f! 1031 niq PS 1039 .fl717 Copy 1 3?@im. 1^1 <^#) ^ imr ^M^i- 4p^ 3' A HUNDRED YEARS. One hundred busy years ! How much they mean ! What mighty revolutions have they seen ! What progress of the arts ! What progress of the pen ! What breaking down of wrong ! What lifting up of men I Well may we boast our victories nobly won ; Our rapid progress towards the setting sun ; Our broad domain — its every acre free, Stretching its giant arms from sea to sea ; Our white-winged commerce o'er the stormy brine ; Our wealth of prairie, forest, farm and mine; And, more than these — what still the spirit fires, Those sterling virtues of our noble sires, Which wedded them to freedom as to life. In face of frowns and threats and deadly strife, And held them to their self-imposed decree To pay no sordid tax on British tea. They stood as stands the rock upon the shore When angry waves around it foam and roar ; And, bending not before the tryant's blow, Hurled swift defiance back upon tlie foe. You know the rest. Their stubborn, plucky will Brought Concord, Lexington and Bunker-Hill. It brought stern war ; and men with bated breath Saw the destroyer, red with fire and death. Stalk througli the land to lav the fairest low And Bcatter wi(Je the direful seeds of woe. But, ''where then; is a will there is a way," And so there dawned at last, a better day. Patient endurance ! Ah ! it conquers still ! It forms the climax of a manly will I It foiled the evil purposes designed And gave a new born Nation to mankind. Nay, more ! unknown it held at its command These hundred years of progress in its hand : These years of toil and growth, all richly fraught With schools, and chui'ches, and unfettered thought- A precious gift, a princelj% royal dower. Of onward progress and advancing power! The age is ''fast," and whatsoever lingers Is rudely thrust aside bj^ nimbler lingers. Life's panorama of eventfiil range Gliiters with visions of amazing change. Our mothers with the needle slowlj'^ wrought, Chatting with children or absorbed in thought : Patient, persistent, grave perhaps, or gay. Obedient to tlieir needs tliey stitched away. Anil oui- good households, in those olden days. Attest the merits of their faithful waj^s. But, times have changed. Behold another scene I List to the pacing click of tliat machine I Follow the needle — if, perchance, the eye Can catch its motions as the stitches fly See how the stutt' moves on all neatly sewed, Trending its wonted way as on a road. Corded, or hemmed, or gathered, as you please. And moving forward with surpassing ease. Its stitch the very magic of our times. More deftly woven than our magic rhymes. Those homely meihods could not always last; 1 The ''good old times" must drop into the past. The nimble knitting- on a wintry night, Around the blazing tire, cheerful and l)right; The twirling spindle, and the maiden's tread. As, with a whirl, she drew the tiny thread ; The beam and shuttle of the household loom — Which had its corniir or its special room ; The flax and distaft" of the^'' little wheel;" The winding into knots upon the reel; Are household pictures faded and gone by ; And, in their place a thousand spindles ply, A thousand looms, moved by some mountain stream Or, ready, bus}^ many-handed steam. Steam is our hand-maid, faithful, deft and strong, Tliat pushes fast the moving world along. It speeds the shuttle, spins the spindle round ; AVheels monstrous burdens o'er the graded ground ; Brings iron from the mine, and coal and lead ; Lifts rocks and metals from tlieir mountain bed ; Rolls out our iron, beats the pond'rous trip ; Hammers and saws and sails the fastest ship ; Stitches our garments, ploughs for unsown seed, And prints the Daily Paper which we read. The Daily Paper, now in evei-y hand, Sheds light and knowledge through the teeming land And we behold the PRESS a ruling power. Grown stronger by the change of every hour. The wooden Kamage, working witliout stint. For our good sires a hundred sheets might print Within the hour. Long since it passed away. A thing most useful, it has had its day. Oh, Franklin ! couldst thou from thy sleep arise ! What thrilling wondei- ! what enwrapped surprise ! Thy sympathetic breast would surely know While gazing on a mam moth, working Hoe ! Heavy and strong, and moving with a will. It whirls and rattles like a cotton-mill. And many a snowy hank piled hugely high, And many a hand is taxed for its supply; And, Oh ! Amazing ! it with ease completes Within the hoiu', full twenty thousa4^d sheets. t? So, too, of old, the painter slowly wrought. With his good eye the face or scene he caught, And then with color, brush, and master skill Proceeded patiently his sketch to till. Few walls were garnished then with works of art ; Few pictures graven — save upon the heart. But. since Daguerre, iio painter like the sun ; Who takes our portraits almost on the run ; Whose brush of rays with color overflows And every ardent look a picture shows. To rich and poor he gives his genial ray, And gems for all are radiant every day. Companions, lovers, parents, children, all; The poor man's Cottage and the rich man's Hall, Attest the largeness of the painter's will, And share the bounties of his matchless skill. In "'seventy-six," if Post-man 'did not fall, Letters went slowly in the weekly mall ; And, if demands more urgent chanced to press Kelays of horses proved a fleet express. Behold what change ! With rail and steam combined And daily mails, the news would lag behind But for those magic wires which stretch afar, On which the lightning drives his unseen car. His flying coui-sers sweep along their way. O'er land and sea, by darkness and by day, Now, down beneath the ocean's surging tide. On the long- cable throuii:li the deep they ride, Now, mountmg on the endless net of wires, On, on, with speed that never flag's or tires, Connting all time and distance as but naught, Leaping or flying, as a flash or thought, To bring from every land subdued by man. From England, Egypt, China and Japan, The news, like manna, gathered tVesh and sweet To be reported in the daily sheet. The fastest travel in the olden age Was in the rocking, bounding, four-horse stage. Which, swinging, jolting, as it rolled along Kehind its heav}^ horses, slow and strong. Full often pausing to obtain the mail - Or fresher horses, as the vvoi-n ones fail. Could, in its steady trend of night and day Scarce make its hundred miles of weary way. The driver was a man of conscious i)ower, Of business air and prompt to day and hour. Who answered questions and would oft expand On title deeds and ownership of land. Or village gossip, tales and local lore — And, Oh ! the bundles, messages and notes he bore ! Missiles of business, love, and strange embraces ; Of shows and auctions, trainings and the races; And wlien his mellow horn blew loud and clear To sound a warning that the stage was near, A crowd of gossips, thus informed before. Would meet in knots around the tavern door. To get their papers, notes or other dues. Or see the team, or hear or tell the news. He, like a royal sovereign, had his throne. From which he ruled his princely realm alone ; And, when he gathered up his double reins, That magic power that govf'rns and restrains, 8 No Emperor, witli high, iinijerial will, Could wield his stately power with hetter skill. His watchful subjects, mindful of his way. Bent all their humors to his fitful sway. And if, perchance, in aught they seemed to lack, The long- lash quivered with a thundriug crack. While every muscle trembled at the sound. And every iioof was ready to rebound. Those days have gone. The stage has passed away And, in its place, the level, iron way Bears on its ti-ack the stream of busy life That sweeps with currents strong as human strife. The iron liorse with glowing embers fed, Paces, impatient on his graded bed And breatiiing smoke and sparks of glowing fire Suggests a demon or some monster dire. But, kindly treated, on his trusty road. No ox is half so patient of his load. With scores of laden cars bound to his train Ho bears our freight and travel o'er the main, Laughs at all toil and, with Herculean power, Wheels ofi" his load at sixty miles an hour. In morals, too, the ever waging strife Bears hard upon the hoary wrongs of life.— Strange ! that our sires who pledged their all to be From every foreign power so nobly free. Should not have spurned the cotHe and the chain And banished slavery from tlieir wide domain ! But, no : alas ! For twenty shameful years The licensed slave-trade filled the land with tears. And when, at last, the foreign traffic o'er. Our ships their stolen freigiit no longer bore. Bondmen at home, scourged to reluctant toil, With sweat and blood bedewed our virgin soil. Then followed strife which pronnsed no repose Till the black crime was beaten out by blows. Fierce, and more tierce, the an^ry contest ra<^ed Till its wild fary all our STATES engaged ; And slavery, beaten oft, '' pushed to the wall," Met, on a field of blood, its tinal fall. Oh, direful war I destruction in tiiy hand ! The sword, the torch awaiting thy command ! Engine of Tyrants, since the world began, To build up Empire and belittle man ! Beg«4ting woes no tongue can ever t