'till they're forgotten. Fourteen. Most of us ilo not enjoy knowledge Of our great-grand-father's name; And no doubt when our children Live to be grand-fathers These will be the same In regards to us; the greater number Of the race is forgotten when Weeds tower ranks and deep Over the place on earth's bosom Wherein we lie asleep. The moisture from tears shed At the departure of loved ones; Appears to hold the germ Upon which the seeds of forgetfulntss thrive This makes life a losing fight; We wMn only w^hile alive, All things considered, weighed; And subjected to the test Are just an even balance; Each must for himself decide Which way is best. — G. A. W. THE NURSE An angel of mercy and kindness, She toils all day and all night. Removing the stings from the pillow Making the heavy heart light. The suffering of patient and loved onej Is the burden she has to bear; Yet hers is the duty forever To Irive away trouble and care. Her feet with wnll steps measure The distance from danger and fear To recovery's road; and with pleasure She greets its drawing near. -G. A. W. Fifteen. FLOWERS All the beauties of color worked into a scheme, Which baffle« man's attempt to reproduce, Are found in flowers — ^AU efforts, iwhen Compared to Nature's canvas-vain excuse. They speak a sublime message to each and all. Some words of comfort give; 'iheir petals more spotless than the snow; Whisper of Purity and Life and Love. Some were twisted into His sermon, by the Savior, While here on earth He lived and loved and taug-ht; And ever since — the g-ems of mankind's writing's, Have been termed — the poesies of thought. What can excel the beauty of the Lillies? As on the water's bosom they repose; Or stir the half-awakened fires that kindle. By the redness and the perfume of the rose. Did you ever have a voice v^^ith words of wisdom, Enchant .\'ou while you lingered near the spot — And looking- down, behold as if in warning-; The blue-eyed, sweet forg-et-me-not? Tn fields disfigrured by many a shot and shell. Where lives were spent in noble sacrifice; And Liberty was purchased — unto the world The Poppies' crimson gk>w bespeaks the price. The Daisies eyes unfold their lids in springtime. When tears of April's rain have made them wet; And Johnny-Jump-Up on tlie hill appears. As if in search of modest Violet. The Orchid leads the maid unto the altar Love beckoning'; so resolute and brave; And Pansy-cherished thoughts — in memory linger, 'Till Lily holds the hand Ibeside the g^rave.' Do not, with selfish motive stoop to pluck them. Nor tramnle down with hurried careless tread The flowers; they with words of love and wisdom; Speak the languag-e of the living and the dead. — G. A. W. Sixteen. HEAVEN Eternal home for spirits fled, From lives whose every deed Bespoke their love of duty; The sinners greatest need. A world beyond this vale of teairf, In which a city fair; Swing-s out its gates in welcome; To immortals g:oing there. And on its amethystine walls, The Jessamine doth bloom; The key of life unlocks the door, The time forever noon. Its seasons all are summer. The weather ever fair; No blasting chill of winter. Has ever entered there. The only law is order. Obedience the rule; The master and the teacher. A scholar in the school. Each happv shining- forehead. Has bathed in the Spring of Youth; And overv lip has kissed the ru)). Which holds the draught of truth. Death's hand will never beckon, Nor time, his sickle thrust Within the gates of Heaven Where live the truly just. This is a home eternal Of love and peace and rest. Ivet's strive to gain its portal And live forever, blest. ,^ ^ ,,, — G. A. \V . Seventeen. TRUTH The world piles a mass of words Around a given theme; And calls it truth, until someone Upsets the cherished dream. Oreat minds with words of magic wit. Spurt forth in eloquence New theories and prove they do agree With so-called common sense. But strange it seems, no matter AVhat all the great minds say; Their common sense of yesterday Js foolishness today. They stagger 'round in eager search Ul)on the shore of thought; For Truth, that gem of priceless worth; For which the world has sought. We find them single handed, We find them grouped in bands, And though the ocean's at their feet They linger on the sands. And nere they build play houses. To stand the test of years. The wise and foolish both applaud, And greet these men with cheers. Then loud and long they talk and teach The new discovered rule; Until another on the beach Erects a better school. Like sand houses built by children Too near the water's main, The ocean swells and then recedes The sands fall back again. They rest almost in the selfsame place As before the children played; And from the same old sand, again A new house will be made. They'll name it Truth, and swear it is; And prove by its design, the rest Were wrong, but this new one Will stand the test of time ^-nd thus 'twill be as sure as age The outgrowth is of youth: Man will play at the water's edge And ever seek for truth. — G. A. W. Eighteen, THE BEST BOY I know a man who was a boy A long, lons" time ago; I wish I might have known him then. Such boys do -seldom grow. He always went to Sunday school And learned his lesson well; From truth he never went astray. He would no falsehood tell. His mother found him close at hand AVhen there was work to do; He never shirked a single task. Nor stopped till he was through. He didn't cry when he got hurt, Just stood it like a man: And nevei- swore when he got mad Never even said — mill dam. He seldom took the time to play, And when he did, liis toys At once were quickly put away. And never made a noise. He helped his sisters when he could, And never teased his brother. At last he grew to be a man And then he married mother. — G. A. VV. HELL Not a firey furnace of brimstone, Tn which the unrighteous shall dwell But to lose one's respect and friendship; To gain one's ill-will, is hell. To play a good game, and then lose it, To fall where a weaker one fell; Or a friend to become your b-etrayer. Is hell — reader friend — really hell. — G. A. W. Nineteen. THE SCULPTOR The treasure of the marble clifl, Is the Sculptor's finished dream; Wrought into a figure So lifelike and serene. He breathes upon the unhewn rock, Ana Lo! with grace of form; Into the world of life and thought, A hero is reborn. It "stands before the critic's gaze Unmoved by tears or frown; No sneers of scorn or words of praise Can tear the statue down. The world walks by, and looks upon Those heroes born of stone. They praise the art and handiwork. The Sculptor is unknown. They seldom seek to learn his name. Their praise stops where the marble stands, The Sculptor's thought, the Sculptor's brain Deserves more credit than his hands. Mankind can never pay the debt We owe unto these men; Then let us strive to not forgetr Our duty unto them. — G. A. W TO A DAISY I've plucked you from vour resting place, I hold you in my hand; And gaze with wonder at your form. But do not understand What you are, or why you came; Nor why you go away; I only know that coming here You cannot always stav. — G. A. W. Twenty. JK MEMORY OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT Y(Ui li\e;l in an a.uo embitted l)y .strife, When the world called for freedom in tears, And the thoughts of your brain, along with your name; Will shine on the tablets of years. The race for some reason, presents but one man In a long stretch of time, it appears; To point a great nation to solid foundation And wrest from its i)eople, their fears. Your courage and wisdom in tinie of great need, Your wielding of sword and of pen; Re-wrote to a people, that "All men are equal" And moulded a nation of men. Reviewing the years of your life's sweet engagement, Behold they are filled with valorous deeds; And long ere death beckoned, with her you had reckoned; But followed the pathway, to where glory leads. In life's early Autumn the gateway was opened, Ycur Spirit released from the body soon fled; Without a misgiving we adored you while living, ^\'e ch' rish .your memorv since vou are dead — G. A. W. Twenty-one. THE RIVER OHIO Peaceful, silent, silvery stream That flows forever on; Your rythmic beat alike doth greet The twilight and the dawn. The hills majestic mark your course. For you must flow between; Your waters blue present to view. The grandeur of the scene. The years danced on your rippling waves As time her carols sung; Man's form grows old — becomes a mould. But you're forever young. Times hand adds beauty to your form, With Nature's ready pen; Should age erase one line of grace She'd write it o'er again. your flash beneath the noonday sun. Excels the sparkling gems, The Angels fair v/ith loving care; Wreathe into diadems. And as your waters onward glide. Toward the silent sea; Your silvery song will still ring on Throughout eternity. Of all the streams in all the lands. Which man has learned to know; You're blest and dressed with beauty best; My beautiful Ohio. Twenty-two. THE INDIAN A fast dissappearing- race, Fushed from the banks of time; The hand of progress marked his doom, This patriarch Divine. Within a country all his own, His voice ignored unheard. The law of mig-ht his master is; It made of him a ward. At first the pale face was a God. The red man really thought; And treated him as such, until He proved that he was not. He tried with treaties then to gain The friendship of this man. But after many sad attempts Was forced to quit the plan. The White man's rifle drove him back. And robbed him of his home; His family starved, in winter's storms Provisions they had none. The paleface tricks out-ran his wit, He was worse off than before. As a last resort, to save himself; The Indian went to war. The white man's numbers won the day And placed on him the blame; He murdered, burned and plundered; But the white man did the same. A remnant only, now is left Of any tribe or clan, Forg-iving all, they ask us, treat The Indian as a man. Within a land whose government Proclaims all rhen are free: The Indian asks, with the foreigner To have equality. He loves this land, his native home. Would die for it today; Give him his rights, don't hesitate. Let right — not might — hold sway. — G. A. W. Twenty-three. Cop>right. October, 1919. Bv G. A. WHITE. LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 018 477 436 7 • Majority, *^^^ WheelinK