itniiiiiiijijinnitMui V if' , M ^549 {'■lass. PRESFNTED BY ^S^^f^fe^ ■^y^l M: ^^; '^/ i ■r?^- • ^^^/tCS^ W^viiy/^ f*^^4^K^c\ A ■!: The Concordia UNES WWTTEN BY: NATIVES AND RESIDENTS OF CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE COMPILED BY ALMA JANE HERBERT < M. Clark. In August, '46, came down Direct from Canada, A hundred Indians near about. Yet did the people not forget The holy Sabbath day ; In their log meeting-house they met To hear, and praise, and pray. Each carrying his gun, went in. For fear what might betide ; And Parson Walker there was seen. With musket by his side. No prayer fi'om feigned lips arose — With death and danger near, Their cries to Heaven we may suppose Went up from hearts sincere. Hid in an alder thicket, nigh The meeting-house, the foe [A little girl did them espy] Were laid in ambush low. A military compan}^ Had come the place to guard, Yet truly might the people say Their help was from the Lord ; For not a single hand was raised To harm them on that day ; They safely came unto the place And safely went away. 53 A SONG OF OUR INDIANS. From Mr. Kerifs Ode. Pas'conaway's kindly aid That erst bad been display'd Was now withdrawn ; And Wonalancet's skill, Ready each feud to still, And cultivate good will, A hope forlorn. Wild Kancamagus, too. With love could not imbue His recreant sons ; But Hope-Hood's hostile art Possessed each mind and heart, And led them to depart From peace at once. 54 TO BUNKER HILL MONUMENT A. H. Bailey. Oh, mays't thou ever stand A bulwark to the land, While oceans round it roll ; May North and South uphold Our heritage of old ; From East to farthest West, May Freedom's home be blest And every freeman's soul Behold in thee a sign Of One Whose hand divine, Shall keep it whole. 55 LIFE. Rev. N. F. Carter. I see the lily on the water's brim, So stainless, pure and sweet. For heavenly airs made meet. It whispers to my listening soul of Ilim, With every glory rife, Who is, and gives, the life ! I lift my waiting eyes to His dear face. And marvel at the sight. So full of Heaven's own light ! I long to know the fulness of His grace, And feel His life divine. Fast flowing into mine ! I long to have His more abundant life. Its quickened currents feel. Through all my being steal. Assured, when past earth's hindrances and strife Like His, my life shall be. From every blemish free ! " I am the Life," so runs His blessed word ! I read it o'er and o'er. And wonder more and more. Till in my inmost being deeply stirred, To make His life divine, Now and forever mine ! 56 LITTLE EDGAR Died at Three and a Half Years. S. J. S. A. Out of the darkness into the light, Up from earth's sadness, quick to heaven's gladness, Reaching the goal. Here in the mists of earth, baffled its flight, There in the sweetness of home's completeness Safe rests his soul. 57 WINNEPESAUKEE IN AUTUMN. Dr. A. P. Chesley. The autumn shades that line the lake Will well repay a trip to take, To where the cloud-capped peaks afar The mass of colors seem to bar. The red, yellow and shades of green, The hills and dales that intervene, Where lights and shadows o'er them play Give splendid visions all the way. The shore recedes and then draws near. Peak after peak you see appear. Mount Washington swings into line With snow-crowned top and dim outline. Chocorua lifts her tricapp'd head, While Paugus and Tripyramid And Sandmch Dome and Whiteface bold Were never fairer to behold. 58 Then Moosilauke and Ossipee, And Cardigan all fair to see, Old Cropple Crown and Belknap too, With many others fill the view. This brilliant sight will well repay The spending of one pleasant day. Its mem'ry with you long will last When days of foliage are past. £9 FAITHFUL AND TRUE. Rev. N. F. Carter. Faithful and True ! Like no other one Lender the sun, Age after age growing hoary In grey eternity's run ! This is the good tidings of sacred story ! This is forever Thy glory ! Faithful in words of sure promise to all Hearing Thy call With an adoring surrender, High-born or low-born, or great or small, Full of compassion, so gracious and tender. Like the sun shining in splendor ! True to Thyself, true to lover and friend, True to the end ! Helping them over hard places. Whithersoever their pathway may tend. Light of the light of their radiant faces. Crown of the crown of Thy graces ! 60 Faithful and True ! Going forth to fight, Girded with might, The foes of Jehovah assailing. Battling with wrong for the reign of right ! Leading Thy hosts with purpose unfailing, Triumph shall follow — Thine arms are availing 1 61 THE BEST SCIENCE. Rev. Ezra E. Adams. Thou knowest all gems of the secret mine ; The blush of the ruby, the diamond's glow, But canst thou the " Pearl of great price " call thine And dost thou the " stone laid in Zion " know ? All trees of the forest, all plants of the field, All flowers of the meadow and mountain to thee A myriad forms of the beautiful yield As thine eye bends into their mystery. But the " root and the offspring of David," the rose That bloomed in the " valley of Sharon," that wept Its dews in Gethsemane's garden of woes And folding its petals on Calvary slept. These, these must thou know, and deep in thy heart Their balm and their fragrance, must melt and and diffuse Else cold in thy learning and science thou art Thy thoughts sickly blossoms, unblessed by the dews. Through the sweep of the planets thine eye goes afar In search of a sun that ne'er gave us his light, But tell me if ever the " Bright Morning Star " Caught thy wondering gaze in the empire of night ? Thou drinkest the spirit of life and of love In the murmuring waters of the musical air, In the gold and blue of the heavens above, In the glory of earth opening everywhere. But the " Infinite Beauty " His image must trace In the depths of thy busy and wandering heart ; Thou must give to the love of the Holy a place. Ere thou like the Holy and Beautiful, art. 63 REVEILLE. Rev. D. C. Roberts. In the East, the fan- banners of dawn brightly glancing, Dismay the dark host of the shadows of night. And afar the battalions of day are advancing To conquer the gloom with their lances of hght ! On the mountains are kindled the beacons of morn- ing, The clouds of the West are alight with its glow, And the glimmering flush with its gold is adorning The pines on the hill and the birches below. Where the brook in the valley in darkness was sleeping. The mist broods above like a wandering dream. And the stars gleaming faint in the twilight, still keeping Their guard, look in vain for the smile of the stream. 64 There 's a movement of mystery, deep as the foun- tains Of life, — a sweet tension that 's felt in the air ; Now the fogs in the vale and the woods on the mountains, Are touched by its movement, its tenderness share. Now its thrill comes to senses enchanted by slum- bers. And breaks the soft links of the bondage of sleep ; And it kindles the pulse with aerial numbers Of harmonies, wordless and matchless and deep. On the dim, haunted marches of cloud-land it trem- bles. The mystical border of waking and dreams ; Its very existence it meekly dissembles 'Twixt music that 's real and music that seems. Hark! the silence finds voice, and the throbbing vibration Of daylight is vocal in jubilant notes ! From the fountains of music, with vivid pulsation, In waves of delight the glad melody floats. 'Tis the heart-stirring peal of the trumpeter's warn- ing, The bugle's clear accents dissolving the spell 65 That is woven of dreams and of light and of morn- ing, Whose wonder and mystery words will not tell. As the fogs of the valley have risen and vanished, So dreams, that dissolve in the tumult of day. By the sound of the stirring reveille are banished, While drum-beat and trumpet drive slumber away. Lo ! the morning begins with the roll-call of duty, Each hero responds to the sound of his name As the red sun is rising in glorious beauty, — Calm evening shall echo the roll-call of fame. 66 DEVOTION. Harry B. Metcalf. There are no words that e'en in sweetest song Can bear to thee the tributes of my heart, That eagerly unto my dumb lips throng, But cannot pass beyond, so beautiful thou art ! And so, when God seems nearest, and on high Has set the kind star tokens of his care, I thank him for his love, and silently Pay thee the tribute of my soul, its purest prayer. 67 RATTLESNAKE HILL. (From Mrs. L. G. Carr's Fine Poem Entitled Rattlesnake Hill.) O Rattlesnake ! Robbed, ravished, rent ! In your own gi'itty ashes veiled ! What wonder to your face is lent, A savage look of discontent ! Well-trodden paths in tangled maze, That nowhere start and nowhere end. That turn and double on their ways, Cross, curve, then vanish while we gaze, Beguile us through their lines to wend. Till that charmed height to memory flits Where Rip Van Winkle lost his wits. We break fi'om the enthralling lead And strike straight out through brier and bush, Though brambles cling, though roots impede. Though burry growths deck us with seed. Right on and up our way we push Till the last stepping-stone is past And we are on the height at last. Ah, now look east ! Ah, now look west ! Vermont and Maine may here cross hands ; And there — the Merrimack at rest In qiiiet beauty ! That is best ! A sunny stream with sunny lands, Dear to the hearts that know its ways As cherished friends, as vanished days ! 69 RESIGNATION. Miss Harriet Livermore. The snow-white lily of the vale Perfumes the ambiant air, The wild-rose blushes in the dell, And drops her beauties there. could I hide my timid head Among those humble flowers, And think upon the hallowed dead That bloom in Eden's bowers ! The moss my couch, my covering dew, And tears my lone repast. My song, the wild dove's anthem true, Should tell my joys are past. But, oh, why do I thus forget A mother's soft command, " Be firm, and to thy God submit. Adore His chastening hand." 1 will, I will, thou spirit dear ; Kind Heaven lend thy aid. And to my orphan heart appear Its shield, its sun, its shade. 70 CONSECRATION. Miss Harriet Livermore. I give myself to Thee — My all to God resign ; O make my heart from error free, And seal that heart on Thine. In life I would Thee serve With every fleeting breath, And ask for overcoming faith To praise Thy name in death. And when the Monster's dart Shall break the vital string, May I with joy from earth depart And rise thy love to sing. 71 HONOR TO FREE LABOR. Charles L. Wheeler. Forget a while the hero names That blaze in ancient story ; The humbler hero of today May claim his meed of glory. The Plough, the Anvil and the Loom Shall have historic pages, And he that makes shall well deserve The praise of future ages. Who makes a blade of grass to grow Where all before was arid. Is greater than the victor king With kingdoms tributaried. The Plough runs smoothly o'er their graves Who toiled in War's endeavor ; The harvest waves where once they fought, And there shall wave forever ! Who swings aloft the ponderous Sledge Some useful thing to fashion. Is nobler than the lily hand The slave of lust and passion. 73 Whatever springs from Labor's hand Is free from shame and sorrow ; Its columned shaft shall catch the light That soonest dawns tomorrow. To make — it is to rule a world Of Genius' own creation ; To toil — it is to beautify For Time's perpetuation. To each and all whose Genius teems With things of worth and beauty, Be freely poured the Muse's praise, - A pleasure and a duty. 73 '^'M GOING THERE." Rev. Ezra E. Adams. See'st thou yon footpath in the forest green ? To mercy-seat it leads — a place of prayer ; When care oppresses, by the world unseen, That is my spirit's home ; I 'm going there. In the far distance, dwellings cluster round. The village steeple towers in the air ; The Sabbath-bell prolongs its welcome sound, To worship calling us ; I 'm going there. Around are willows waving; dying flowers Breathe farewell odors o'er the mansion, where Unheeded pass the solitary hours, And death in stillness reigns ; I 'm going there. Look upward thro' the starry plains of even. Where the untrodden realms of ether are; Faith sees, beyond their bounds, the Christian's heaven. With all its bright and blest ; I 'm going there. 74 THE BETHEL FLAG. P. Carrigain^ Esq. (For the Ladies' Seamen's Friend Society's Sale.) All hail, Bethel-Flag-Stars ! Oh, were they beam- ing Where'er howls the sea-wind, or rolls the sea- wave, Bless'd be the fair Almoner's zeal, for redeeming From darkness the race of the gen'rous and brave. For the scourges of famine and pestilence join'd Reign not o'er a land with such gloomy control. Or a thousand Bastiles with tlieir dangers combin'd As the night-fog of ignorance shrouding the soul Ye cities and towns, fields and gardens that bloom ; Wealth, Science, the Arts — we owe all to the Seamen ; But for him earth had been one whole desert of gloom, And wild clans its tenants — not Christians and Freemen. And shame on the people of all chmes so tardy To pay a small part of the vast debt they owe. For improving this class so exposed and so hardy In all seas and seasons — in fire, frost and snow. 75 MAN IS NOT WHAT HE WILLS. Rev. Leonard Swain. Man is not what he wills ; the very sky Hath not a powerless cloud but looketh down In meek compassion, as it floateth by, On us born subjects of a smile or frown. There 's not an upstart, vagrant wind but drives His passive spirit on its lightest breath ; The unsinewed giant so no longer strives, Though o'er his maddened eye careens the shak- en ed death. Man is not what he wills ; and oh, 'tis joy. That not a spell- clad spirit is his foe ; No bloodless wizard, patient to destroy. Binds on the fatal ring, the charm of woe ! For aye, the magic circle when it breaks, Goes up with fleeing symphonies on high ; And a wild thrill of ecstacy awakes, Above the grief that mourns his lost captivity. Man is not what he wills ; for far above, And from beneath, the thwarting currents roll, And Nature's mighty magazine of love Ten thousand times shall overcome his soul, And wheresoe'er his chosen path shall tend, His charmed footsteps keep but half the way ; A cloud, a sound, a very flower, shall send An overflowing flood, and bear him wide astray. Man is not what he wills ; hast thou not seen The stern, strong force unbrace itself again. When a soft breath went by, with thoughts be- tween. That never touched his iron soul till then ? The harsh, determined visage, how it tells A sudden tale of years long past and gone! The worldly, rugged bosom, how it swells With quick o'ercoming tides, from youth's far ocean drawn ! Man is not what he wills ; the simple child That, panting, hunts the dreamy butterflj^. Doth pause as sudden, of his prey beguiled, A smitten victim of the western sky. When o'er the burning hills it takes the sun To that bright place of happiness and gold ; And as he turns away, the lesson done, He goes another child, by other thoughts controlled. Man is not what he wills ; the time hath been When he whose hand doth whet the midnight steel Hath bowed his head, all gray with age and sin. To hear the hamlet bell's sweet, distant peal, 77 He had not cared to hear, but in his breast Were things of kindred with that human sound ; The answering memories break their long, long rest, And thought and tears are born, and penitence profound. Man is not what he wills ; uncounted powers Beset each single footstep of his way. And like the guardian spirits of the flowers. Charm each malignant, poisonous breath away ; And so by guileless things is man beguiled. And sweetly chastened in his earthly will. While every thwarting leaves him more a child. With childUke sense of good, and childlike dread of ill. Man is not what he wills ; a deep amen O'ercomes the grateful spirit as it hears ; " Thy will not mine be done," it breathes again To Him who sits above the circling years. The weak doth find supporters, and the bUnd A faith that will not ask an earthly eye To see the goings of the Eternal Mind, When clouds and darkness bear his moving throne on high. 78 OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN. Mrs. Eddy. Gigantic size, unfallen still that crest ! Primeval dweller where the wild winds rest ! Beyond the ken of mortal e'er to tell What power sustains thee in thy rock-bound cell. Or if, when erst creation vast began. And loud the universal fiat ran, — " Let there be light ! " — from chaos dark set free. Ye rose, a monument of Deity. Great as thou art, and paralleled by none. Admired by all, still art thou drear and lone. The moon looks down on thine exiled height ; The stars so mildly, spiritually bright. On wings of morning gladly flit away, To mix with their more genial, mighty ray ; The white waves gently kiss the murmuring rill ; But thy deep silence is unbroken still. 79 ELIZABETH KNEEL AND McFARLAND. Dr. Andrew McFarland. I had a mother, peaceful be her rest, Of all her kind the loveliest, purest, best. How my full heart with rapt emotion swells, As her dear form in memory's picture dwells, While to her skies my thoughts transported seem, And the verse kindles with so blest a theme. Hers was the gift sublime all power to move. With the persuasion of a tender love — With gentle arts alone to inspire a fear — Chide with a sigh, and chasten with a tear; For no reproof in lasting power could vie With the remonstrance of her gentle eye, And erring ones the wayward path forsook, Awed to repentance by her saddened look. The way she trod seemed strewn with heavenly light. Her chiming step made duty's pathway bright, Lighted the goal she pointed us to win — Blinded the soul to avenues of sin — Till such a lustre gilt the upward way No eye could miss — no footstep go astray. While of her work, each moment had its sum Of present good, or seed of good to come. 80 There was an hour more sacred than the rest — When Sabbath's sun was sinking in the west — When holy quiet reigned, her younger three, With wonted rule, were gathered at her knee. Then each in turn, the allotted lesson said, And verse by verse the Scripture task was read, Mingled with comment apt and gems of lore. Culled as we passed from her exhaustless store. When all was ended, from her hallowed chair Rose low the accents of her prayer. Impassioned faith and love inspired her tongue. Like Israel to the given pledge she clung ; Implored for each of the encircling band The needed succor of the Father's hand, For each some wished-for grace she fervent craved That each from tempter's wiles might e'er be saved, That all, how wide their earthly lot be cast. Might meet around the eternal throne at last. As the lawgiver's face mth glory shone Fresh from the presence of the Holy One, So when she turned to us, her features glowed As one who, face to face, had seen her God ! And while her heart with love maternal burned — And while her lips with blest communion warmed — Each child in turn was folded to her breast. And on each cheek a loving kiss was pressed. 81 That holy kiss, so warmW given, Was owned and registered in Heaven, Mid chance and change I feel it stand Fixed by the Eternal Giver's hand ; And know its sense will long outwear, Pleasure's soft glow and sorrow's falling tear. Since then of earth I 've had ray ample fill — Much of its good, and something of its ill ; All that whate'er its varying fortunes bring — Friendship's warm breath and wrong's envenomed sting. Yet still the memory of that kiss remains, Tempering all joys and solacing all pains, And when life's checkered pilgrimage is o'er. When on my vision dawns the expected shore, All sorrows past — all pains endured — Earth's woes behind, and bliss assured — All doubts removed — all sins forgiven, I '11 whisper at the gate of Heaven, " My patent of admission here Was purchased with a mother's i)rayer." OCTOBER'S CLOUD AND SUNSHINE. Rev. D. a Roberts, D.D. Sweet shadowing autumn clouds veil all the sky, And rustle with the echo of the leaves ; Belated summer winds, with shuddering sigh, Linger among the russet forest sheaves. O golden harvest of beauty ! where the trees In many-hued and matchless glory stand, The pond's bright bosom, rippled by the breeze, Mocking the shimmering leaf -fall of the land. Dun wandering autumn clouds, with cowls of gray. Go pilgriming the cold blue deeps along, While harmonies in tuneless numbers play Where vested forests chant their choric song. The utterance of the sunshine to the heart. The soulful antiphone of voiceless praise ! Each answers each, responding in its part. While each for each, for very love, delays. Sweet perfection of glory ! golden crown ! Meet for the triumph of the olding year. The radiance of heaven glowing down. The sunset beauty of autumn far and near. Concord, October 21, 1881. 83 HEIRESS THOU OF ALL THE AGES. J. E. Rankin, D. D., LL. D. Heiress thou of all the ages, My proud queen, dear native land, Write these last of hist'ry's pages. With a firm and faithful hand. Walking here, on earth's high places, 'Neath thy banner fair unfurled. Welcoming earth's scattered races : — Lead for man and God the world ! Heiress thou of all the ages. Continental thy domain ; Here no noise of battle rages. Peace maintains her smiling reign. Loud the music of the hammer ; 'Mid the gold, the reaper whirrs : Hark, the city's thund'rous clamor. Where the tide of being stirs. May thy sun still shine in splendor. Upward, with an unblenched eye. Thy proud bird himself surrender ; Let thine eagle mount the sky. 84 From the old-world pathways bursting, Striking out in pathways new, Still for God's approval thirsting. Do the work thou hast to do. Heiress thou of all the ages ; Of the wisdom handed down By earth's heroes and her sages ; No man take from thee thy crown ! Heiress thou of all the ages, Fruitage ripest of all time, Write these last of hist'ry's pages With a faith in God sublime ! 85 LOVE'S SEASONS. Miss Emma E. Broion. O new found earth ! O wondrous birth ! The very grass and clover Have caught the sense of sweet suspense, The mystery brooding over All life that lies beneath the skies When eyehds first uncover, For old things pass, the world is new When Love is young and hearts are true. But hark — but hush ! A wakening thrush Sets all the air aquiver, And look ! the brook has left its nook To join the rushing river, While buds unclose the perfect rose To lose in gift the giver. O glad green earth ! O heavens blue ! When Love is grown and hearts are true. And now ? What now but Aveighted bough ? Gold, rubies, without measure. And scarlet leaf and yellow sheaf Heap up the royal treasure While purpling vine full-veined with wine Thrills with intenser pleasure. Ay ! earth robs heaven of every hue When Love is ripe and hearts beat true. Yet stay ! Although the falling snow The warm, bright earth is hiding, Though dull and gray the shortening day Comes like a sudden eluding, Full well we know the hearth fire's glow In dearest eyes abiding. For last is best the whole world through When Love is tried and hearts keep true. 87 SUNSET. Mi^s. Lucy J. Hutchens Frost. O the glory of the sunset ! When the west is all aflame ; And the radiance on the hilltops Seems to write Jehovah's name. When the clouds of gold and purple Appear to mortal eyes Like a gleam of the effulgence That illumines Paradise. Then our longing spirits linger At the glowing western bars Until evening drops her curtain, And lights her brilliant stars. Then the turmoil of our spirits Is calmed to peaceful rest, By the majestic radiance That glorifies the west. And we seem to see a vision Of our home that is to be ; Within the nightless city. Beside the crystal sea. While we think we hear the echo Of the angel's song of love. Trembling through the distant vistas, From the great white throne above. 88 THE ORGAN FAIR. 3Irs. A. G. Woolson. Last night by idleness beset, I wandered out to see What sort of entertainment now a Fair might have for me ; The object was the very best, and I was really sure I ought to help the grand Old North an organ to procure. Sure never to my eyes was sent A scene of such bewilderment; A bower of twining evergreen With three imprisoned sprites was seen ; A fete-tree hung its treasures low, And smiling archers twanged the bow ; And there as far as I could tell A most successful Jewess stood her ground beside a well. Next, standing in a corner was a wide, prodigious shoe, And a little lady in it who had nothing else to do, But sell to all who asked her as they filed along in line. The photographic semblance of our revered divine ; And just as I was sidling by, she put so sweet a pout on. What could a decent heathen do but buy a Dr. B— ton? 89 THE KING'S DEVICE. Miss Emma E, Brown. Long years ago, a certain king Said to his serfs one day, " A boulder from the quarries bring And by the roadside lay Just where the people come and go, And I vnW watch and see What each man does — so shall I know My land more thoroughly." So, well disguised, he stood next day Close by the thoroughfare, But of the throng who passed that way Not one appeared to care Whether the road was clear or no, As long as he could make A pathway round the rock and so No further trouble take. Until at last there came a man, — In humble peasant frock, — Who stopped and looked, and then began To try to raise the rock. " For 'tis a dangerous thing, and might Be moved away," he said, "But if 'tis left here over night Some dire mishap I dread." 90 And so he worked with might and main, Undaunted though alone, Until with many a tug and strain He rolled away the stone, And lo ! beneath the heavy weight Bright golden ducats gleamed ; But guessing not his happy fate. He stood as one who dreamed Until the king himself drew near And threw off all disguise : " Well done, brave heart ! " he cried, " since here I've seen with my own eyes That only thou of all the throng Who tread this thoroughfare Had thought for others, purpose strong, And zeal enough to care Whether a dangerous stumbling block Could be removed or no ; Good brother ! all beneath the rock Is thine. And since I know Thy arduous work was done today Without a thought of gain. Henceforth within my palace stay — A man like thee I need alway As my lord chamberlain. 91 UNREST. Mrs. Lucy J. Hutchens Frost. weary heart, wilt thou not hush thy moaning ? When wilt thou cease to bear unlanguaged pain ? 1 long for this dark night to change to morning, — I sigh to see the star of hoj^e again. I've vainly sought to crush each bitter feeling. And happy seem, as in the olden time — My heart detests this treach'rous dealing, And seeks a shrine round which its love may twine. O sad, crushed heart ! thine unavailing sighing Will not return thy youthful joy to thee ; Sad spirit, thou art ever vainly crying Unto the past — " Give back my hopes to me." Those hopes ! they gilded every hour with sunshine, Changed darkest night into resplendent day ; But youth's bright garlands all have drooped and withered, And hope's false anthem long since died away. 92 O breaking heart ! wait but a little longer, Then thou shalt sigh and weep no more in vain ; In Heaven affection's flowers bloom fairer, stronger, And sorrow's breath can blight them ne'er again. Look up and smile, O thou world-weary spirit! Think of the bliss that waits for thee above ; Cling closely to the guiding Hand Almighty ; Soon thou shalt reach the land of deathless love. THE LIFE-BOAT. G. Kent^ Esq. When through the torn garb the wild tempest was streaming O'er the wave of '' bhie ruin " red lightning was gleaming — Scarce hope lent a ray the poor drunkard to cher- ish — Humanity's cry was : "Oh help, lest he perish ! " First, Temp'rance extended his hand for protec- tion — But gently — as if to be done on reflection — Not to " pluck as a brand from the burning " — but taken With care — lest the system unduly be shaken. Bold Abstinence next, with a zeal more engaging, His war with the elements manfully waging. Was seen to reach forth, 'mid the waves' wild com- motion, A plank, that seem'd firmly to ride the old ocean. 94 But not till the Life-Boat, Tee-Total^ appearing, And her course through the breakers triumphantly steering, Came full to the rescue, was safety ensured, " Drowning honor pluck'd up," and the lost one se- cured. Then hail to the Life-Boat ! Salvation extending — The poor making rich, and the friendless befriend- ing ; And success to the element — thus far that brought her On her voyage of benevolence — real cold water ! 95 DEATH OF WEBSTER. ' ' The great heart of the nation throbs heavily at the portals of his grave." — Franklin Pierce. B. Thotnpson. Editor of the Southern Literary Messenger, Richmond, Va. The boom of sad artillery is heard Through mightiest commonwealths, from shore to shore. Webster now sleeps, " life's fitful fever " o'er. The man of intellect, whose single word The depths of human sentiment has stin-ed, — These refluent ties shall own his sway no more — The eloquent of speech, who dared to soar With tireless wing of Appalachian bird, Right upward to serene, unclouded skies ; Let thunder then from funeral guns resound, And banners droop in sorrow to the ground. And let our future poets learn to sing How in tlie Senate house he stood erect. And battled always for his country's cause, — Her shrines, her Constitution, and her Laws, — And how, when Treason rose from Faction's sect. He turned Columbia's aegis on the crime And froze it into silence for all time. 96 THE CATTLE SHOW. J. B. Moore, Esq. The farmer ploughs his mellow fields, He sows the choicest grains, And lo ! how rich the harvest yields, How wide a plenty reigns ! October's ripen'd splendors shine, The Harvest's fruits appear, The flocks and herds their fatness yield To crown the closing year. But not sic draughts as turn the brain, And stupid mak' the min' ; O no! we'll leave sic faults as these To auld lang syne. Then pledge we all the farmer's weal, Success to loom and plough ! And coming years shall keep alive The joys that bless us now. Sure none can with the farmer vie, Push round the generous wine, We '11 tak' a cup of cider yet. For auld lang syne. FORTY YEARS. The Pastorate of Rev. N. Bouton, D.D. Miss Edna Dean Proctor. With their labors, hopes and fears, With theu' raptures and theu- tears. Gone into the silent spheres — Forty years ! Laud the Pastor's work today, Who to such as went astray, Pointed out the better way Forty years ! Watching at the bed of pain — Praying he may not in vain. Tell men of a Savior slain — Forty years ! Fellowship with kindred souls. Welcome into many folds, Warning from perdition's shoals Forty years ! List the echo fi-om the street, Trod by his most willing feet. In his walks of mercy meet. Forty years — 98 From the pulpit and the pew, From the aged, honored few, Who his true and just life knew — Forty years! From the still and solemn mould Of the youthful and the old, Whom our arms did once enfold — Forty years ! O'er the dear and blessed past One fond glance of memory cast, Say one farewell to the last Forty years ! LOf <;; 99 THE MARTYR LAMB. Miss H. Liver more. In a tomb of solid rock Joseph laid tlie Lord. Holy women came to look, Nor feared the Roman sword, But O ! His glorious rising morn — Dawn of Immortality ! From the grave a Saviour born — Shout ! Victory ! Heavenly guards in Shiloh's tomb Glorified the name Of Jesus and forbade to mourn The lovers of the Lamb. Quickly go — disciples tell The Master's risen — as he said, The watchword vibrates, all is well With Christ their Lord ! O ! how sweet could woman sing, For she ne'er denied The lowly, suffering Nazarene, Nor his life betrayed ! 100 See her in the garden stand, Lovely mid her flowing tears, A lily fair in Judah's land, To her the Lord appears. Mary ! to my brethren go, And say that I ascend ; I'll intercede for men below At God's right hand. On a cloud to heaven he rode. Leading captive death and hell— The Counselor, the Mighty God, Immanuel ! Believers know that God is love, By Christ revealed ; They read it in the word forgive And pardon sealed. By the merits of his death — By his resurrection power — By the holy sovereign breath, " Sin no more." This is written in my breast By Jesus' hand — Sin no more, but in me rest, 'Tis my command ; Wear my yoke and bear my cross, Follow me and thou shalt find Heavenly pearls for nature's dross. And gold refined. 101 Lovers of the Martyr Lamb, I close uiy song With Alleluia to his name Upon my tongue — Jesus is the name I own, The first — the last — the True Amen, Jesus, king on David's throne Quickly come to reign ! 102 FOREVER AND FOREVER! Harry B. Metcalf. Our little loves may pass away, As fragile heartstrings sever ; But each dawn brings a sweeter day, For love is love forever. The little gods of time-worn creeds, Die, neath the world's endeavor , But lives the grandeur of good deeds. For God is God forever ! 103 THE VISION. Dr. Andrew M^Farkmd. " I will see thee at Phillipi." — Julius Caesar. Night poured on Rome its moonUght floo< Her hundred domes in glory stood, In lustrous veil arrayed ; But where the Forum, gloomier, rose. Whose crumbling wrecks around disclose Her long and cheerless night of woes A pall of darkness laid. The Colosseum caught the swell, And cope and buttress, as it fell, Ran o'er with molten gold ; It crested with its silvery line. The lonely arch of Constantine — The splendors of the Palatine Its gleaming bosses told. From the drear Campagna late. Through Lorenzo's vaulted gate Hurryingh' I sped, — All save the roused sentinel, Whose startled accents sharply fell, Or distant Capitoline bell Hushed as the Appian's dead. 104 Silent — vast — in ruin laid, Half illumined — half in shade, And step, and voice, and bell ; Only, with intrusive sotihd, Broke the solitude profound, Where closing centuries had wound Their unchanging spell. From the Forum's southern line Heaves the ruined Palatine, — The headsman's lone domain ; Where stood imperial Caesar's halls, Where Nero reared his golden walls. The viper basks, the lizard crawls, — Decay and silence reign. The hour, the scene, possessed me quite The giant shades — the hush of night, Peopled my breast with fears ; What foot profane would dare to tread Where flit the shades of Roman dead. Where Time's remorseless hand has spread Spoils of a thousand years ! Crumbling arch and column strewed The path, unconscious, I pursued, 'Mid the mouldering walls ; Then entering by a shattered gate To a courtyard desolate — Marius-like I'll meditate In these deserted halls. 105 Where the gray owl, boding sits, And the night-bird restless flits Like some guilty sprite, — Here in sadness I will muse. Where the deadly nightshade strews Poison in the clammy dews That bathe the brow of night. I thought on years forever fled — Of waning life, by phantoms led — The hours that once were mine ; How brief a point they seemed when cast On this broad record of the past, Where centuries, in flitting past, Write but a single line. " Hence, loiterer 'mid the shadowy past ; In vain thou bid'st the iconoclast His destined task refrain ; I gave thee life's ill-honored boon — Here I meet thee at its noon — Thy Philippi shall be soon, There we meet again ! " It ceased. The wonted sounds of night Chased the dread vision from my sight, Resolved, unseen, away ; Gregario's convent-bell was ringing, A midnight stave the monks were singing, The moon her beams was softly flinging Upon the ruins gray. 106 Months since have passed and seas gone o'er, I tread again my native shore, Yet through my troubled brain Oft steals the phantom voice which saith, " I know the numbering of thy breath, Soon at the dread Philippi, death, We shall meet again ! " 107 TO A BRIDE. Mrs. R. 3L A. Enos. Sweet friend, today the bridal wreath is twining In snowy bloom around thy fair young brow ; The words that bind thy spirit to another In holy love and trust are spoken now. Before the altar side by side ye stand, Henceforth to walk together hand in hand. Before thee, strown with blossoms, bright with sun- light, A happy future smiling stands arrayed ; Thou dreamest not, while gazing down the vista. The blooms may wither and the sunshine fade ; Thy future seems one dream of perfect love, Pure as the being of the saints above. God's peace be with thee, woman's holy mission. Her brightest crown of joy, is given to thee ; Could all the prayers I breathe tonight be granted, How bright and beautiful thy way would be. Yet, gentle one, where'er thy steps may range, A love so pure as thine can know no change. Then onward, in the shade as in the sunlight, Still guided by our Father's loving hand. Till, free from all earthly care and soitow. Before His throne rejoicingly ye stand ; Where songs of seraph music sweetly thrill ; In Heaven, among the angels, wedded still. 108 J. H. Kimball The spirit of our fathers Is in our bosoms yet, Our hearts are as unshrinking, And our nerves as firmly set. We will speak as we have spoken. With our words unmeeted still, With the Intellect forever Free from the despot's will ! By John Farmer. In life through every varied stage. In every rank and station, In youth, in manhood and in age, While all is in mutation ; He who with steadiness of mind, And passions ne'er uneven. Is ever to his lot resigned. On earth enjoys a heaven. 109 A BUTTON? Rev. D. C. Roberts. A button ? Yes, a button ; And the man the door was shut on, With his rag of dingy blue. That was once a coat of blue, Though a hungry tramp, and cold, Was a soldier, true and bold, — Let him in ! And it is n't always bread. Or a place to lay your head, That you 'specially desire ; But a place beside the fire And a feeling that you're "in it" When the Comrades meet to " chin it,' And a welcome warm and true From the boys that wore the blue. But we want a chance at giving. For the gladdest thing in living Is the joy that comes of sharing A place we can have by taking it, A home we can have by making it. Here 's our home and we have won it. 110 Where the " Tramp's " flag is unfurled, Stands the cream of all the world. Raise the flag above our roof-tree, let it wave and wave ! 'Tis the banner and the beacon of the true and brave ! 'Tis the meteor of glory over field and sea ! 'Tis the sacred pledge and symbol of the land that 's free ! HI "WHAT'S IN A NAME?" G. Kent. An aged pair, in Scotland, Were reading the Good Book — Or, rather, 't was the husband, Who on its page did look. He came to the one passage Wherein occurs the phrase, Of olden time, that " on the earth, Were giants in those days." His eyesight being dim, And learning not profound, He missed the dot., and turn'd the ?', In giants, somewhat round. He read it with an r, And made of grants the word : Whereat the good wife (such their name) With pride was somewhat stirr'd. " Was there Grants then ? " she eager ask'd " Oh, yes," was the reply, "We're an auld race., and with the world Began, and with it die." 112 The change of Grants to giants, Our times have rendered back ; But the true meaning of the term The people do not lack. Slight was the old man's error In reading, after all, Identical as are the words Since shown, in Vicksburg's fall. U. S. Consulate, Valencia, 1864. 113 TEKEL. Mrs. Ann D. H. Bailey. Cried the King, " Bring wise men hither ! Let them now the words decipher Traced upon the wall ! " While the stricken guests are rousing From the bacchanal carousing, From the cups of their profaning, At the earnest call. Now the heathen priesthood falter And in vain the idol-altar, With its gods of gold ; Vain the lore of distant ages. Vain the wisdom of the sages, None may read the dark presages Heaven hath foretold. 'Till the man by God appointed For this holy work annointed. Fearless and alone, Stood before the King unshrinking, God's most righteous will revealing, In the writing's fearful meaning. Vengeance on the throne. 114 Even so God's hand is writing Characters of fire inditing, On this nation's heart ; And its bravest spirits cower 'Neath the horrors of the hour, Seeking the prophetic power, Wisdom to impart. And a people's voice united. Pleading for a race benighted, Greets the ruler's ear ; " Lo ! in thy dominions wait Those who wondrous things relate Of the God they humbly serve ; Send and bring them here." 'Tis done, and Sumner's voice is pealing Heaven's eternal law revealing, Freedom's right divine ; In the desecrated chamber, Sacred to a nation's honor, Reads aloud the mystic cypher Of its fearful crime. " Ye are weighed and still are wanting And the glory is departing From your blood-bought land ; Ye have praised the gods of cotton, Gods of gold, and gain ill-gotten. Grown with hellish lust besotten, And ye cannot stand. 115 "And your noblest blood and purest, Must be offered in the contest With a foe maUgn, , Till the Nation's heart confesseth God doth rule, and man possesseth Only what His wisdom blesseth With a seal divine." 116 CHRISTMAS CAROL. Mrs. A. D. H. Bailey. Hail thou ! Merry Christmas morning ! Day whose advent angels sing — Peace on earth ! today is dawning, All the heavenly arches ring. Mortals ! catch the strain of glory, Echo back the song of love ; Earth and sky resound the story, Peace on Earth and Heaven above. 117 BURNING OF THE NORTH CHURCH. (Sabbath Morning, June 29, 1874.) We come not, Lord, in this sad hour, To ask Thee why or whence This day of grief — we would not doubt Thy watchful Providence. Thy messages, like gentle dew, In former blessings came. And shall we question when they come In characters of flame? Through loss and pain, through gloom and fear, Still let us see Thy love, As, through the clouds and crimson blaze, The stars shone clear above. We know that, though the house we loved, Thy temple made with hands, In ashes lies. Thy Church, oh God, On sure foundations stands. We pray Thee that with faith and zeal Our souls may all be filled ; Like Israel may we bring our gifts Thy temple to rebuild. 118 And may our hearts, baptized with flame, As gold refined and tried. In sorrow's fiery crucible Be cleansed and purified. And though a " Miserere " breaks From all our lips today, Yet " Gloria Deo " make us sing, Oh Lord, we humbly pray. 119 OLD NAMES. G. Kent, Esq. The public, of old, had the Town House and Pound — But no watchmen were needed to beat their long round. Of Churches, the North stood alone in its glory, While of taverns, a little could tell the whole story. New names of old things have most sadly bereft us The " 'leven lots " have come to be nearly built over, And even the " Frog Pond " almost tum'd to clover ; At least the frogs croak, and most meagerly sputter all. Not like days of " Old Roach," in bull-notes so gut- tural The " Dark Plains " are stripp'd of their timber and wood. And " Sheep Davis " grows rye where the great trees stood. The " Great Swamp " is swamp'd to mere nothing at all— " Rattlesnake," and " Rum Hill," do but totter to fall; And " Turkey Pond," too, since we lost " Uncle Jo," 120 Comes in ancient use less, "by a jug full," than show; The " Iron Works " pass now for mere irony, And " Horse Shoe " and " Tury " have near ceas'd to be; The Railroads our intervales wide have invaded, And the iroa horse tramps where full hay carts were laded. 131 HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS. Nathaniel H. Carter. In hymns of praise, eternal God, When the creating hand Stretch'd the blue arch of heaven abroad, And meted sea and land The morning stars together sung. And shouts of joy from angels rung. Than earth's prime hour, more joyous far Was the eventful morn. When the bright beams of Bethlehem's star Announced a Saviour born ! Then sweeter strains from Heaven began, « Glory to God — good will to Man." Babe of the manger ! Can it be ! Art thou the Son of God ? Shall subject nations bow the knee, And kings obey thy nod ? Shall thrones and monarchs prostrate fall Before the tenant of a stall ? 'Tis He ! the hymning seraphs cry. While hovering drawn to earth ; 'Tis He ! the shepherd's songs reply, 122 Hail ! hail, Emmanuers birth ! The rod of peace those hands shall bear, That brow a crown of glory wear ! 'Tis He ! the Eastern sages sing, And spread their golden hoard ! 'Tis He ! the hills of Sion ring, Hosanna to the Lord ! The Prince of long prophetic years Today in Bethlehem appears ! He comes ! the conqueror's march begins, No blood his banner stains ; He comes to save the world from sins, And break the captive's chains ! The poor, the sick and bHnd ! The Prince of Peace and Righteousness. Though now in swaddhng clothes, he lies. All hearts his power shall own. When He with legions of the skies, The clouds of heaven his throne, Shall come to judge the quick and dead, And strike a trembling world with dread . 123 ANITA GARIBALDI. Mrs. Roxana Allen Enos. The soft, rich glow of an Italian sunset ilad flushed the sky with its own rosy hue, And perfumed breezes whispered in the branches That fenced a lowly cottage in from view ; Young roses bright as ever bloomed in Eden, Wasted their wealth of fragrance on the air, And twined in beauty round the open casement Where lay one fading form, so pale, so fair ; While at her side a patriot-soldier bending Murmured low words of mingled love and prayer. They dared to listen when the voice of Freedom Proclaimed its gospel to the nations round. And Italy, a passive slave no longer. Woke from the dream of ages at the sound ; They dared to break oppression's galling fetters. To bid their native land be free once more. To send the war-cry of her gathering legions. From vale to mountain and from shore to shore ; They braved the war-cloud till its stormy darkness Scattered then* gallant band, and all was o'er. 124 Then turning from the wreck of glorious visions, From buried hopes that all too early died ; Pursued, outlawed, they fled for life and freedom, The high-souled leader and his gentle bride ; Together they had reached that peaceful valley But Death's pale Angel sadly waited there ; With one last look of holy love, she folded Her white hands on her bosom as in prayer. And passed away, as fades a star at morning. Its pale light melting in the sunny air. Far down the valley Austrian swords were flashing, And eager soldiers sought their hunted prey ; Yet still he lingered where his Ufe's last treasure. In such calm loveliness beside him lay ; Then in his arms, alone, he bore her gently Far up the wild and distant mountain's side, And pausing there, amid the gathering shadows. Made a lone grave and laid his martyred bride — Then turned away, his peril'd flight pursuing To where the ocean rolled its sunlit tide. 125 "AWAKE, AWAKE!" Miss Harriet Liverinore. Awake, Awake, put on thy strength. O arm of the Lord, awake as in the ancient days. Isa. 51: 9. Thus Judah's royal prophet sang, Inspired by Israel's God, The lofty strain by faith he rang. And called the Eternal Word. Awake, awake, O Arm Divine ! Thy sovereign strength put on. As in the days, the ancient time, Thou Holy, Holy One ! Did'st Thou not dry the foaming sea. And make the deeps a way For ransomed ones from Egypt free. In mighty Pharaoh's day ? Did'st not Thy mighty power still The dragon's hellish roar. With Egypt's dead the waters fill. Like lead to rise no more ? Again awake, O Powerful Ann ! To holy battle come, And Zion's haughty foes disarm. Quickly, Thou Holy One ! Then shall the Lord's redeemed return To Zion with delight, Thy children cease to sigh and mourn. Will live in Jesus' sight. 126 REQUIEM. (Probably the Last Lines Written by Dr. Andrew McFarland.) Birds at the setting sun Glad seek the sheltering nest ; My lengthened flight is done, I 'm weary ; let me rest. Beyond the tempter's power, No more by sin distressed ; Fix, Thou, the opening hour Of my eternal rest. Gone now my anxious fears. The turmoil of the breast ; Adieu, thou vale of tears Welcome the evening rest. His promise stands assured To weary ones oppressed ; On Thy dear bosom, Lord, Give me the promised rest. 13^ BURIAL AT SEA. N. H. Carter. From his room to the deck they brought hun, drest For his funeral rites, Id his funeral robes by his own request, — With his boots and stock and garments on, And naught but the breathing spirit gone ; For he wished that a child might come and lay An unstartled hand upon his clay. Then they wrapped his corse in a tarry sheet, To the dead as Araby's spices sweet, And prepared him to seek the depths below, Where waves never beat, nor tempests blow. No steeds with their nodding plumes were here. No sable hearse, and no coffined bier, To bear with pomp and parade away The dead — to sleep with his kindred clay. But the little group — a silent few His companions, mixed with the hardy crew — Stood thoughtful around, till a prayer was said O'er the corse of the deaf, unconscious dead. Then they bore his remains to the ship's side. And committed them safe to the dark, blue tide. One sullen plunge, and the scene is o'er, — The sea rolled on as it rolled before. 128 In that classical sea, whose azure vies With the green of its shores, and the blue of its skies, In some pearly cave, in some coral cell, — Oh, the dead shall sleep — as sweetly, as well, — As if shrined in the pomp of Parian tombs. Where the East and the South breathe their rich perfumes ; Nor forgotten shall be the humblest one. Though he sleep in the watery waste alone. When the trump of the angel sounds with dread, And the sea, like the earth, gives up its dead ! 129 HYMN. One Hundred and Seventy-fifth Anniversary of First Congregational Church, Concord, November 17, 18 and 19, 1905. Rev. N. F. Carter. So many years, O Lord, have rolled away, Like sands of gold in Time's unceasing flow. Since first Thy little tlock met here to pray In days of peril we may never know. We come to own Thy guarding, guiding hand, So strong to shield and help in darkest hour, When savage hordes invaded oft the land. And foreign foes oppressed with grinding power ; When arms were carried to the House of God, So great the menace to the common weal, To guard against such prowling foes abroad. Whose stirring signal was the musket's peal ! We come to praise Thee for Thy shepherd care. For leaders who so long Thy people fed, For saintly worship, saintly song and prayer. And saintly souls to sterling virtues wed. 130 For all the churches going from this fold, The growing branches of this fruitful vine, We thank Thee, Lord, and pray Thee ever hold Them fast and make them truly, wholly Thine. The blessings of Thy grace we gladly own. The many mercies crowning all the way. The harvests for the Heavenly garner grown, The hope and promise of this festal day. Here long may faithful pastors feed Thy flock, Here ever may this people be Thy care, Compel the world to own their godly walk Till crowns of glory every one shall wear ! 131 175tb ANNIVERSARY HYMN. First Congregational Church, Concord. Rev. G, H. Reed. O, Thou who did'st our fathers guide, Blest Author of their faith and ours, May we, like them, in Thee confide, And to Thy church devote our powers. In answer to their prayers we pray. And this shall our petition be, That we as loyal prove as they, Unto our country and to Thee. Their hopes fulfilled, their toils repaid, If with the right their children side ; On firm foundations they have laid, Long may the church they loved abide. Thine ancient mercies. Lord, bestow On us who now before Thee wait. May we Thy sure protection know, Exalt Thy name in church and state. 132 And for the one transcendent gift, Above all other gifts adored, Our grateful songs to Thee we lift For Jesus Christ, Thy Son, our Lord. And when shall end our pilgrim-days, And nobler tasks our powers employ, Lord, Thine alone be all the praise. And ours the everlasting joy. 133 FAIR FREEDOM'S LAND. Rev. J. E. Rankin^ LL. D. O land of all earth's lands the best, Fair Freedom's empire in the West, From rising to the setting sun All nations here unite in one — Om' fathers came as exiles here. They saw our day with vision clear. Dispersed at home the corner stones Which God, the nation's builder, owns. Shall we, the sons of Pilgrim sires, Neglect to kindle fresh the fires They hghted on Atlantic's coast Which makes our land of lands the boast? Ah, no ! By faith Christ's standard goes Beyond Sierra's distant snows. To where Pacific's waters he Beneath the golden sunset sky. By faith this goodly land I see In Christ's own freedom doubly free ; From North to South, from East to West, Beneath his gentle scepter blest. Chorus — Fak Freedom's land, fair Freedom's land ! Begirt with might, long may she stand ! And may her realm Christ's kingdom be From lake to gulf, from sea to sea. 134 THE BROKEN ALABASTER BOX Rev. J. E. Rankin^ LL. D. She stole behind, no word she spoke ; With tears and kisses sweet, The alabaster box she broke. Anointing there His feet. The Lord did not disdain her touch, Or draw His feet aside ; He knew, oh, why she loves so much ; "What her hot tears implied. He marked her well, measured her love. And spoke her soul forgiven ; Perhaps He prized her praise above The angels' praise in Heaven. To Simon He : Thou seest this deed ! Where'er the truth shall go. On wings of light, it too shall speed. Till all the world shall know. Howard Uxtversity, May, 1892. 135 THAT SWEET OLD SONG. Rev. Frank L. Phalen. Far back in the dawn of ages When the world and its people were young, One night o'er the plains of Judea, A wonderful anthem was sung. It was sung by the angels of glory, To shepherds who watched through the night Their flocks as they patiently waited The advent of morning's glad light. Blazing out through the shadows of midnight There burst forth a vision so bright, That amid the strange splendor and singing The shepherds stood trembling with fright. Lowly listening they heard the good tidings Of glory, and peace, and good will. And the birth of the Babe in the manger, The world's dearest hopes to fulfil. ***** 136 Nevermore shall the angels and vision On the plains of Judea appear, But the message and music of Christmas Sounds on through the earth far and near. Sing on holy anthem of Heaven ! Sing on through the shadows and light ! Sing on in the world's heart forever ! O, sing us the old song tonight ! Christmas Eve. 137 Sarah F. Ballard. Free as the bird in its airy flight, Roam in your thoughts to the realms of light ; Leave every care and vexation behind, Let fancy paint things quite to your mind — On your return to the world of sense, New courage and strength you '11 bring from thence. Sarah F. Ballard. Pure the heart where Christ abides — Under his wing no evil hides ; Radiant gleams of Truth are given, Infinite peace, the joy of heaven. Thine is the blessing, if such your choice — You have only to hear and obey His voice. 138 ON THE WING. Harry B. Metcalf. Good night ; the shades are falling ; The sun slips from the west : The kindly stars are calUng The weary world to rest. Good night ; and may thy slumbers Sweet and refreshing be, In His blest care who numbers The mist-drops of the sea. Good night ; and be thy waking Unto a day made fair To some heart that is aching, By token of Thy care. 139 COLUMBIA'S EMBLEM. Miss Edna Dean Proctor. Blazon Columbia's emblem The bounteous, golden Corn ! Eons ago, of the great sun's glow And the joy of the earth, 't was born. From Superior's shore to Chih, From the ocean of dawn to the west. With its banners of green and silken sheen It sprang at the sun's behest ; And by dew and shower, from its natal hour, With honey and wine 't was fed, Till on slope and plain the gods were fain To share the feast outspread : For the rarest boon to the land they loved Was the Corn so rich and fair. Nor star nor breeze o'er the farthest seas Could find its like elsewhere. In their holiest temples the Incas Offered the heaven-sent Maize — Grains wrought of gold, in a silver fold, For the sun's enraptured gaze ; And its harvest came to the wandering tribes As the god's own gift and seal. And Montezuma's festal bread Was made of its sacred meal. 140 Narrow their cherished fields ; but ours Are broad as the continent's breast, And, lavish as leaves, the rustling sheaves Bring plenty and joy and rest : For they strew the plains and crowd the wains When the reapers meet at morn, Till blithe cheers ring and west winds sing A song for the garnered Corn. The rose may bloom for England, The lily for France unfold ; Ireland may honor the shamrock, Scotland her thistle bold ; But the shield of the great Republic, The glory of the West, Shall bear a stalk of the tasseled Corn — The sun's supreme bequest ! The arbutus and the golden rod The heart of the North may cheer. And the mountain laurel for Maryland Its royal clusters rear, And jasmine and magnolia The crest of the South adorn ; But the wide Republic's emblem Is the bounteous, golden Corn ! 141 O ! sad to be last of a line and name, Lived through a century's round without stain ! Long will the intervale the last name bear, Longer, we trust, our Town Records stand fair. Years on, tall carved granite the mem'ry keep Till time ends, in God's Acre th' dust will sleep. 143 PRAISE. Miss Sarah F. Sanborn. Blessings cluster 'round his head, Down forever be his bed, — This my friend, who praises me. Red the lips that he shall kiss. Their first fruits he shall not miss,- This my friend, who praises me. In his life, lo ! the ideal Shall become no less than real, — This my friend, who praises me. Honey-sweet his words to me. Honey-sweet his joy shall be, — This my friend, who praises me. Roses in his garden bloom. Laurel where shall be his tomb, — This my friend, who praises me. 143 NOTES. The Placing of the Bradley Monument, Septem:- BER 36, 1837. There was a procession of the pupils of the Concord Literary Institute and other schools, and citizens from the Weeks House (where Miss Mary Clark and Dr. John Farmer died) to the south side of the site of the stone. Prayer was offered by the Rev. Dr. Bouton. Hymn by Rev. John Pierpont. Ode by George Kent, Esq. Address by Asa McFarland. Reading of Miss Clark's Ballad by Principal D. P. Stone. (The Ballad, of some forty stanzas, is given in Dr. Bouton's History of Concord.) Reading of the petition for aid and the deed of con- veyance of the site to the New Hampshire Historical Society, by Richard Bradley, Esq. Prayer by Rev. E. G. Cummings. Miss Clark's Ballad: ** Five gallant yeomen fell, Peters, Lufkins, Bradleys, Bean. The Bradleys were distinguished men. Each left a mourning family. Samuel, an only son, Father of him whose piety Hath reared this stone." Richard Bradley, Esq., died June 6, 1869. 145 In Mr. Kent's Ode I liave taken the liberty to change "Mild Kankamagus" to ''Wild Kankamagus," the character of the Indian having become better known. Rev. E. E. Adams, born August 29, 1810; died No- vember 3, 1871, in Oxford, Pa. P. Carrigan, born February 20, 1772; died March 15, 1842. Nathaniel Haseltine Carter was born at Concord, at the Iron Works District, so called. He graduated at Dartmouth in 1811 ; taught in several places. In 1815 was appointed professor of language in Dartmouth Uni- versity. In 1825 he was connected with a paper in Albany, N. Y. , in the interest of DeWitt Clinton, which removed to New York City and became the New York Statesman. Going to Europe in 1825, he traveled for nearly two years, and returning, published in two large volumes, " Letters from Europe." A man of noblest character, his talents gave him rank in the literary society in the city by whom he was great- ly beloved. On Ms last visit to liis native place he wrote the lines, "To My Native Stream," given in Dr. Bou- ton's History. Fully conscious of the state of his health, he set sail for Marseilles, then the favorite health resort, but failed rapidly on the voyage and wrote " The Burial at Sea," when too feeble to put the two scraps of paper together. His anticipation was not realized, for he survived until the vessel entered the harbor, where friends awaited him. One of Ms friends, Augustus Greele, a noted ship builder of New York, placed at his grave in the ceme- tery a beautiful marble^obelisk. The date of his^death^was January 2, 1830. 146 Roxana M. Allen Enos, born December 18, 183-1; died January 6, 1901, in North Vallejo, Gal. Jolm Farmer, born June 2, 1789; died August 3, 1838. George Kent, born May 4, 1796; died Nov. 8, 1884. George F. Kent, born February 4, 1824 ; died Febru- ary 10, 1850. James Horace Kimball, editor of the Herald of Free- dom, author of " Be Faitliful," died April 14, 1833. Miss Harriet Livermore was born in Concord, N. H., April 14, 1788, the daughter of Edward St. Loe and Mehitable Harris [daughter of Robert Harris, merchant] Livermore. Her mother died before she was five years old. Her father, a lawyer, removed to Lowell, and at eight years of age she was placed in a boarding school at Haverliill, Mass., and later at Atkinson Academy, receiving the best education for girls at the time. Later, a beauty and a belle she floated in the gay circle of Wash- ington, where her father represented Massachusetts in the House of Representatives, as her grandfather had New Hampshire in the Senate. An engagement to a young physician had not mate- rialized, the parents of both parties objecting, and Dr. Moses Elliot died in Florida, a surgeon in the army. At home she taught awhile but found the work un- congenial. The settling of her religious creed occupied her for some years. Christened and confirmed in the Episcopal Church, she veered first towards one and then another denomination in turn, until immersed in a chan- nel cut in the ice of the river at Assonet. Having collected scriptural evidence of female partici- pation in religious services it was but a step to exhorting 147 and then to preaching. She was probably the first female to address the inmates of the New Hampsliire State Prison. She was an early Adventist. She believed that the American aborigines were the lost tribes of Israel, and through extreme difficulty she went to Fort Leaven- worth to devote her life to teaching and comforting the tribes, but the Indian commissioners forbade her en- trance. Kneeling in great distress she cried, "What shall I do? " A voice audible to the soul said, " Peace, I will send thee to Jerusalem. ' ' She at once began to secure means, and started on the journey with fifty dollars, but a friend of her brother's, consul at Gibral- tar, added some one hundred and forty dollars. On April 4, 1837, she entered the Jaffa gate of the Holy City, and was entertained a month at the Oazinoria of the Latin Convent as an American pilgrim. She was forty-nine years old on the fourteenth of April (ten days later), and the superior of the convent interviewed her, and she boldly told him through an interpreter that the Lord Christ was coming and would put down Rome. She left with much regret, but the inward voice said, ** Go, now, daughter, I will bring thee again." Henceforth she wrote and sold her books and made other efforts for funds to return. Tliree visits, in 1832, 1838 and 1843, the pilgrim made to Jerusalem. Though not permitted to preach in public she did hope to await there the coming of the King, but it was not to be. "I am in heaven wliile I write," she said, and she was indeed a voluminous writer. She still preached, and under tlu-ee administrations the presidents and high officials attended her services in the House of Repre- sentatives. Governor Briggs wrote of her : *' Her voice was melo- 148 dions, full and sweet ; though not loud was distinctly heard by probably a thousand people ; her language was correct with the dignity of a queen. No language could do justice to the pathos of her singing (she sang her own hymns), without exception the sweetest singer I've ever heard." She returned to this country in 1862, but all her fam" ily and prominent acquaintances had passed on. An annuity left her by her brother had been lost, and she drifted from one friend to another till in November, 1867, she was placed in the Brockley, at Philadelpliia, where she died alone on a Sabbath morning while the inmates were at divine service, March 30, 1868, aged eighty-one years, lacking fifteen days. A friend, Mrs. Worrell, had her removed to her own house, and after religious services had her laid in her own lot in the Ger- mantown (Pa.) Cemetery, and was soon laid beside her. No stone tells the passing traveler where the weary pil- grim sleeps. Dr. Andrew McFarland, bom June 14, 1817; died November 22, 1891. Mary S. Nelson, writer of lines on "Death of Mrs. George Kent," soon after became the wife of Hon. Judge Ira Perley. She died April 27, 1870. It was only a birthplace that Concord had the honor of giving the distinguished preacher. Rev. Leonard Swain, D. D., born February 26, 1821, died July 14, 1869, as his parents soon after his birth moved from town and settled at Mendon, N. Y. His mother, of ex- cellent memory, was a Baptist, and it was at her house the incipient steps looking towards the organization of the first Baptist church were taken. She did not object to his baptism, but said if that takes the place of the 149 Jewish rite let that be observed, and Doctor McFarland preached at the house from Gal. 3: 16, and baptized the son. Already marked as poet and orator he graduated from Dartmouth in 1841, taught for two years, studied theology at Andover, and was ordained in 1846 over the Congregational Church in Nashua, N. H. In 1852 he was called to the Central Congregational Church in Providence, R. I. In both places he gave the whole energies of his soul to his people and the advocacj'- of all right. 150 INDEX OF AUTHORS, Adams, Rev. Ezra E., D. D.* Brown, Miss Emma E.* Bailey, Mrs. A. D. H.* Bailey, Albert H.* Ballard, Miss Sarah F.* Carter, Rev. Nathan F.f Carter, Nathaniel H.* Carrigain, Pliilipt Carr, Mrs. Laura Garlandt Chesley, Dr. A. P.f Clark, Miss Mary 7 Coit, Rev. Henry A., D. D.t Enos, Mrs. R. M. A.* Eddy, Rev. Mary B.t Farmer, John t Frost, Mrs. Lucy J. H.* Kent, George* Kent, George F.* Kimball, Arthur R.* Kimball, J. Horace t Livermore, Miss Harriet * McFarland, Dr. Andrew* Metcalf , Harry B.* Moore, Jacob B.f Moore, John W.f Nelson, Mary S.i- Phalen, Rev. Frank L.t 151 Proctor, Miss Ednah D.t Rankin, Rev. J. E., D. D.t Reed, Rev. George H.t Roberts, Rev. Dan'l C, D. D.t Stone, Rev. T. D. P.t Swain, Rev. Leonard* Sanborn, Miss S. F.t Thompson, J. R.t Upham, Nathaniel G.t Wheeler, Charles L.* Woolson, Mrs. Abba Gooldt Native of Concord. t Resident of Concord. ERRATA. Pages 14 and 28, author's name, should read John W. Moore. Page 17, author's name should read Rev. Ezra E. Adams, D. D. Page 55, author's name should read Albert H. Bailey. Pages 88 and 92, author's name should read Mrs. Lucy J. H. Frost. Page 96, author's name should read J. R. Thompson. Page 104, author's nam should read Dr. Andrew McFarland. 152 ^P. >^ -??' ^<;^ir^' ^/<5s:,,;^'^i*si«^ -^<>*;^^*ff'il 5^^"^