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 * rNiihl' >rATKS OF AMKRU'A. ^ 
 
PROGRESS 
 
 ATTRIBUTED TO THE LABORING CLASSES 
 
 A POEM 
 
 DELIVERED BEFORE THE WORCESTER COUNTY ME- 
 CHANICS' ASSOCIATION, MARCH 3d, 1853. 
 
 By C. JII.I.SON, 
 
 Was man OTdain'd the slave of man to toil, 
 
 Yoked with the brutes, and fettcr'd to the soiW 
 
 Weigh'd in a tyrant's balance with his gojd ? 
 
 No I Nature stamp'd xxs m^tummiii^nould.— CampbeU. 
 
 WORCESTER: 
 
 PRINTED BT KDWARD R. FISK! 
 1863. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by 
 
 C. JILLSON, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of 
 
 Massachusetts. 
 
P HOG RESS 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 I've no excuse for being here, 
 And what, to you, may seem still worse, 
 Can give no reasons why I choose 
 To clothe my humble theme in verse ; 
 Except it be for fashion's sake, 
 For now-a-days I trust you know 
 That prose is being laid aside. 
 While softer numbers gently flow. 
 
 The school-girl of a dozen years 
 Must spend her hours of leisure time 
 In writing down her youthful thoughts, 
 Regardless of the sense or rhyme ; 
 Yet some in this progressive age, 
 Whom Nature ever deigns to bless, 
 Have taken up the harp and pen 
 And written couplets for the press. 
 Each Miss must have a fancy book — 
 I think the Album is its name, 
 And all good friends, both^ young and old, 
 Contribute nonsense to the same ; 
 Then tell what wonders they have done, 
 And with a look and air subhme 
 Show how they have relinquished prose. 
 And now are wading into rhyme.- 
 
The beardless youth, but five feet tall, . 
 
 Oft thinks his mighty self inspired, 
 
 And spurs the poet^^s jaded nag 
 
 As though the beast was dearly hired ; 
 
 And then, because he cannot reach 
 
 Parnassus' dim and distant height, 
 
 Hurls two edged words at every man 
 
 Who dares attempt a line to write. 
 
 By this he thinks to win applause, 
 
 Or make his own a fadeless name, 
 
 But still is hated by the world, 
 
 And this is called a critic's fame ! 
 
 In ^dew of all such facts as these 
 
 Why think it vague or passing strange, 
 
 That I should join the multitude 
 
 And let my untought fancy range 
 
 The thymy fields where poets stray, 
 
 Mid spring-time's bright and sunny hours, 
 
 To kiss the rosy cheek of May 
 
 And pluck her modest, blooming flowers ? 
 
 I know that modern poets try 
 
 With all their dear-bought wit, and skill, 
 
 To show that they are learned men, 
 
 And fresh from out the classic milL 
 
 The heathen gods and goddesses 
 
 By them must oft be mentioned o'er, 
 
 There's Ceres, Iris, Pluto, Pcin, 
 
 Diana and a thousand more 
 
 Whose names will jingle well in rhyme. 
 
 And make the clever people stare 
 
To see how little small folks know, 
 How wise the gilt edged poets are ! 
 But I shall not exhaust my breath 
 To please or shame the ''upper ten," 
 For I've espoused a nobler cause 
 And speak to-day of workmg men. 
 
 My ow^n opinions are but fcAV 
 And those I ever hold most dear, 
 But advocate their strongest claims 
 Without the slightest shade of fear ; 
 And should I deign to go astray, 
 Beyond the pale of time-w^orn rules. 
 To advocate what ne'er was learned 
 In ancient or in modern schools, 
 I pray you not to think me lost 
 ' In thought's unfathomed, waveless sea, 
 Nor brand me as a heretic '| 
 
 Because, with you I disagree. i| 
 
 'Tis plain to me — though moralists il 
 
 Will venture oft to think and say ;j 
 
 That all such notions are but dreams, ;l 
 
 Which soon or late must pass away — li 
 
 That men are rising in the scale || 
 
 Of truth, of virtue, and of right, || 
 
 As fast as science sheds abroad, ' || 
 
 Her beaming rays of golden light. 
 And where improvement's voice is heard, 
 In silent glade or lonely glen, 
 There virtue will erect a shrine 
 To be adored by honest men, 
 
6 
 
 And, as the superstitious gloom, 
 
 Of ages past is flitting by. 
 
 Ten thousand changes mil appear, 
 
 All mirrored in the moral sky ; 
 
 And though it seems to many men. 
 
 Who always battle for the right, 
 
 That sin will triumph in the land 
 
 And rule the world in \drtue's spite. 
 
 There is a fact that few have learned 
 
 Or even care, just now, to see, 
 
 'Tis this, — the less there is of wrong 
 
 The worse an evil seems to be. 
 
 To prove this very simple fact. 
 
 Go back, in time, say thirty years. 
 
 When drunkards thronged our busy streets, 
 
 Distm'bed with no unwelcome fears 
 
 Concerning an enactment, coined 
 
 By one Ncal Dow, 'away down east,' 
 
 Who had devised a righteous plan 
 
 To overcome the subtle beast. 
 
 And thus set free a world of men 
 
 "\Yhose steps took rankly hold on death — 
 
 Whose passions strengthened day by day 
 
 And gathered power at every breath. 
 
 They feared no sheriff, judge or priest, 
 
 For all the men they met or knew 
 
 Were sure, on every pubhc day. 
 
 To get a httle more than "blue ;" 
 
 And no one thought it any harm, 
 
 But many took a deal of pains 
 
^" 
 
 To carry 'brick within their hats' 
 
 Instead of common sense, or brains. 
 
 No pioneers were in the field 
 
 To talk about the deadly woe 
 
 That chilled the social charms of life, , 
 
 Some thirty years, or more, ago. 
 
 But Hewett with undaunted will, 
 
 Was first to raise the thrilling cry, 
 
 That since has echoed o'er the land, 
 
 To animate the low and high ; 
 
 And when its power was fully known 
 
 And all the prayers of godly men 
 
 Were mingled to promote the cause, 
 
 And elevate to rank again, 
 
 All those who drooped beneath the weight 
 
 Of superstition and of sin. 
 
 The evil then became more plain 
 
 And many vainly sought to win 
 
 The fairest laurels man can claim, 
 
 By fairly showing up to light 
 
 An evil that one year before. 
 
 Was thought to be both just and right. 
 
 But every blow for order struck 
 
 Made liquor shops seem doubly worse. 
 
 And even tipplers joined the throng. 
 
 And cried aloud, '0 what a curse' ! 
 
 So goes the world with us, and none, 
 
 I think, will duly fail to see 
 
 The more there really is of wrong 
 
 The less there always seems to be. 
 
8 
 
 Progression is the watchword now, 
 And men to-daj are wont to toil^ 
 Not as they have in ages past 
 For sordid bounty or for spoil, 
 But to resist ten thousand wrongs 
 That curse and vex the human race, 
 And advocate improvement's claims 
 In this and every other place. 
 Where men will listen to the truth 
 And search for treasures truly rare. 
 Or glean from avenues of thought 
 The wisdom always hirking there. 
 As time rolls on with rapid flight., 
 New visions strike the eager eye, 
 While ghosts and goblins of the past 
 Grow sick of life and strive to die. 
 Effects have causes, and the man 
 Who studies well these w^eighty things., 
 Stands higher in the moral world 
 Than titled Earls or wealthy Kings, 
 Unless they deign to cast aside 
 Their regal pomp and useless show., 
 To mingle with our working men 
 In all their scenes of want and woe. 
 I wish you not to judge from this 
 That useful labor will degrade 
 A single power that man can claim, 
 Which God himself has wisely made. 
 For those who toil are oft oppressed 
 And deeply drink of earthly Avoe, 
 
Yet, bitter though then' cup may be, 
 
 A tyrant often makes it so. 
 
 But toil and patience yet will wear 
 
 These soul-entrancing wrongs away. 
 
 And in the future things will be 
 
 Not strictly what they are to-day ; 
 
 For virtue and intelligence 
 
 Are moving still in the advance. 
 
 Which makes this fact more plain to me — 
 
 There's no such thing in life as chance ! 
 
 The acts of men are but effects. 
 
 And each must have a primal cause 
 
 Which shall exactly correspond 
 
 With Nature's fixed and changeless laws. 
 
 Was there a chance for Eden's lord 
 
 To even shun his maker's face 
 
 And thus escape the punishment 
 
 Which fell on all the human race ? 
 
 AVhen God had certainly declared 
 
 From his abode above the sky, 
 
 That every thing upon the earth 
 
 Should yield to cruel fate and die, 
 
 Was there a chance for all the world 
 
 To pattern after righteous Noah, 
 
 Aiid launch an ark upon the tide 
 
 Until the fatal flood was o'er ? 
 
 Could those who crucified our Lord 
 
 Have done some other horrid deed 
 
 Instead, and thus have shuned the act 
 
 That God himself had then decreed ? • 
 
10 
 
 Not so, for truth and reason show 
 
 Us plainly at a single glance. 
 
 That every thing must have a cause — 
 
 That nothing Uves on earth by chance. 
 
 The ocean tides roll to and fro 
 
 Within their limits every day, 
 
 And fearful storms rise on the deep 
 
 To rage awhile and die away. 
 
 The rivers take their wonted course 
 
 And mingle with the swelling w^ave. 
 
 Where all their power and strength is lost 
 
 Within their mighty ocean grave. 
 
 From mountains issue fire and smoke, 
 
 And molten torrents wildly flow 
 
 And spread destruction o'er the plains 
 
 That smile vrith civil life below. 
 
 The earth on nothing safely turns. 
 
 The stars sublimely hang on high. 
 
 And each performs its w^onted round 
 
 Nor leaves its orbit in the sky. 
 
 But discord is a thing unknow^n 
 
 Where Nature bears its magic sway, 
 
 For cause must e'er produce effect, 
 
 And each effect its cause obey. 
 
 With man this self same law holds good, 
 
 And every effort nobly made, 
 
 Will leave an impress on the soul 
 
 In lines too deeply marked to fade. 
 
 Then strike for freedom, ye who toil. 
 
 For vu'tue and for manly right. 
 
11 
 
 And jour example shall remain 
 
 For man, a glorious beacon light ; 
 
 And generations jet unborn 
 
 Will surelj mark its brilliant hue, 
 
 The light of which shall lead their minds 
 
 To nobler themes, and visions new. 
 
 I trust that jou will comprehend 
 
 The drift of what I wish to saj, 
 
 Nor let mj mistj stjle of verse 
 
 E'er lead jour better thoughts awaj. 
 
 For I would onlj wish to prove 
 
 That even Progress has a cause, 
 
 And like all other things we see 
 
 Is based on never faihng laws. 
 
 O'er which the human race can wield 
 
 A share of delegated power. 
 
 To elevate the moral world 
 
 Perhaps at some far distant hour. 
 
 The genius of a Franklin lives 
 
 To bless the moral world to-daj. 
 
 And Newton's glorj still remains. 
 
 Nor will it ever pass awaj. 
 
 And e'en upon England's soil 
 
 We're proudlj fond to boast of some, 
 
 Whose noble deeds will well be^ known 
 
 In distant ages jet to come ; 
 
 Whose virtues, hke a guiding star. 
 
 Will dulj traverse land and wave. 
 
 Till freedom shall regain its throne 
 
 And all the earth know not a slave ! 
 
12 
 
 The art of printing shed new light 
 In every land and every clime 
 Where man had dared to set his foot, 
 Or claim a home since Adam's time -; 
 And with it brought a thousand arts, 
 To Idndly bless a darkened world, 
 By which the tide of ignorance 
 Shall yet be, safely, backward hurled. 
 But who were they to introduce 
 This art of arts to mortal man^ — 
 The source from whence our Hterature, 
 In olden times, at first began ? 
 Were they the pampered, well-fed guests 
 Of kings, or lords, or men of state ? 
 Or were they doomed to toil for bread 
 And trust their all to nought but fate ? 
 Ah ! history will tell the tale, 
 Though sad its common import be. 
 And show how men in former times 
 Were frequently obliged to flee. 
 What some called justice in those days, 
 Or be enchained like powerless slaves, 
 And made to toil through years of pain. 
 For tyrants and for thirsty knaves, 
 Because with their untirino; zeal 
 Discoveries in art were made 
 Tlisft placed the notions of the past 
 Beneath oblivion's rayless shade. 
 Four centuries have passed away 
 Since Faust, inspired with zeal and skill. 
 
13 
 
 Proelaimod to all the -world axi art 
 That has extensive prospects still ; 
 And is the basis and support 
 Of every thing we claim to love^ 
 That meets approval here below, 
 Or even sanction from above- 
 By it tke thoughts of men were placed 
 In lines upon the snowy page^ 
 That those who followed in their train. 
 Of every grade, and name, and age, 
 Might see what noble minds had done 
 In ages long since past and gone, 
 And give the wheel a turn themselves, 
 And help to urge improvement on. 
 Though men may wander in their thoughts, 
 And differ in their social views, 
 Their greatest passion seems to be 
 To hear and tell the latest news. 
 For this was Caxton's lumbering press 
 In triumph early cast aside, 
 And lost forever from our sight 
 Beneath improvement's restless tide. 
 Next foJlowed Stanhope's iron press, 
 Which seemed a very plain affair, 
 But progress soon set that aside 
 To place another wonder there. 
 Yet these all failed to satisfy 
 The humaji mind and its desire 
 To far outdo all former deeds — 
 To wonder oft, and then aspire. 
 
14 
 
 And now J e'en noiv, in these proud days 
 Of lightning, "woman's rights and steam, 
 When hfe appears, at best, much hke 
 A drama or a phrensied dream, 
 We find the arts all flourishmg, 
 As onward we are called to go, 
 And those connected with the press 
 AVill long revere the name of Hoe. 
 Oh ! ye who have a mind to scan 
 The graphic pencilhngs of time, 
 E-emember that the past is filled 
 With many incidents sublime ; 
 And that the present with its charms, 
 Is not a tinsel freedom suit, 
 Bestowed by an indulgent sire. 
 For comfort, looks, or e'en dispute ; 
 But has been earned by toiling men 
 Like Koster, Wicklifie, and Defoe, 
 Who labored for the present age 
 So many hundred yeare ago. 
 Such men are speculating now 
 With reference to time and speed, 
 And Hoe will loose his laurels sure. 
 If the}^ should e'er in this succeed. 
 And who can tell what time may bring, 
 Or destined Progress yet avail. 
 Since yankee grit, in time of need, 
 Has never yet been known to fail. 
 The printing press will civihze 
 All nations Hving 'neath the sun. 
 
15 
 
 For even now its power is felt — 
 A noble work has been begun. 
 The studious emigrant can read, 
 Far out upon the desert wild, 
 Exciting scenes of citj life, 
 And teach them plainly to his child. 
 The soldier in the lonesome camp 
 Can read, at eve, his printed prayer, 
 And offer to. the God of Love 
 His pure devotions freely there. 
 The heathen as he bends the knee 
 To worship gods of stone or wood. 
 May be sincere in his belief, 
 And think he's ever doing good ; 
 But soon a megsenger appears, 
 And one of whom he's never heard 
 Who tells him of the God above. 
 And preaches from his sacred word 
 What he had never known before ; 
 And yet his worse than stony heart 
 Yields slowly to the touch of truth, 
 When taught devoid of self or art. 
 The printed word before him lies, 
 And anxiously he scans it o'er, 
 Wliile every line he learns to read 
 Looks brighter than it did before. 
 Thus virtue and the word of God 
 Are spread profusely o'er the land. 
 And millions are deterred from crime 
 By aid of the divine command ; 
 
16 
 
 But still the crown of glory falls. 
 Like human kindness on the heart. 
 On him who spent a life of toil 
 To found the Printer's usefiil art. 
 
 No one can claim to he a man. 
 
 If he's afraid or spurns to soil 
 
 His dear white hands with any thing 
 
 That seems to look like honest toil ; 
 
 For this was tried some years ago, 
 
 When E^len-land was newly made, 
 
 And our first parents idly sat 
 
 Beneath the palm tree's ample shade; 
 
 While flowers most pleasing to the eye 
 
 Bloomed fresh and fair on every side, 
 
 And m the violet margined vale 
 
 Was seen Euphrates' waveless tide. 
 
 No tiresome cares weighed on their minds 
 
 To mar the social joys of life, 
 
 For in a land of Paradise 
 
 Lived Adam and liis cherished wife. 
 
 All things were given unto them, 
 
 Or fully placed within their care, 
 
 And happy were the hours they spent 
 
 Ere sin and death had entered there. 
 
 All kinds of fruit spontaneous grew, 
 
 With richest flavor, pure and sweet, 
 
 And all they were ohhged to do 
 
 AVas, now and then, to " take and eat.'* 
 
 But seeing how they lived at ease, 
 
17 
 
 With very little work on hand, 
 The devil thought to introduce 
 A wily scheme that lie had planned, 
 Whereby they might become as gods, 
 And not be surely doomed to die. 
 For eating certain kinds of fruit 
 That often pleased the taste and eye. 
 He had success, and they partook. 
 Against God's just and wise command, 
 And ever since that evil horn* 
 Has sin stalked boldly through the land 
 To lure its victims with these words — 
 ''Thou shalt in no wise surely die," 
 But reason with her truthful voice 
 Proclaims it all a cunning lie. 
 Thus, Adam and his Eve were led 
 From virtue's narrow path away ; 
 And we behold the dire results. 
 Which follow that eventful day. 
 But when we trace the subject back 
 Where sin and death at first began, 
 'Tis plain that indolence alone 
 Did cause the primal fall of man. 
 For, had he been compelled to toil 
 Incessant through the live-long day, 
 'T'would not have been an easy thing 
 To thus have led his mind astray ; 
 And he who sought to lure his soul 
 With stories fanciful and new. 
 Would then have had a chance to learn 
 
18 
 
 What many modem people do ; 
 That 'tis a vain and useless thing 
 At this enlightened age and day, 
 To think, by lying, e'er to lead 
 A truthful working man astray. 
 For labor and intelligence 
 Have long ago joined hand in hand. 
 And both, thank God, are honored here 
 In this north corner of oui* land. 
 Another proof that indolence 
 At first caused all oui* earthly woe, 
 Is, that our parents were obliged 
 To leave their Eden home, and go 
 Away from all those pleasant hamits 
 So tastefully and well arrayed, 
 With all that human heart could wish 
 Of golden sunlight or of shade. 
 But still another proof we have. 
 And that is plain, and simply this, — 
 They were not merely sent away 
 From plentitude, and home, and bliss. 
 But told that they should henceforth toil 
 To even earn their daily bread, 
 Until they mingled with the dust 
 Where sweetly sleep the silent dead. 
 See what a grand design is here. 
 What glowing beauties are unfurled 
 To show more plain that labor will 
 Redeem a sin polluted world. 
 
19 
 
 But many at the present day, 
 O'erlook such simple facts as these, 
 And even spurn the very men 
 Who labor to increase their ease. 
 Because, forsooth, they wear a hat 
 That's rather out of modern style. 
 And take less pains than some to drench 
 Their raven locks with fancy 'ile ;' 
 Or wear a little coarser coat 
 Without a costly vest beneath, 
 And stalk about in square toed boots. 
 Without a "nine" between their teeth. 
 But loafers, and the like, progress. 
 And ever with themselves keep pace — 
 For every thing that earth contains 
 Must surely run its destined race — 
 But death o'ertakes them in their glee 
 And often unprepared they go 
 To share the just reward assigned. 
 Of peace and happiness, or woe. 
 Their footprints on the sands of time 
 Are always made so very slight. 
 That e'en a zephyr's softest breath 
 Would safely hide them from our sight ; 
 And men who tread in future times 
 The self same rugged pathway o'er. 
 Will see no traces of the past 
 Of those who've lived and gone before. 
 Those men who toil to pave their way 
 To fortune and to honest fame. 
 
20 
 
 Deserve, beside the world's applause, 
 At least, an everlasting name ; 
 But idlers follow in their path, 
 And when their earthlj race is o'er. 
 Take all the honor to themselves, 
 And even deeply sigh for more. 
 Bu|i there they stand like monuments 
 Of deepest ignorance and sin, 
 Too feeble to advance the work — 
 Too lazj ever to begin ; 
 Till some proud hero takes the helm 
 And tracks alone the unknown w^ave. 
 To earn repute for other men. 
 And die himself a hated slave ! 
 
 A day scarce passes but we hear 
 Of something wondrous strange or new, 
 Some comet, or some distant star. 
 Expands at last to greet our view ; 
 Or voices from the spmt land 
 Fall soft and gently on the ear. 
 Which tell us of those cherished ones 
 To love and memory ever dear. 
 But I, for one, am not jDrepared 
 To tell the proper reason, why 
 Departed spirits thus return 
 From 'unknown realms beyond the sky. 
 And like fair angels guard and guide 
 Their loved and cherished ones below ; 
 And hover o'er them in then- dreams 
 
21 
 
 Or even wander where they go. 
 
 I know that some hare seen strange sights 
 
 And heard strange voices on the air, 
 
 And even sunk upon the earth 
 
 Beneath some ghostly demon's stare. 
 
 But now the sighing of the wind, 
 
 The murm'ring of a gentle stream, 
 
 The ticking of an eight day clock. 
 
 The hissing voice of pent up steam, 
 
 The death-watch in its secret cell. 
 
 The night-bird's sad and mournful cry, 
 
 Bear images of loved ones back 
 
 From their remote abode on high. 
 
 And long faced matrons fold their hands 
 
 And mention o'er with lengthened breath, 
 
 What sounds are likely to foretell 
 
 A happy marriage, or a death ; 
 
 Wliile breathless urchins stand aghast 
 
 With glistening and distended eye. 
 
 And fear if they should speak a word 
 
 That spirits might to them reply. 
 
 Our chairs and tables that have stood 
 
 For fifty years, and even more, 
 
 As firm as though some wayward imp 
 
 Had nailed them safely to the floor. 
 
 Begin to creak and move about 
 
 As though they longed to be away, 
 
 And claim to bring intelligence 
 
 From regions where the spirits stuy. 
 
 Some think it all will end in gas, 
 
22 
 
 While others seem to look quite sad, 
 For now and then a devotee 
 Gets spirit crazj, or runs mad. 
 And others claim the healing art, 
 And with a look, or skillful touch. 
 Pretend to heal the lame and sick, — 
 I think they claim, bj far, too much. 
 But if these things are truly so. 
 As some have reasons to suppose, 
 I cannot see why "raps" and "tips" 
 Should thus at certain times disclose 
 The secrets of the future world, 
 Bj simple answers "jes" or "no," 
 To questions we may design to ask 
 Concerning future Aveal or woe. 
 Oh I is it true that those we loved 
 So well, for pure and virtuous worth, 
 Though long ago consigned to dust. 
 Come back again to us on earth. 
 And tell us of that glorious land, 
 Not where the dead alone remain, 
 But where all earthly claims are lost, 
 And purest freedom reigns agaui ? 
 If spirits can attend us here 
 Like guardian angels from above. 
 And speak kind words, in gentle tones, 
 Of sweetest harmony and love. 
 How glad the thought that they remain 
 When age steals o'er the silvered brow, 
 And darker shadows shade our path 
 
23 
 
 Than seem to hover o'er us now. 
 
 But oh ! there's something still bejoncl, 
 
 If these strange things are only true, 
 
 That yet will flash upon the soul 
 
 And light its pathway up anew. 
 
 'Twill be when life's remaining sands 
 
 Are daily ebbing fast away, 
 
 And Death stands ready with his dart 
 
 To claim and take his willing prey, 
 
 That gentle spirits will be near 
 
 To watch our latest, faintest breath, 
 
 And guide us safely to our home. 
 
 Across the cheerless vale of death I 
 
 All Europe has been made to feel 
 What human progress soon will do, 
 When thrones shall crumble to the earth 
 And ruling kings be powerless too — 
 That those who labor will rebel 
 Ere long against oppressive laws, 
 And strike a firm, decisive blow, 
 For freedom and her holy cause. 
 Oppression jet must cease to be. 
 And seemingly, as if by chance, 
 Will freedom wander o'er the hills 
 The gay and sunny hills of France ; 
 And fair Italia' s golden skies 
 Will glow vdth purer, softer light. 
 When Progress, like the god of day, 
 Dispels the chilling shades of nidit. • 
 
24 
 
 Inhuman acts will die awaj, 
 
 And clanking fetters soon must break ^ 
 
 The wheel, the rack, the guillotine, 
 
 The crushing Aveight, the di-eaded stake, 
 
 Must in their turn be placed among 
 
 The relics of a bj-gone age. 
 
 When cruel thoughts crept through the mind 
 
 And often guided saint and sage. 
 
 When such were sanctioned in the east 
 
 By cruel Lords or haughty Kings., 
 
 Or rather by a class of men 
 
 Perhaps more justly titled "things," 
 
 Crime stalked abroad in frightful forms, 
 
 And e'en all wholesome laws defied, 
 
 Though thousands, for a slight offence, 
 
 Were rudely tortured till they died. 
 
 Look at the morals of those days 
 
 Ere light had crossed the western sea, 
 
 Or man had dared assert his rights, 
 
 Or boldly say that he Avas free. 
 
 T^he wisest then were proud to bear 
 
 The deamin"; armor and the shield ; 
 
 For war had made all Europe seem 
 
 To be a mighty battle field ; 
 
 And he who thirsted most for blood. 
 
 Or triumphed o'er the reeking dead, 
 
 Was lauded to the very skies. 
 
 With golden crowns upon his head. 
 
 This spirit has not all died out, 
 
 E'en on Columbia's fruitful soil. 
 
 
25 
 
 For figliting men make Presidents, 
 
 While moral men are forced to toil. 
 
 The Yeoman and the Artisan, 
 
 This western nation's boast and pride, 
 
 Are overlooked at many times, 
 
 And even rudely set aside. 
 
 What though their morals may be pure, 
 
 Their manners ever well refined, 
 
 Their lives been spent to elevate, 
 
 Improve, and socialize mankind! 
 
 Their learning of the highest rank 
 
 In truth and virtue's lofty scale ; 
 
 When they compete with fighting men, 
 
 They're always very sure to fail. 
 
 And some may think their efibrts die, 
 
 Like summer flowers 'neath autumn's breath. 
 
 And never more will trimnph o'er 
 
 The dreaded power of sin and death. 
 
 But truth will gain the victory yet ; 
 
 When ignorance, now linked with might. 
 
 Shall be destroyed by gentle means. 
 
 To give a resting place for right. 
 
 Look at our progress here at home ; 
 
 Since on bleak Plymouth's rocky strand. 
 
 The voice of prayer went up to God, 
 
 From all that pious pilgrim band, 
 
 Who stepped upon these western shores 
 
 That they might live unchained and free, 
 
 And never, to a man-made shrine. 
 
 Be forced to bow, or bend the knee. 
 
26 
 
 The wild winds howled along the shore, 
 
 With fitful murm'rings, deep and low, 
 
 And all the hills seemed proud to hear 
 
 Their winding sheets of whitest snow. 
 
 But naught could daunt the pilgrim's heart, 
 
 For freedom was his only pride ; 
 
 A^d for it he was bound to toil 
 
 Until the very hour he died ; 
 
 Yet oft he thought of those dear friends 
 
 He left upon a foreign shore, 
 
 Whom he expected ne'er to meet. 
 
 Or hear their friendly voices more. 
 
 These hills, oft beautiful in spring. 
 
 With sparlding streams and budding flowers, 
 
 These sunny vales, oft green and fair. 
 
 And even all these woodland bowers, 
 
 Were but a dark old forest then, 
 
 .Where mighty trees so long had grown 
 
 Through lingering ages of the past, 
 
 And yet by civil men unknown. 
 
 The voice of art had not been heard 
 
 To chime along these silent vales, 
 
 Nor were our rivers or our seas 
 
 All thickly dotted o'er with sails. 
 
 But in their stead the warwhoop rang. 
 
 And council fires burned fiercely bright, 
 
 While bloody chiefs, like savage fiends. 
 
 Danced fearless in the gleaming light ; 
 
 And there exulted o'er the dead. 
 
 By skilled and artful warriors slain ; 
 
27 
 
 And when excitement died away, 
 They hirked for human spoil again. 
 Their hark canoes were on the wave, 
 Their wigwams stood along the shore ; 
 And victory was all their pride, 
 They asked and sought for nothing more. 
 But in the course of great events, 
 It was ordained, no doubt, that they. 
 With all their boasted pride and strength, 
 Would surely have to pass away ; 
 And that another race of men 
 Should follow closely in their track, 
 And with their science promptly turn 
 The course of other ages back. 
 'Twas truly so, and from that hour, 
 Down even to the present day. 
 Has Progress, with its giant hand. 
 Borne ignorance and wrong away. 
 Before the woodman's polished axe, 
 Primeval forests quickly fell, 
 And hut and hamlet rose with pride 
 In every smiling glade and dell. 
 And cities too, with all their charms, 
 And all their scenes of want and woe, 
 Sprung into being, phoenix like, 
 Among New England's hills of snow. 
 The ceaseless din of moving wheels 
 Soon broke upon the settler's ear. 
 And power-looms took the place of those 
 Our mothers held so very dear ; 
 
28 
 
 While spindles that no man could corait. 
 With all the speed of lightning turned, 
 And spinning wheels, those household gods, 
 Were rudely laid aside or burned. 
 
 The Steamboat has been known to men. 
 
 Perhaps but fifty years or so, 
 
 And many sneered when Fulton said 
 
 That such a w^ater craft would go 
 
 From Gotham up to Albany 
 
 In just about a single day, 
 
 Without the aid of wind or tide 
 
 To gently urge it on its way. 
 
 But now across the ocean blue. 
 
 Steam-ships or vessels proudly ride, 
 
 And Imk together continents. 
 
 Though stormy seas would fain divide. 
 
 They bear us to the sunny south, 
 
 Or to a far off western shore, 
 
 Whei^ Yankee avarice expires 
 
 'Mid lofty hills of golden ore. 
 
 Their keels have touched on every strand 
 
 Where civil men, as yet, reside, 
 
 And should be hailed by those who toil 
 
 With much of pageantry and pride ; 
 
 For never did a man achieve 
 
 A greater, nobler deed tlian he 
 
 Who launched the first steam vessel out 
 
 To travel on the stormy sea ; 
 
 And braved the sneers of idle men 
 
29 
 
 IVltTai more than patriotic ^eal, 
 
 Believing that his work would soon 
 
 Have power to aid the pubHc weal. 
 
 But how tenacious people cling 
 
 To rudest follies of the past, 
 
 And spurn improvement's honest claims 
 
 With fervor to the very last ; 
 
 And even ridicule those men 
 
 Who labor zealous night and day., 
 
 To benefit the world at large, 
 
 But not to merit fame or pay. 
 
 The man who never stood beneath 
 
 The shade of learning's sacred dome, 
 
 Where half the idlers on the earth 
 
 Are wont to seek a four years home, 
 
 Is thought to be a mindless thing. 
 
 By some whose social rank seems high ; 
 
 Just fit to labor like a slave. 
 
 And like a toiling slave to die ; 
 
 Not fit to act a manly part 
 
 In the afiairs of Church or State, 
 
 Because he lacks a tuliole degree 
 
 Of being truly w4se, or great. 
 
 This modern humbug, that a man 
 Who earns, by toil, his daily bread, 
 Cannot find time to read, or think, 
 Or try to cultivate his head ; 
 Or occupy the highest niche 
 Upon the scroll of virtuous fame. 
 
30 
 
 Beyond where man has ever soared 
 
 To win a true and lasting name, 
 
 Is fostered by a pnnj race, 
 
 Who never cared to do a thing 
 
 Except to trample virtue down ; 
 
 Like some tjranic Lord or King. 
 
 Who bnilt our cities and our towns, 
 
 Our work-shops and our noisy mills, 
 
 And caused the house of prayer to stand 
 
 In beauty on a thousand hills ? 
 
 Who launched those wliite-wmged messengers 
 
 Upon the broad and trackless sea, 
 
 That carry to a distant clime 
 
 The deathless spirit of the free ? 
 
 Who built our riiilways and canals ? 
 
 Who spanned Magara's giant tide ? 
 
 Who reared those monuments that mark 
 
 The spot, where saints and heroes died ? 
 
 Who drew the lightnings from the skies, 
 
 And wisely chained them at his will, 
 
 While many treated him with scorn, 
 
 And but a few admu-ed his skill ? 
 
 Who claimed to send intelligence, 
 
 Or thought reduced to hquid fire. 
 
 O'er hills, and vales, and mountains too, 
 
 Upon a single slender wire ? 
 
 Go ask the student, wan and pale, 
 
 When silent by his desk he stands, 
 
 Perusing some historic page 
 
 That tells a tale of foreign lands, 
 
31 
 
 And he, thougk poor in worldly things, 
 And often scorned by wealth or pride, 
 Will tell you that our working men 
 Have laid the dreamy past aside, 
 And boldly stepped on trackless soil 
 Where other pilgrims dare not stray, 
 Till some unfaltering son of toil 
 Is called upon to lead the way. 
 When men are needed to advance 
 And carry out a righteous cause, 
 Like that which nerved our patriot sires 
 To spurn old Britain's tax and laws, 
 We seek for those with honest hearts, 
 And failing, seek for such again. 
 For they sustain our nation now — 
 Those ever fearless, toiling men. 
 Such men were those who first set sail, 
 With all their Spanish flags unfurled. 
 And buoyant Avith the hope that they 
 Might hve to find a western world. 
 Such men were those who bravely fought 
 To make their common country free. 
 And e'en in spite of foreign power. 
 Or "all the lower powers that be," 
 Learned Boston harbor, years ago, 
 To drink a cup of British tea ! 
 Those heroes of a former age 
 Are not beside us here to-day. 
 But all their doings still remain. 
 And time will wear them not away. ' 
 
32 
 
 Each generation can look back 
 For proper guidance, and for aid, 
 To those who figured in the past, 
 And always manfully displayed 
 So much of wisdom and of skill, 
 To make their native country free. 
 And triumph o'er the tory clan, 
 And troops that came across the sea. 
 Their own descendants, as they rise 
 To mingle in the din and strife. 
 In which we all must take a part 
 Amid the tempting snares of life. 
 Will often look to them for cheer 
 When bra^'ely battling with the wrong, 
 And e'en the memory of their sires 
 Will make the faint and feeble strong. 
 Our greatest statesmen now repose 
 Within their native country's soil ; 
 Their race is run, their day is past, 
 With all its worldly strife and toil. 
 New England's giant oak lies low, 
 Kentucky's noble elm is dead ; 
 And Carolina's graceful pine 
 Has bowed to fate its lofty head. 
 Our eagle wanders and is lost, 
 Not knowing even where to soar, 
 Since Clq,y, and Webster, and Calhoun 
 Have safely reached the wished-for shore. 
 The tenements in which they lived. 
 No more will greet our wandering eyes ; 
 
38 
 
 The tenants mingle ^ith us now 
 
 Like saints from realms of paradise. 
 
 Those words ! those last low words remain, 
 
 Oh ! what magic thrill thej give, 
 
 As we reflect on that sad scene 
 
 When Webster murmured, "still I live." 
 
 Those words were true. On history's page, 
 
 His noblest efforts will remain, 
 
 That generations yet to come 
 
 May read, aspire, and then attain. 
 
 Now let me offer one remark 
 
 To every honest working man, 
 
 I'll do it in a few brief words 
 
 As clear and plainly as I can. 
 
 Don't flinch nor turn your faces back 
 
 To idly look upon the past. 
 
 But let your course be on and up, 
 
 And yours will be success at last. 
 
 Don't aim at any thing within 
 
 Your reach, for Avhen the wished for goal 
 
 Is gained, the work is truly done. 
 
 And languor chills the very soul. 
 
 Don't stop where other men have stopped, 
 
 But leave their nameless track behind, 
 
 And show the world that none can chain 
 
 A free and independent mind. 
 
 Be zealous in the cause of right, 
 
 And let your honest thoughts be knoAvn, 
 
 E'en though you meet with ill success 
 
34 
 
 And often seem to stand alone. 
 
 -The day will come when working men 
 
 "Will proudly advocate their cause, 
 
 And boldly speak their sentiments, 
 
 In spite of fashion's pampered laws. 
 
 The wealth that other men may have, 
 
 May seem to sway a soulless clan, 
 
 But people yet will learn the fact 
 
 That mind's A\-hat makes the godlike man ! 
 
 The glitter and the show of pride 
 
 May satisfy the weak and vain. 
 
 While youthful beauty, decked with wealUi, 
 
 In changeless colors shall remain ;. 
 
 But when our angry foes assail, 
 
 With evil purpose firmly set. 
 
 The satin moments of ones life 
 
 Seem rough as common satinet 1 
 
 There's something real in our lives. 
 
 More lofty far than idle show. 
 
 That should engage each pilgrim's mind, 
 
 While wandering heavenward here below. 
 
 Some tell us that the asie of steam 
 
 Is truly now forever o'er, 
 
 That Watt and Fulton are eclipsed 
 
 And Avill be known to fame no more. 
 
 Of course Caloric takes it place. 
 
 And o'er the dark and stormy tide, 
 
 Will "breathing ships," with untold speed. 
 
 In perfect safety, proudly ride. 
 
35 
 
 I hope Erricson may succeed, 
 
 I'm almost confident he will, 
 
 But who can clahn what he achieves 
 
 And be a brainless idler still ? 
 
 Ah ! thousands staild, with wistful look, 
 
 To catch the faint and feeble ray 
 
 That ushers in the envied morn, 
 
 Announcing a successful day. 
 
 When all the toil and strife is o'er, 
 
 And every skeptic's doubt laid low. 
 
 Those very men will proudly say, 
 
 "I knew right well the thing would go." 
 
 Such men are far beneath contempt, 
 
 Unworthy of a noble thought ; 
 
 They try to be like other men. 
 
 But never what they can, or ought. 
 
 There's no such thing as standing still, 
 In life, a single day or hour. 
 For Progress bears us proudly on 
 With Nature's unresisted power ; 
 And though we cannot well keep pace 
 Along with every master mind. 
 We loose no honor if we toil. 
 And toiling, still remain behind. 
 The idle and the vain may sneer 
 At human progress if they will. 
 And try what little power they have 
 To make the moral world stand still ; 
 But feeble will their efforts be 
 
36 
 
 Against tlie miglity march of mind, 
 Since all tlie gi^at, the wise, the good, 
 The truly noble and refined, 
 Are linked in every grand reform 
 With truth and virtue for their shield, 
 And victory will yet be theirs, 
 While ignorance must duly yield 
 To let the light of science shine 
 With clear but gently beaming ray. 
 Till all the clouds of ages past, 
 Shall willingly recede away. 
 Oh ye who toil to earn your bread. 
 Look up again and be of cheer ; 
 Your clansmen have espoused the right, 
 And you have nothmg now to fear. 
 Improvements every day are made, 
 The latest always are the best, 
 And you who wish to build a name, 
 Must try and supercede the rest. 
 The progress of the past is yours. 
 Earned wisely by your father's care ; 
 The future lies before you now, — 
 Engrave your name and likeness there ! 
 
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