Class _^S,2£l.r Copightl^". 1M7 COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV I I GOLDENROD A BOOK OF POEMS BY SADIE CARR 76 3rz>r . /)77/ (n ^ Copyri^'lit l!ltl!l bv SAUlli CAKK. S(U<»/V^ JYeW, LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two GoDies Received APR 28 1909 ^ Copyrijint Lntrv JIlaSS Ou XX^ No. CONTENTS PAGE PART I An Easter Thot 9 Nebraska 10 Thou Shalt Not 13 A Corn Sono' , 15 After 17 The Snow 19 A Song- of Hope 22 Keep Sweet 23 Friends 25 The Rain 27 The Licenst Saloon 28 The Days of Yore 29 Compensation , 32 Judge Not 33 Childhood Days 36 As Others See Us 37 Sympathy 40 J. B. Montag-ue 42 If I'd Only Thot 43 A Good Time Coming- 44 Phyllis 46 Boast vs Boost 54 Easter 55 Pinin' Fiir The Country 58 Twentv-One 60 PAGE The Crank 61 Contented 63 Alfred Tennyson 65 Advice 67 A Little Child 70 Politics in the Pulpit 73 Beauty's Clarinet 76 The Speaking Dead 81 The Song of the Tub 83 Ode to Spring 86 Clouds 88 PART II Fact and Fancy 89 Howl Spent My Vacation _ 91 Former Days 92 Twenty Years Ago 94 Stand Up For Edgar 95 In Nebraska 96 Our Reception 100 Stoddard's Military Band 102 Come On 104 The Editor's Chill 106 The Editor's Fourth 107 What Would You Do 108 The Editor's Puzzle 110 When the ^'Machine" Came Home 112 Coonradt and Casterline 113 Stray Thots 115 The Dearth of Ideas 117 The Old School House 119 Greeting Song 121 Wed 123 Stand Up for Nebraska 124 Still Standing 125 A Winter Rhyme 127 PAGE Gentle Spring 128 PART III Three Years Old 132 Four Today 133 A Little Boy of Five 134 Wesley is Six 135 When a Boy is Seven 136 Little Vernon 137 To Vernon 138 Three To-day 138 Time's Horses 139 Five Years Old 140 Preface. This little volume was written for my friends. Tt does not presume to enter the field of literature, it courts neither the praise nor the censure of critics. The thots it contains have come to me from the scenes and sounds of this state which is the only one I have known and loved, Nebraska, and so T have named my book Golden Rod. And to my parents and sister, whose loving sympathy and constant encourag-ement alone have made this book possible it is affectionately dedicated by THE AUTHOR. Part I. AN EACTER THOT. Before the first faint streak of dawn riad Mary to the g-arden g-one. By deep and tender love led on To where her Master silent lay; The anguish of her bitter grief Soug'ht eag-erly some poor relief In being near her precious dead, But gave place to amazement dread — The stone was rolled away! As yet she could not understand That death had felt a mighty hand, And Christ had risen as God had planned^ But pain and g'rief and sore dismay All vanisht at the magic word Of "Mary" spoken by her Lord. The loss, the fear, the darkness past, 8he felt, she knew, for her at last The stone was rolled away. Like ^Mary, with a broken Heart, ; We, too, have been compelled to part With dearest hopes, and with a start Of dread no promise could allay, 10 Goldenrod We lookt into the dark, cold grave From which no human hand could save, And, blinded by our speechless grief, To us it brot no kind relief To think 'twas "rolled away." But darkest clouds are pierct with light And in the stillness of our night We heard a voice, and on our sight A vision rose, and lo ! 'twas day. 'Twas given us to understand That even death is in His hand; With Him we lookt upon our past, And felt and knew, for us at last The stone was rolled aAvay. O may this blessed Eastertide Bring healing to the hearts that bide In sorrow by the chill grave-side ! "He is not here, but risen" today. Not stolen is your treasure, friend. But waiting for you at the end. And some glad day, the sorrow past, You'll feel and know for you at last The stone is rolled away. NEBRASKA. You talk of standing up for the State we call our own. In point of fact, Nebraska has learned to stand alone. (iohlcnrod 11 She has no need of crutches, of canes or friendly props ; She stands upon her merits and talks about her crops. If you have need of workmen intelligent and true, If you have need of counsel to tell a thing or two, Or if you want a preacher to point you to the sky, You'll have no cause to rue it if here you first apply. Nebraska's soil is fertile, her plains are broad and fair, Her winding valleys woo us their cool retreats to share, Her pleasant, rolling prairies are dotted o'er with herds. Her fragrant, well-kept orchards resound with songs of birds. She points with satisfaction to fields of waving grain, Sun-kist in summer's glorj^ or wet with tears of rain; She views her golden cornfields with just and worthy pride. For well she knows the needy are from her wealth supplied. The door of education Nebraska open flings. And bids her youth partake of the feast which knowledge brings; 12 Gohlcnnul Slic t(^ils them of tlio beauties of culture and of 11 rt. And ur^es ever upward with steadfast mind and heart. If you're in search of weather, whatever you have in mind, Nebraska can supply it, for she keeps ev'ry kind. Her specialty is chano-es, she gives good measure, too, And warrants satisfaction, and what she says, she'll do. She cannot boast of wisdom by reason of her years ; Less than two score the number her statehood record bears. But as she notes the progress that marks her path today, She smiles and softly whispers, "I've come a long, long way." And looking to the future with glad, expectant gaze. She goes to meet her duties nor fears the coming days; Her hands are strong to labor, her heart is pure and true. Her step is firm and buoyant, she loves to dare and do. Don't talk of "standing up" for this State we call our own ; Golden rod 13 Nebraska's fully able to stand up all alone. But when you say your prayers, just mention it to God That you are glad to stand beneath the golden- rod. THOU SHALT NOT. When old JMount Sinai's brow was wreathed In clouds and smoke, and lightnings played About it, while the thunders breathed Their warnings forth to hearts dismayed; When all the mountain quaked, and God Descended on that awful spot. And talked w4th Moses face to face, Jehovah uttered, "Thou slialt not." When Israel fled before the foe, And Joshua inquired the cause. The Lord said, "Shame, defeat and woe To them that disobey my laws ! For Israel hath sinned, in that ]\Iy covenant thej^ have forgot. And taken of th' accursed thing AVhereof I charged them, 'Thou shalt not.* " Thru all the ages passed away, That warning voice rang loud and clear; It plainly speaks to us today, And woe to them that will not hear! Concerning ev'ry evil thing. The flagrant act or secret thot. 14 (lohloirixl The person's sin or nation's crime, The changeless law is, "Thou shalt not." Onr nation sanctions and defends The liqnor traffic. Year by year Its deadly, subtle pow'r extends. From east and west, from far and near, A mighty wail of woe is heard ; A protest comes from hall and cot. While rulers bid defiance bold To Him whose word says, "Thou shalt not." And think you that our God is deaf To bitter cries of dark despair? And air unheeding of the grief Which these poor burdened victims bear? Nay, verily! God is not slack Concerning promises, we 're taught ; And woe to all who proudly spurn The just commandment, "Thou shalt not." When millions groaned in galling chains Beneath our own fair southern skies, God knew their sorrows and their pains, He saw their tears and heard their cries; And when the time appointed came. He purged with blood the nation's blot, And vindicated thus the law He wrote on Sinai, "Thou shalt not." O let us rise while Mercy pleads. And save our land from Rum's fell sway! Goldenrod 15 God's grace is pledged for all our needs, He calls and shall not we obey? Th' opposing forces are arrayed — This conflict is with meaning fraught. Rum's banners plead for "compromise," The hosts of God say, "Thou shalt not." Then let us gird the armor on, Against the pow'r of evil stand, And if the need be, stand alone, And hold the fort at His command. Our cause is just, our Leader, true ; The foe may fight and rage and plot. But. we shall triumph in the name Of Him who first said, "Thou shalt not." A CORN SONG. If I was a poet, I'd put into song Some scraps of idees that come floatin' along, That catch in my brain an' take root in my heart. Till it seems they become of my own self a part. But I am a farmer, a poor man in truth ; I've passed, long ago, the first flush of my youth; I haint no book-learnin', I'm sorry to say, The chances to get it was not in my way. I 'low I don't envy no mortal on earth His wealth nor position, his fame nor his birth, But I've said an' I do say — I hope it's no harm — I'd willin'ly give up the hull o' m}^ farm, IC G aide nr 0(1 If I could pass on a rich blessin' to be, Some scraps of idees that come tloatin' to me. I reckon I'd hardly make some folks believe The g-enuine pleasure that farmin' can give; But it is the truth just as sure as you're born, I turn out hull poems when plowin' fur corn. There's somethin' about it, a feel an' a smell, A thrill that goes thru me I can no more tell Than I can explain how the kernels will grow — One truth is like t'other, it's just simply so. I've gQt a conceit that poems is born Of dust of the earth, fur they grow in the corn. I've read 'em an' studied 'em year after year, In tiny green sprout an' in full golden ear. They strengthen my weakness, they cheer when forlorn. The quaint, homely poems I find in the corn. When on a bright day I am riclin' between The rows of young corn standin' up straight an' green. Or noddin' an' bowin', first this way, then that, Like they was a-havin' a real friendly chat, I follow the same paths thg sa;ges have worn, An' read lengthy sermons in them blades of corn. There's lessons of faith an' of hope an' of truth, There's comfort fur age an' there's vigor fur youth, Goldenrod ^l Each year they come brighter an' fuller again, God's open love-letters to work-wear}^ men. I s'pose that one's work largely fashions his thot ; An' maybe I speculate more than I ought On things that are mostly above common reach. But somehow the sermons the ministers preach About streets of gold in yon heavenly clime. Just set me to thinkin' of corn ev'ry time. For Heaven. I take it, means ample reward For all toil and loss which this life can afford; The weariness, questionin', waitin' all past, To reap full fruition of best hopes at last. So give me the corn with its ripe, golden ears, Nor think to deny me the message it bears, Of plenty while here an' a heavenly home, Its promise of this life an' that yet to come. AFTER. After the darkness, the daylight : After the whirlwind, the calm; After the sorrow, rejoicing : After the wounding, the balm. After the pain and affliction, After the rod sent in love. After the thorns and the scourging Crowns and the mansions above. IS Goldenrod After the wearisome jouriie}'. Rest by the river of life ; Pleasure ne'er fading nor ending, After the toil and the strife. After the warfare, the quiet; After defeat and despair. Victory, hope and assurance. Bliss in the home over there. After the waiting-, the coming; After the Avatching, release; After the heart-ache, the heat's-ease; After the buffeting, peace. After the hunger, the feasting; After the thirst and the cold. Fountains of pure, living water, Welcome and glor}^ untold. After the earth-ties are sundered, After the farewells are said, After the hot tears have fallen Over the graves of the dead. Comes the sweet comfort and healing, Happiness after the pall; After the grave, resurrection ; Heaven and God after all. Goldenrod 19 THE SNOW. 1 kaiiit bofziii to tell how iimch I like to see it snow. Especially when it eoiiies down As thick as suds, you know; The bii;' tiaK:(^s jusr a-danein' An' teaiin" round an' round. An' kinder hangin' in the air Afore tliey touch the ground.' The nicest snow I evei' see Fell on a ^^'inter*s day — I was attendin' boardin '-school. An' quite a piece away From hoine. an' I was lonesome like. An' feelin' rather blue: Foi' I'd ju.st fairly started in An' ev'i'ythinsi- was new. Well, it had rained the da}' afore. Just like it couldn 'r stoj) : An' if you set a foot out door. You'd set it in a slop; An' when it first begin to snow. The white Hakes circled rouiul As if they kinder felt ashamed To fall on muddy ground, 20 Gohh'urod Just like a hesitatiir eat A-walkiir in the street. An' piekin' all its steps with care For fear 'twill soil its feet; Or like a young man waverin ' x\fore he plunges in The broad an' pleasant path that leads From virtue into sin. But after while it settled down To business, an' it snowed Like all possest the hull day long. By night, there wa'n't a road But Avhat A¥as covered hide an' hair: Air then it didn't quit Right off, just kiiulei- gradual : Tt wasn 't cold a bit. There hathrt been uo wind all day; The snoAv lay where it fell. Piled up on fence posts an' on trees. On woodpile an' on welF. I'd walcht it snow that afternoon. All' it just seemed to me That nothin' could be prettier — Tt was a sight to see! Bui when the moon come peekin' thru The rifted clouds that night. A-H()()din' all the snow-clad eai-th With soft an' shimmerin' light. An' makin' more gems on the ground For poor folks to enjoy Croldenrod 21 Than ever graced a monarch's brow Since Adam was a boy, — I do declare it iooJc my breath! I felt right there an' then. Such beauty this side Heaven's galr I'd never see again. "Pwas all so dazzlin' an' serene, So grand an' mild an' pure. That if I'd been a ^Methodist, I 'd hollered ' ' glory ' ' sure ! An' then, to cap it all, a sleigh Come prancin' to the door, An' I got in, an' then we went A dozen miles or more. A dozen miles an' back again Seemed short to me an' Joe — But law, it doesn't seem like that AVas twenty year ago! I've rode in ev'i*ything that's made From chair-cars to a dray. An' don't mind sayin' that I think There's nothin ' like a sleigh; Hut take it all in all, that ride Seems like Avas just complete: In all my life afore or since. I never saw its beat. 22 (Joldenrod A SONG OF HOPE. Mariner on life's roug-h sea. Far from kindred, friends and home. Know whate'ei' yonr lot mav be. Wheresoever you may roam, (iod is love: His truth and gTaee Shall proteet yon day by day ; If you ask Him, He will trace For yonr bark a plain, safe way. 'I'ho the nio-ht hv lono- aiid dreai', Thc) the billows loudly roar. C'onrage, friend, the morn is neai'. By its light yon '11 make the shore. Troubled skies will clear at last. Evil winds will snrely fail: When the storm is overpast, Ood's own sunshine will prevail. Bravely meet the sudden shock. For the Avaves shall not o'erwhelm: Do not feai* the sunken I'ock. For yonr Fathei-'s at the helm. On His word your anchor cast. Trnst in 0',''. the stoi-m outride. Thns unto th>' end hold fast, Safely reach the other side. Goldenrod 23 KEEP SWEET. There is sadness enong'h in this old world of ours; There are heartaches that baffle forgetting- ; There is mourning enough over woes that are real, AVithout idle complaining and fretting. There is no reser v-jd seat in the concert of life For the man who sings nothing but dirges ; But the songs that are cheerful and hopeful and glad, 'Tis for these that humanity urges. () the trifles that bring to the heart discontent. And transform merry songs into sighing. That becloud the fair brow and that darken tlie home. And that cliange ringing laughter to crying I 'JMong the rich and the great, in the circles of fame. In the ranks of the poor and the humble. In the city and country, at home and abroad. There are some who do nothing but grumble. Mere is one who complains that the times are so hard. And another's displeased with the weather. And still others are sad because some one has said, "We're all going to ruin together!" --^ Goldenrod The young lady despairs because nature forsooth Has not given her unrivaled beauty; And the young man repines that he wasn't born rich, And that labor is manifest duty. While the married men swear that the single are blest, The old bachelors lii*mly deny it; And tho wives mav insist that the wedded state's dull, Yet the old maids are anxious to try it. Now for all such complaints there's a remedy found. And it's warranted always to cure: It is free as the sunlight to all, and its use Will bring happiness lasting and sure. It is this: 'Mid the petty vexations of life, '^rid the cares and the trials and worry, In the time of discouragement, always keep sweet. That will cure the blues in a hurry. Hard times can't be softened by bitter complaints Nor the weather adjusted by swearing: And if ruin did threaten to swallow us all. We couldn't be saved by despairing. The young lad}^ who longs for a beautiful face. And the young man who works for a living, ^Fay discover one day if they only keep sweet. That mere beauty and wealth are deceiving. Xow if husbands would honestly strive to keep sweet, Goldenrod 25 It may be tlieii' wives would quit snarliug: While if wives would keep sweet, they mio'ht longer retain Their old titles of "honey" and ''darling." God supplies all we need for the pastry of life. But expects us to do our own niixino': And the taste of the eompontul in large part depends Upon seasoning of onv own fixing. Let us strive to keep sweet as we journev thru life : For it pays hei-e, and T shonldn't wonder, When accounts are all s(iuared and the books closed to find That it pays sonic ulad day ovci' yonder. FRIENDS. I do not count that one my friend Who floats with me a down the stream AYhen skies are bright and all things blend To make life like a pleasant dream, And when dark storm clouds quickly rise Forsakes me. puts his boat ashore. And waits beneath the clearing skies To greet me as a friend once more. 'Tis when the storm clouds darkly lower, The waves roll high, the lightnings gleam, AVhen losing courage, faith, and power. We need a friend to help up stream. 26 Gnldenrod Aii(i he who ill such time stands true, And bravely, firmly does his part, Deserves the trust we'll never rue. And is a friend indeed at heart. When fortune froAvns and sorest need Becomes a most unwelcome o^nest. He is a precious friend indeed Whose love and faith will bear the test. When death with cold and cruel hand Our choicest treasures from us tears. It is a friend who helps us stand, A friend who all our sorrow shares. And when fell shafts of hatred fly And seek to pierce the very heart. That is a friend who lifts on high A shield between us and the dart. When whisperers their efforts lend Our fairest record to defame. Tie is, methinks, the truest friend Who saves for us a spotless name. I ask not wealth, I ask not fame, I crave not place nor power nor ease: My heart ne'er felt ambition's flame, I can be glad with none of these. But from my inmost soul a prayer Like daily incense pure ascends. It voices ev'ry earthly care, God grant me true and faithful friends. GoldeiiroJ THE RAIN. I aint no poet ; I kaint write About the mouriifnl, weepin' skies. An' pearly raindrops pnre an' britrht A-tumblin ' out o ' paradise ; But when it comes a soakin ' rain That makes the skies as dull as lead. An' taps agin the winder pane An' patters on the roof o'erhead, — I love to g'it the rockin' cheer — It's rather old an' somewhat wore, I've had it almost twenty year — An' jest set there an' watch it pour. It does me good to set an' look At all the houses washt off clean. An' see the grass an' garden truck A-pickin' up so fresli an' greei>. I like to hear it rain right hard. Jest like a minatoor flood. An' watch the puddles in the yard. An' folks a -si od gin' thru the mud. An' then there's soniethin' in the rain That sort o' cheers me when I'm sad A feelin' that I kaint explain Creeps over me an' makes me glad. -8 Goldenrod Of course it makes the walkin' bad, An' sometimes spiles a picnic, too; An' then the young- folks they git mad, An ' sometimes farmers they git blue ; But then it's wicked to complain. Because you know that after while. In case we didn't have no rain, The crops ^n' garden sass would spile. I've got an' idee in my head That God knows best what's for our good; An' if it ought to shine instead Of rain, T think it surely would; An' so when my plans is upset By patterin' drops agfin the pane, T aint a-goin' to fume an' fret. But thank the Lord an' let it i*ain. THE LICEXST SALOON. Eyes red with weeping and hearts full of woe, Children in tatters tho wintry winds blow, Hearths cold and cheerless and cupboards all bare, Love turned to hatred and hope to despair, Blackness of darkness for life's sunny noon, — Such is the work of the licenst saloon. Manhood in ruins and health gone for aye, Property, loved ones, and home swept away, Sacred vows broken and noble plans checkt. Pair prospects blighted and fondest hopes wreckt. List, ye who think that the di'am shop's a boon, This is the work of the licenst saloon. Goldcnrod 29 Crimes without number, a dreadful array, Shame and confusion, remorse and dismay. Sickness and pain such as tongue cannot tell. Death that but ushers the soul into hell, — Look on the picture, friends, we importune : These are the fruits of the licenst saloon. Shame on the men who for money will grant License to curse happy households with want! Shame on the voters whose ballots have made Possible man-traps that spoil and degrade ! Shame on the commonwealth which has for gold Honor and virtvu\ yes. life itself sold I Vainly we call on our leaders to save: Mammon is heartless and cold as the gi-ave. Turning from man to the Helper divine Who our petitions will never decline Thousands of sad hearts in faith importune. ''Save us. O God. fi-oni the licenst saloon!" Save! and for answer there comes a brave band. Noblest and truest and best of the land; Party and creed are forgotten; they come Strong in one i)ur])ose — to fighl foi' the home. God answers pi'ayei- and his pc()j)lc shall soon Kid our fair state of tln^ licenst saloon. THE DAYS OF YOKE. I'm gittin' old; my wavin' locks. Which once was brown an' streak! with red. Is turnin' kind o' dapple gray; Somethin's the matter with my head '^0 Goldeyirod So I can't recollect real well The things that I onee used to know ; An' seems as if I need my specs More'n what I did some yeai's aiil jest so Ihcy don't o-it no worse \\]\\ I'm contented anyhow. COMPENSATION. A blessing came to my life one day ; It was rare and rich, it was strangely s"weet : It was sent from heav'n to cheer my way. And make smooth a path for my weary feet. With g-ratefnl heart I Mceepted it. And with strength renewed jonrneyed gladly on : ^fy life's hard road by that blessing lit AVas transformed and bright and the ronghness gone. The days passed peaeefnlly, swiftly by. Until happy wrecks into months had grown ; Then one sad morn — ah, I knew not why— I awoke to find my sweet blessino- flown. With teai's and prayei's long I songht in vain For the blest retnrn of that cherished boon ; Tho sore my heart it came not again At my earnest call. Still T plead and soon A strong, sweet faith sprang up in my heart. An assurance that God does all things well. A hope that he would his grace impart, Altho wlien and how 'twas not mine to tell. Goldenrod 33 And deeper,, stronger that sweet faith grew, And my hope mounted hi.g'her day by day; I said. "God's ways are all jnst and true, Bless the Lord who gives and who takes away." And then the blessing that T had sought With such earnest prayer and with many tears. The blessing sweet that T long had thot Could not be mine in the coming years. Returned unsought to my life and oh, It was richer and sweeter and better far Than in the days of the long ago When it beamed on my Avay like a kindly star. Oh, mourning soul, with the eye of faith Pierce the clouds which lower so dark o 'erhead ; Then gloom and shadows will flee your path And 'twill glow with the light of hope instead. And some glad day in God's own good time, When your faith is tried and refined as goldy The blessing lost will by grace divine Be restored to you, yes, a hundred fold. JUDGE NOT. Do not judge other folks by appearance alone. 'Tis a fault we all have and a grave one I own. Said a cat to a frog sitting near on a stump, ''You can't tell by my looks just how far I can jump," 34 Goldenrod 'Tis not safe to be funny about a man's clothes. Or the size of his ears or the length of his nose ; It is what is inside that determines true worth, It takes digging to find the real "salt of the earth.'' Many times a sad blemish in figure or face But conceals from the careless onlooker a grace And a beauty of soul or a keenness of mind Which the careful observer could not fail to find. 'Tis no sign that a bo}^ is a sure enough fool Just because he can't learn all you tell him at school ; He may have but one talent, but that one may be What the world has been waiting for ages to see. There's the son of your neighbor just over the way; "He's too lazy to wink," you once heard a man say, Then how quickly you checkt him and eagerly told Of his deeds which in your eyes were stampt pure gold. "Not a lazy hair on him, good sir," you replied; "He is bright as a dollar, he's trusty and tried; He is not what he seems; he's a hero, I say, Is that boy of my neighbor's just over the way." A.nd that little old maid with her queer, homely face, Goldenrod 35 And a figure devoid of both beauty -and urape. Is an angel of merey to sufferers given; 8he is not of the «^arrh — her reward is in heaven. Here's a man worth a million — and many a time We have heard it asserted e'en that is a crime— And the world ealls liim stingv and gi'asi)inf>' and cold, ■lust because of his liounty it never was told. You can't tell it too often nor say it too loud — It applies to the man, it applies to the crowd — That you never can judge a man's acts as you ought Without love to interpret his motives and thot. I deny the assertioti that true love is blind: '^jove and light are synonymous terms to my mind. Put the passion of selfishness, cuiming, or greed. Masquerading as true love is blindness indeed. I'm reminded just here of a quaint Irish fi'iend Whose poor nose was afflicted with boils at the end. When I met him one day said I laughingly. ''Par. Do you think you are prettv with trimming's like that?" "An' if I were but you,'* Pat replied with a grin. "T would say that proboscis is ugly as sin ; But if T were myself, 'tis a beautiful nose. An' it looks for the world like a delicate rose." 36 Goldenrod how very like Pat in our judgments are we! What a wonderful change for the better 'twould be If but love's golden rule we would always apply: Put yourself in his place, do as you'd be done by. CHILDHOOD DAYS. Backward, turn backward, Time, in your flight, Make me a kid again just for tonight! Bareheaded, shoeless, and freckled and fat. Awkward and careless and pert little brat, Filling my apron with buffalo peas, Wading the Sandy and climbing the trees. Rapidly o'er me the long years have slid Since I was a happy and free country kid. Backward, flow backward, Tide of the years, Bringing the sounds of the farm to my ears ! Screaming of guineas and barking of dogs, Lowing of cattle and squealing of hogs, Clicking of cornplanters, fanning-mill's hum. Whistle of snipes and the woodpecker's drum, Cooing of pigeons and lone wild bird's cry. Loud, cheery greetings from friends passing by. I am so weary of living in town. Looking at narrow streets dusty and brown; Tired of all things that here greet my sight. Long I again for the country tonight ! Sliding down strawstacks with no one to chide, Goldenrod 37 Up in the header-box taking a ride, Sucking raw eggs in behind the barn door, give me back the glad days of yore! Eating raw turnips so juicy and sweet, Nice tender onions sometimes for a treat. Building dirt houses while herding the cows. Lying at ease under widespreading boughs. Carrying water to men in the field, Hunting for gopher holes partly concealed. — there is a sweet, indescribable charm In being a kid living out on a farm ! It may be decreed that my life shall be passod In .some crowded city, but when at the last 1 sleep in some quiet and shady retreat, I'd like a small stone very modest and neat. Rising above me these facts to record. In substance at least if not quite Avord for woi-d Here lies an old maid who once was a kid That lived in the country and died, so she did. AS OTHERS SEE ITS. FROM ONE VIEW POINT Who is it stepping high in air. In better clothes than others wear. Assumes a mien they do not dare 1 The editor. Who is it lives on dainty fare, Abundant, rich beyond compare. Day after day, without a care f The editor. :^8 Go] dm rod Who is tlio man tliat coldly pries Our secrets out, aud straio-htway hies To Haunt them in the whole world's eyes? The editor. Who is it sends a heartless dun Almost before the year is "^one. And bids us cret a hustle on? ' The editor. Who is it fills with ads his space. And wlien we kick, laut»-hs in our face And bids us ke^^p our proper place? The editor. Wlu) in his auto ]i\v^e and new. Rides out the countryside to view. And m-ikes us wish we had one, too? The editor. Who gets a "comp" to every show. And spends his evening-s on the go. And takes a trip each year or so? The editor. Who basks in Flattery's sweet smile. And hears his praises sung the Avhile lie blandly nuikes a handsome pile? The edit 01'. In short, who is the lucky chap That has the softest kind of snap And simply lives in Fortune's lap? The editor. Goldenrocl 39 FROM ANOTHER Who is the man that meekly goes Thru summer heat and winter snows, With but one suit of shabby clothes? The editor. AVho is it as the days go by. (rulps down his cornbi'ead with a sigh And does not know the taste of pie.' The editor. Who is it hunts up all the news, Tho some their confidence refuse, And others openly abuse? The editor. Who is it waits thru weary years. Opprest with debt and torn with fears. Until his hard-earned cash appears.' The editor. Who gives full measure running o'er From out his wisdom's ripened store. And supplements it with some more? The editor. Who walks with weary step and slow. The ^vhile his rich subscribers go In automo))i1es to and fro? The editor. Who longs for time to rest or play. But says his heart's desire na3\ For work must keep the wolf away? The editor. 40 Gohlrnrod Who is it toils from year to year, Without one word of kindly cheer. Or helping- hand when need is near? The editor. In short, who is the hickless chap For whom nobody cares a rap. T'nless it is his wife, mayhap? Tlie editor. SYMPATHY. This old world needs the inspiring: touch Of hands that have been pierct, I say; Jt needs the loving aid of such As have walkt a rou^h and weary way ; It needs the best thot of the thorn-prest brow . For these the old world is a-waiting- now. Those hands, tho rough with the toil of years, Nor white nor soft to stranger eyes, Can stay the flow of bitter tears. And can heal the grievous wound which lies So deep in the heart that I.ove's eye alone May trace where the shaft of ])ain lins t^own. And feet which follow the rock-strewn ways Of life acquire a swiftness oft Ne'er gained by walking all the days In the paths of joy so light and soft. And swiftly they run to the world's sore need, Becoming the bearers of life indeed. Ooldenrod 41 A friendly face may be seamed and worn. The color gone, the features plain. But sympathy is heaven born, And if that in look and tone remain. The angels may envy the power to bless Such lives as are darkened with pain and distress. This old world starves tho the banquet board Be piled with all that wealth can buy. Till Love from out her scanty hoard Brings the loaf of honest sympathy. It feasts to the full and is satisfied. The loaf that is blest is thus multiplied. The world is chill tho 'tis wrapt with care In all that self-love can afford ; It shivers in the wintry air Until Love appears and gives the word To bring the best robe that her storerooms hol»^. The world then grows warm in its welcome fold. "Eejoice with them that rejoice," we read, And also ''weep with those who weep." And the}^ who have tasted jo.y indeed And who've anguish felt can this word keep. Oh, blessed are such unto whom 'tis given To draw this old world up to hope and heaven ! 42 Goldenrod J. B. MONTAGUE. Gone home at the call of the Father To rest in the mansions of peace, To hear the "Well done" of the blaster And welcome the happy release From all of earth's labors and trials, From all of its pain and its care, To enter the glories of heaven And know of the bliss over there. Ah yes. it is well with our brother, Bnt oh, onr hearts bleed at the thot That he's gone from this earth life forever — He is dead, words with dread meaning fraught. Those eloquent lips now are silent, That brave, loving heart cold and still, Those busy hands folded and helpless. The peaceful brow jnillid and chill. We moui'u for a great leadoi- fallen. A lover of God and mankind, A friend of the weak and the tempted. Truth's champion feai'less of mind. From the east and the west conu.' the learned. The noble, the pious, the brave. From the north and the south they assembh- To mingle their tears at his grave. Goldenrod 43 God pity us all in uur sorrow. And comfort the sad ones who weep For a kind, loving husband and father Now wrapt in death's iQug. silent sleep. And, Lord, when the shadows are lifted, When the waitiu"- and watching" are past. May we all hear Thee say. "Come up higher." And meet in Thy piesence at last. IF I'D ONLY TIIOT. If I'd only thot that the careless word Which I spoke that day would be overheard And a stricken heart caused a deeper pain By the long-closed wound being oped again — But alas! too late was the lesson taught. And I sadly sigh. "If I'd only thot.'' If I'd only thot that a word of cheer Might have helpt a soul when despair was near To maintain awhile the unequal strife. And to change the issue from death to life. — But I spoke no word with such succor fraught. And my sore heart cries, "If I'd only thot."* If I'd only thot, I would not have done The deed wliich another weaker one Found a stumbling block in his upward way : He has turned aside and gone astray. to think my hand has this havoc wrot I "If I'd only "thot, if I'd only thot.'" 44 (rolrlrnrod If I'd only thot of the kindly deed, 'Twoiild have helpt a neighbor in time of need, And O who shall say that the heavy load Under which he sank on life's weary road. Might not have been borne if I'd only sought To relieve the strain, ''if I'd only thot." When the books are balanet. the last aceonnt Is made knoAvn to all. and the just amount That is due to each by the Judge is read, Then may God forbid that to us be said, ''Depart frnm me, for you did it not. The good yon mighf if you'd only thot." A GOOD TIME COMING. There's a good time coming, folks, A good time coming; And strife shall fail and war shall cease, And all the earth shall dwell in peace In the good time coming. Billiard halls and gambling dens, Saloons and kindred places AA^ill be as difficult to find As prehistoric races.- There's a good time coming, folks. A good time coming; The church shall rise in holy might. And fill the world with gospel light In the good time coming. Goldenrod 45 Her members then will not desert Prayer meeting for a circus, Xor go to dances and play cards, But live with holy purpose. There's a good time coming, folks, A good time coming; Men w\\] not make election bets. And boys w^ill not smoke cigarets, In the good time coming. The dudes will all die off, I trow, And flirts lose their vocation, And knaves wnll seek another sphere, And good men rule our nation. Tliere's a good time coming, folks, A good time coming; And he who sins shall not go free. Nor wicked men exalted be. In the good time coming. A common standard fair and true Of virtue shall be lifted; And right Avill triumph over wrong, Oppression's cloud be rifted. There's a good time coming, folks. A good time coming; The w^omen all will vote — why notf And rivalries will be forgot In this good time coming. "There'll be no cranks to turn the world Upside down." Conceded: The world will then be right side up And cranks will not be needed. 46 Ooldenrod PITYLTJR. T \\-n,s ill the slicd ;i-<'h()i)i)iir ;iii' Ms mad as mad could be. For we'd had a talk lliat morniu" an' she'd ii'o. the best of me : T was rather izive to naunin'. an' ^laria wa 'n 't no saint. So we jest k(^|)' on a iawiir for an hour, 'tis an' "taint. Till ;it last slie u'ot to twittiii" on some rattier solid facts. An' slie drawed a life size picture of my littb' ornarv aets Tntil T was jest a-liilin' an" \ wouldn't hear no more. So T lit nut for the woodshed tak'in' pains to slam th(^ door. Then T turned the leaves of iiunn'ry slowly back- ward, as it Avei'e. O'er the checkered married pathway we had trav- eled, me an' her: An' I thot 'twas like the see-saAv of an ill-mattdit. hig'h-stninf>- teani — She was full of no. T balky, or vice versey it w(nild seem. I I'emembered that first snmmei': we was livin' out of town Gfoldenrod 47 'Bout a mile an' she insisted after she'd ben drivin' down Sev'ral times that it was fai'thei*. an' T ventured to explain That it wa'n't an' then T proved it. but I argued all in vain. Do yon think that slieVl believe me? No, sir; so T didn't speak To Maria very often for the best part of a week. AA^hen the Fourth came T was plannin' to Vaj by a field of corn. While Alaria had a notion we should go at early morn Into town an' take our dinner, spend the blessed livelong day, Standin' round an' celebratin' in the reg'lar time-worn way. Well, I said I wouldn't do it an' she said "Jest as you please !" AVith a tone an' look an' manner that is war- ranted to freeze; An' she walkt to town next mornin' an' I stayed to home an' plowed; Neither was for some time after sweeter than the law allowed. All the fall an' comin' winter we had some sar- castic chats, An' the spring an' early summer furnisht themes for several spats. So the gulf grew deeper, wider, that was keepin' us apart — 48 Ooldenrod It's an easy thing to qufirrel when you fairly g^et a start. Well, the baby come at ( "hi-istnias an' we both was proud an' glad, An' the neighbors all insisted that she lookt jest like her dad, An' Maria was too hiisy thinkin' u|) a proper name To deny the aeensatiou or to fnss about tlie same. An' the youngster grv'W an' Moui'isht till the flow-' ers come again An' Maria named hei' Phyllis — there was some- thin' doin* then ! I declared I wouldn't have it, but Maria said I should — When Maria puts hei- foot doA\ii she proposes to make good — An' I stormed, polled fun. an' ai'gued till we both of us was hoarse An' the baby's name between us. as a matter quite of course. Was a bone of fierce contention we was pretty apt to gnaw When they wa'n't no other fodder layin' round that we could chaw. Time passed by until the lassie was as cute as cute could be, Bright an' smart as any cricket an' her age was half past three. But on this midsummer mornin, 'twa'n't her name, it was a dress Croldenrod 49 That provoked the Jiot discussion of an* hoiii- more or less : For IMaria spoke of white goods an' my fav'i'ite color's blue. Like most all her other dresses, an' they were be- eomin' too. As 1 mentioned to ^faria. tiiat since Betsey's iiair was red. — (I had never called hei- Phyllis, used my mother's name instead) Hut right there ]Maria differed an' my speech was at an end. And she opened up Ium- batteries till 'twas useless to contend ; Worst of all, each woi'd she uttered was the sober stingin' truth Such as hadn't been put to me since I was a cal- low youth; An' I knowed it an' slie knowed it, an' as I have said before, I took refuge in the w(K)dshed after I had slammed the door. Ev'i-y minute that I stayed there 1 was gettin' madder still. An' I says, "If Betsey gi-ows up with a temper an' a will Like Maria's, I would rathei- see her in an earl> grave ! xVn' I wouldn't do the speakin' if a word of mine could save." 50 Golden rod Yes, I said that — God forgive me! — an' I further said, "I'm done. An' this family hereafter will contain thi-ee minus one. Tliey'll do well enoug'h without me. an' I've heard the Avorld is wide. Reckon we'll get thru it somehow without walkin' side by side." So r struck the ax in (leei)ly with an extra partm" whack, An' I turned an' left the woodshed thinkin' nevei* to come back. An' I started down the pathway leadin' off there to the right. When I heerd a scream of tei-ror an' I turned right back in affright. Turned to see ]\[aria standin' in the open kitchen door. With a look upon her featni'cs I had never s(^en before : An' her woi'ds came shai-j) an' ringin'. strikin" r)n nw heart like lead — "(Jet a doctor. l)abe is dyini" In an agnoy of dread 1 obeyed: but all that happened for a long time after seems Like a hazy, muddled niix-np such as sometimes comes in dreams. There was neighboi'S comin', uoin' muff'led foot- steps, muffled tones. Goldenrod 51 From the little darkened ehaniber muffled sobs an' piteous moans. Over all a settled sadness an' a great heart-crush- in' gloom. Thru it all the doctor's verdict soundin' like a knell of doom. I aint posted on the Scriptures like the preacher over here. An' there's several propositions that to my mind aint quite clear: But there's one pint of the doctrine Pm prepared to say is so — There is such a place as hades, for I've been there an' I know. Did you ever watch your dearest driftin' slowly out of sight, Growin' ev'ry day moi-e lovely as she neared the glory light — Why that dear child's auburn ringlets made n halo round her head: I'd a floored a man instanter if he'd hinted it was red — Watch her driftin' with your heartstrings slow- ly tore out one by one, Watchin', waitin'. dumb an' helpless, till the tragedy is done. An' on top of all that sorrow feel 'twas ev'ry bit your due. What you in your blind, hot anger almost prayf'd might come to you ? 5i^ Goldenrod If Toil liave. yon 11 imderstaiid me when I say I suffered some; Days an' weeks an' months of torture, an' the worst was yet to eome. With Thr holidays approa^-hin' an" her 'oirthday nearii:" fast. An' Doe said if she should linorer, it would surely be her last. An "Maria — ^aint there somethin' in the Bible "btrnt a sword Pierein' thru the heart of Mary! Well. I reckou that's the word To describe it — jest a lettin" out her heart's biooii drop by drop: You ean't sound a m other "s an^ruish for there -■ P- Tt - - jomin'. Doe had ben there ^l^h'zi'i the rlrst. but now it seemed like it must be the ektsin" fight. Sweet an" pure as any angeL frail an* beautifui an* fair. Lay th- s if half sleepin* an* the doctor ws: ere. Wife an me a-listenin*. waitin* for a word, a look, a sign i^ the ehanee we felt was eomin — if a hundred years was mine Tea to lire, I'd not forget it^ — but the doctor give a starL Goldenrod 53 Fplt liei pulse an' toueht her f<»i'ehead. laid his hand upon her heart. Then we heard his voice but scarcely understood his words somehow : 'You may keep your Christmas present, for (rod does'nt want her now.'* How or when or why it happened we can't neither of us say. But we found ourselves a-standin' liki^ we'd stood our weddin' day. An' I heerd myself a-sayin'. "Little Phyllis will not die." An ']\[aria says. ""Our Betsey will be better by an* by." I call that my second marriatre. tho ^Maria nevei' knew 'Bout that tantrum in the woodshed an' what I proposed to do : But we'd both learned sev'ral lessons in a miy:hty costly school. An' the lessons that you learn there aint forgot- ten as a rule. . ^Taria says our little daughter is the picture of her pa : T thank God that she's a-growin* ev'ry day more like hei ma. 5'4: Goldenrod BOAST VS. BOOST. A farmer with a heavy load Was driving into town. He struck a bad place in the road, The wheels sank slowly down. The farmer urged his horses strong, They strove with brawn and pluck To move the heavy load along, But it was firmly stuck. And people came as people will The man's mischance to view. And some askt questions, others still Told what they thot they knew About the proper way to deal With loads in such a plight. And boasted of their strength and skill In putting w^rong things right. Until someone without a word Put shoulder to a wheel. When all as by one impulse stirred. With neighborly good will, Brot poles and blocks and pushed and pried And tugged with might and main. Until the wagon moved and stood On solid ground again. A homely lesson all may heed — Learn it who need it most — Tis better in a neighbor's need. To boost than 'tis to boast. GolrU'nrod '^^ T hold it argues not of ill That some are "clown in luek;" 'Tis not thru weak nor wicked will That some poor souls are "stuck." Rut even thus 'tis not our sphere To idly (piestion why ; The work at hand is now and here. And our part is to ti-y To move the load with pole or spade Or ropes, no matter what. The only measure of our aid The deepness of the rut. So when your neighbor finds the load Too heavy for his team. Don't tell him that some othei' road A better way would seem ; Do not remind him that your horse Could pull him out with ease. And try to make a swap because You've got a chance to squeezp : Don't boast about the way you drive. But come down off your roost. Throw off your coat, roll up your sleeves, And grab a pole and boost. EASTER. it was morning in Judea, And the beams of rising sun Gently toucht the sad. pale faces Of the women pressing on Toward the tomb wherein the body Of the Master had been laid. 56 (jroldenrod Tlu^y h«ul lioped and prayed and trusted. All was over — he was dead. Oh. the angnish of that hour Human lips cannot express — Lio'ht and hope and love all gathered 111 that sepulcher's embrace! Scarcely spoke they to each other Tho their troubled thots were one. Till one said in trembling" accent, "Who will roll aAvay the stone?" But they lookt and lo ! an angel Clad in garments long and white. Sat upon the stone and speaking- While they trembled in affright. Said, " Wh}^ seek ye for the living 'Mong the chambei-s of the dead? Do you not His words remember? He is risen as He said." Risen ! oh, the wondrous rapture Of that first glad Easter day AVhen the women ran with tidings That the stone was rolled away ! But what import has the message Coming down thru all the years? Nineteen centuries have vanisht With their laughter and their tears. Nineteen hundred years of toiling. Warring, waiting, weal and woe. And what means this tale the women Told with joy so long ago? Goldenrod 5^ See thnt convipt. He is seiitoiicl Hear him. as with bated breath. Fearfully he counts the seconds That are hast'ning him to death. Hark! A step outside! He trembles. Waits the fated word to hear. When, instead, the welcome message, '^You are pardoned," greets his ear. Ask him what it means, that pardon. And his glad reply Avill be. As he leaves the gloomy prison, "It means everything to me." Here's a blind man. Years have gone since He beheld the welcome light; But a skillful surgeon finds him And restores to him his sight. Ask him what that operation Means to him, and you'll agree With his ready, grateful answer, "It means everything to me." Down the dusty country roadway Comes a horse which, mad with fear. Gallops wildly toward a farm house. There are children playing near; All but one have seen their danger And have safety sought in flight; When, too late, she knows her peril. She is paralyzed with fright. But a strong hand grasps her firmly. Hurls her like a toy aside, ^yS Golclenrod And her mother's arms receive her Safe, niihnrt. who else had died. Ask that mother wliat the meaning Of that daring' deed may be, And the answer, tearful, smiling. "It means everything to me." So. I think, that old, old story Has a meaning plain to see. And humanity may answer, "It means everything to me." Pardon, freedom, light, salvation, Hope and peace and life and love, Ev'ry blessing Christ has proinist In this life and that above. Yes, the grave has lost its terror. So that we may boldly say, "Death was vanqnisht. heaven opened. When that stone was rolled away." IMXIX' FVVx THE rorxTRY. I'm a-pinin' fur the country w^here I lived in days of yore, Pur the ol' farm an' the dugout that I'll never see no more, Fur the queer ol' thatch-roof stable where us youngsters used to play. Pur the pig pen on the hillside wliere I fed the hogs each day. Pur the eottonwoods an' sumachs with their homely, spranglin' boughs, Golden rod ^9 Fur the draws, lagoons, an* prairies where I used to herd the coavs. I'm a-pinin- fiii' the country with its bracin', balmy air. With its big substantial cornfields an' its pas- tures broad an' fair; With its temptin' watermelons an' its luscious garden sass. Cabbages an' beets an' onions, raters, squash an' sparrow-grass : With its big, round, yaller punkins. jest the stuff fur ma kin' pie. An' its sugar-cane so juicy, shootin' up so slim an' high. I'm a pinin' fur the country, with its silmple homely life. Free from fashion's fuss an' folly an' its vain, distractin' strife: With its humble, (jniet duties an' its sternei- use- ful toil. An' its peaceful, cozy firesides, strangers to the angry broil : With its spellin' schools an' picnics, Avith its sociables an' teas. With its friendly, all-day visits an' its cheerful quiltin' bees. I'm a pinin' fur the country. Yes, I know folks nowadays Turn their noses way up yonder at plain, ploddin' country ways. fiO fioldenrod An' they talk about tlie "hayseeds," an' imaofine they are ente AYhen they jolve about their maimers an' some other thino-s to boot ; Bnt fer g-rit an* independence an' fur sober com- mon sense I'll take my ehanee with the "hayseeds" 'stead o' t'othei' sich^ the fence. Sometimes when I think of heaven with its streets of shinin' g'old, dates of pearl an' walls of jasper an' the other things we're told. Seems to me that I'd be homesick fur tlie coun- try even there. An' T like to think that mebby in that woi'hl so bright an' fair. There are little country places an' that I'll have one o' them Jest alongside of the city of the new Jerusalem. TWENTY-ONE. The fii'st pail' of boots, I confess, is a treasure: And when one arrives at the age of thirteen. The heart feels a thrill of such exquisite i)leasure As the young life has never before known, I ween. The school girl regards a long dress as the climax Of all that is lovely, delightful, and sweet. And when her first beau tells her she is a darling. Imagines, fond miss, that her. bliss is. complete. Goldoirod 61 The glad days of childhood, I love to recall them, With joy I reflect on the pleasures of youth ; Men cannot forget when sore trials befall them In life's sunny morn God was good of a truth. And yet there's a time when the heart more re- joices Than ever it did in the days that are gone. When the deeds of the past and the hope for the future Are summed up alike in the word twenty-one. THE CRANK. As this wonderful world I go traveling thru. I discover some things quite engaging and new : But the object which last my attention has claimed Is one at which critics their arrows have aimed With more or less vengeance since history was blank, — I allude to the creature which men style a crank. I askt of a neighbor while chatting one day. How he liked the new minister over the way. He said, "Well, I think that he preaches too much Against dancing and horse racing, church fairs and such ; He means it all right, but you know, my good friend, That such talk is quite likely some folks to of- fend. 62 Goldenrod In fact, for with you I'll be perfectly frank, I'm iTU'Hned to believe he's somewhat of a crank." I know a young lady, fair, modest, refined. With a neat, graceful form and a rare brilliant mind. She is gentle and sweet as the first breath of morn, A friend of the poor, of the sick, the forlorn — But this same charming lady refuses to smile On the fragrant cigar, and regardless of style. She dares to assert her opinions point blank, And her suitors rejected pronounce her a crank. A young man with a salary more by a third Than that of his fellow clerks one day was heard To declare that he could not afford to expend It in folly and rioting, but he did intend To have for his work a neat sum in the bank. And of course, his acquaintances call him a crank. And in fact, anyone who presumes to ignore Am^ path which the people have trodden before. And who dares for himself a new passage to blaze. Need not think to be cheered with approval and praise. For 'tis human to jealoush^ cling to our past. And if good or if ill to stay by till the last : The reformer must needs have himself then to thank. If liis fellows oppose him and dub him a crank. Goldcnrorl C3 Bnt the crankiest man that this world ever saw Is the one who insists that the hio^h license law Is a sin and a shame, and the sonls of our youth Are more precious than gold for our school fund forsooth : The man who insists that the question this fall That ought to be settled for once and for all Is "How long shall the legalized rum traffic sway Our rulers and dictate the laws we obe.y?'' Xow this subject of cranks I have studied with care. And have reacht the conclusion that all should be- ware Of fighting 'gainst sin. for 'tis well undei'stood That it is unpopular quite to be good : So do not with Daniel the daring take rank. Because if you do folks will call vou n crank. OONTEXTP]!). Altho we may not tread the paths Which lead to heights of deathless fame, Altho our modest words and deeds The world's applause may never claim. Yet we may be as truly great As any crowned head of earth ; We can be good. To godless men The highest fame is little worth. 64 Gohlenrorl Who is the truly great? The one Alone whom grateful millions pi-aise On whose achievements nations h)ok In admiration and amaze? No, verily. But rather he Who seeks approval from above: Whose daily life howe'er obscure. Reflects the light of truth and love. God gives to each a work to do. And some he calls to missions high: To others gives the plain comnumd, "Toil on but in obscurity.'* And tho our part may liumble be Yet 'tis a consolation sweet To know that God's most gracious plan Without us would not be complete. Tho realms of poetry and song. Of art, which some declare divine. May never grant a diadem T^pon ovu' brows to proudly shine, — We need not envy those who dwell Amid such splendors, for, the One Who meted out our lowly tasks Calls us co-workers with his Son. Oh. blessed work which God assigns. However humble it may be ! Oh, blessed worker! Your reward Is lasting as eternity. Goldenrod 65 ALFRED TENNYSON. Flasht the news across the waters, Over hill and vale and plain : Ejiglaud's mourning sons and daughters Bade us catch the sad refrain. And the south wind bore the tidings. Sobbing thru the groves of green ; And the north wind from its hidings 'Mid the icebergs' silver sheen, Brot the cold and cruel message. Pilling loving hearts with dread. As it moaned out in its passage, "One more numbered with the dead." One who saw with keener vision Than his fellows, and who heard Strains of music, sounds elysian, In the softest breeze that stirred. One who caught the radiant glory Beaming from the brow of truth, P^ashioned it in song and story So that age and hopeful youth. Conning eagerly the pages Glowing with its beauteous light. Might be blest and coming ages Bask in its reflection bright. One who all unchallenged entered Realms where others dared not tread ; 66 G old PI) rod One in whom a nation centered Love and honor — he is dead. Laurel crowned, beloved sincerely, For his thots of noble Avorth, Given freely, prized so dearly, Making melod}^ on earth. Is he dead? Ten thousand voices Swelling like a river's flow. Answer and the heart rejoices As it hears that answer — no ! True the earthly house has crumbled, But the inmate is not there ; Fleshly pride may be sore humbled. Free the spirit is as air. Gazing on the cold, still features, Thinking of the shroud and pall, We of little faith, poor creatures, AA^hisper doubting, ''Is this all?" But the voice of inspiration. Ringing strong and sweet and clear. Brings us hope and consolation — "He is ris'n, he is not here." In the grateful heai'ts of many Whom his Avords of love have blest, (iracious words whose unfeigned merit Future ages will attest, Ay, and in some realm supernal. Far removed from mortal ken, Mid the glory grand, eternal, Where the ransomed enter iu, — Goldenrod ^7 Let us hope in yonder city Where earth's pain no heart pang gives. He whom we delight to honor, Tennyson, the poet, lives. Ay, he lives! Earth's kingdoms weaken. Totter, fall, and pass away; Change is writ on all things earthly, Fairest blossoms must decay. E'en the starry host of heaven, Circling worlds whose grateful light Thru the eons has been shining. May be quencht in endless night. But that soul, stampt with the image Of its Maker and endowed With such gifts, so rare, so precious. Lives immortal as its God. ADVICE. Now Josh, set down an' listen to me: I'm bound to have my say, An' then ef you will make a fool o' yourself, 'Twunt be my fault anyway ! Ef there is one thing that I mortally hate. It's to see a young chap like you A-hangin ' around outside of a church Until after preaehin's thru. An' then sneakin' in to find out who's there An' to see who goes home with who. fi8 Goldrnrod Las' Sunday iiio'ht, Obadiah Potts Mest barely turned sixteen) Popped into the entry ez we come out — Yer uncle an' me I mean — An' after while he passed our house AVith that old maid. ]\Iiss Bean. Now Josh, ef you've "'ot a spark o' sense. You'll never do that I know — Land sakes ! a woman o' thirty-five With a sixteen-year-old beau ! An' snailin' along — with my fifty years [ don't go half that slow! Thi'u there was Smith's clerk, young Xed Van Dyne, He set in front o' me. An' soon ez the preacher said amen. Tie whispered to Bessie Lee, An' slie nodded yes — comin' home We passed 'em, 'twas moonlight, you see. I don't say a word agin Ned Van Dyne, He's a well-behaved, worthy young man; An' Brother Smith says he wouldn't ask For a trustier chap than Van. I like the young fellow well enough, I)Ut 1 don't approve his plan. .Joshua Stiggins. ef I ever know. When you've went to church alone. Of your sidlin' up to any gal An' asking to see her home, Goldenrod 6-^ I'll spank you as sure as my naiiit^ is Stul^hs Ef you be nearly urown. VA' you want to walk home with a nice younii' L;-a' From church or anywhere. Jest g'o to her father's house like a man An' ask her right out square Xot only to bring her away from church But also to take her there. There's another thing: Don't go snailin' along Like you was plum beat out^ — I 'low 'twould 'a made an Injun laugh To see that soft young sprout An' old Miss Bean las' Sunday night They thot 'twas nice no doubt. I don't believe that they went a rod While we was goin' ten; (An' yer uncle's got the roomatiz An' I've got corns) an' then They'd stop dead still an' gab awliile An' then go on again. I s'pose you'll think I'm cranky. Josh; I can't help it ef I be — Young folks haint overstocked with sense, But ef you live to see These things with fifty-year-old eyes. You'll look at 'em jest like me I 70 Ooldenrod A LITTLE CHILD. It happened in our church One Easter long ago. White blossoms ev'rywhere — Great pyramids of snow On organ, desk, and stand, And on the altar rail Were festooned lovely flowers Of all kinds, bright and pale. And on the walls there hung In lettering of gold, Those precious Bible texts Which never can grow old, Which tell of hope and love. Of life beyond the grave. And mercy for the lost Whom Jesus died to save. An arch of blue and gold With pure white lilies wrot Proclaimed, "The Lord Is Ris'n," And held the eye and thot. The church was full that day. A sweet and holy calm Seemed brooding o'er the place. The softly chanted psalm, The pastor's reverent voice, Low-toned, but strong and clear, Ooldenrod In supplication raised. Fell soothing on the ear. Then all the people rose And heartily they sang, 'Rejoice for he is risen," Until the old church rang. The second verse was sung, When down the aisle there came A man with handsome face, Erect and stalwart frame. And glancing not to right Or left he moved along, Tumindful of the flowers, The people, and the song. Into the foremost pew Pie sank with easy grace. Then claspt his hands and bowed On them his pale, stern face. The music ceast. Unmoved He sits the service thru. While memory presents His whole past life to view. Before the altar there His sainted mother stood And consecrated him, A babe in arms, to God ; And in that choir-loft He raised his youthful voice, And with glad lips and pure He, too, had sung, "Rejoice." 72 Goldenrod And every Sabbath mom For years had found him there, And he to manhood grown Still sought this plaee of prayer. The tempter came to him And one dark day he fell. Then twenty bitter years Passed in a felon's cell. But yesterday the word Of pardon set him free. Some spell had drawn him here. And tho he did not see. He felt the cold, hard gaze Of each unfriendly eye. For many knew him who Would, doubtless, pass him by ; Pass with averted face Him whom they used to know As playmate and as friend So many years ago. The thot that his own hand Had raised this barrier high O'ercame him and he wept. His tears fell silently. But not unnoticed quite ; A winsome little miss Of summers three, whose lips Were surely made to kiss, A witching little sprite With eyes of liquid blue. Had seen and with light step Goldenrod '^•^ She to the stranger tiew. Her arms entwined his .neck, He heard her softly say, "Please, Mister Man, don't cry, 'Cause this is Easter day." He claspt her to his heart. Content she nestled there. At sermon's close there came To meet and greet the pair Both old and young who else Had passed him coldly by, But that their hearts were toucht By that child's plea, ''Don't cry." Strong hands graspt his and words Of cheer and promise made His heart rejoice, and then "God bless you, sir," they said. The clouds of dark despair And sorrow rolled away. And hope and peace returned To him that Easter day. And passing out he said, "The Lord is risen indeed." And some one quoted this: "A little child shall lead." POLITICS IN THE PULPIT. Our minister says last Sunday night, "Saloons are dens of evil, rnmitigated nuisances And workshops of the devil." 74 Goldenrod And that's what I say m.yself, but thinks I, I guess the preacher's forf^ettin' That some of the brethren don't think that way Or he wouldn't said that in meetin'. Our minister he is a eoUeofe chap, He aint been loni-' in the city. And don't know all of his members yet, And sometimes he is pretty Apt to say things that hit 'em hard; 'Taint likely that he knows it. Or he wouldn't punch payin' members so — At least I wouldn't s'pose it. Another thing the minister says : "Don't sign a saloon petition, Nor vote for a board that will license one, Mj^ brethren, on no condition. The man that does either of those two things Will get to heaven no quicker Than the fellow that stands behind the bar, And passes out the liquor." You ought to have seen old Uncle Jinks And Elder Bates a-wringin' And twistin' like they was in pain- — I couldn't keep from grinnin'. Thinks I, he's preachin' facts, no doubt, But I'm afraid the stranger Is puttin' by these bold remarks His salary in danger. Goldenrod 75 He ralkt for more than half an hour 'Bout whisky, and how awful It was for men to license it And make the traffic lawful. He showed how weak the arguments Presented in its favor; The w^ay he disht the whole thing up Give it a nauseous flavor. Thinks I to myself, if I'd ever gone Around with a saloon petition. On hearing this I would boAv my head In the very dust of contrition. Ypu wouldn't catch me a-bravin' it off Like old man Jinks down yonder, Or bridlin 'up like Elder Bates — Don't they feel cheap, I wonder. Just at this point the minister says, ''The party that licenses evil. Let its name and its record be what they may, Is in partnership with the devil. And the man who votes with that party is A participant in its acts. And also in the results of the same, And none can gainsay these facts." That made me mad. Our minister Had ought to be aware That polities aint pulpit goods, And has no business there. "6 Goldenrod Says I to my wii'(\ "'Tliat college chap Is a crank, that's what he is. And if he is short on his salary, "Twill be no one's fault but his.'' BEAUTY'S CLARIxVET. We was sittin' in the band room Spinnin' yarns as band boys will, An' we'd all told onr 'xperienee 'Cept the leader, bashful Bill. Took some time to ^it him started, Rnt at last he struck his gait, An' he give us this here story. An' I guess he told it straight. "Franklin Graniiej- was as homely As the Federal law allowed, An' his lack of downright beauty Would be noticed in a crowd. He was awkward, lank, an' bashful- Why if any girl would speak To that kid, he'd blush an' stutter For the best part of a week. Franklin lived out in the country, But on ev'ry Wednesday night He was right on hand for practice ; Then he'd nearly die of fright Goin' home, for he was scary, — Couldn't help it, I suppose — GoJdpnrorl "^"^ But the band boys Avhen they knew it Used him rouo'h. Til tell yon those. Runnin 'thru our human nature Is a mighty measly streak That makes game of what in otliers We consider to be weak. An' we workt it t.) the limit In the case of that there boy, Till his cup wa'n't jest exactly Full an' bnbblin' o'er with joy. AVe was all as mean as pi sen. But the one particular thorn ' In Frank's flesh was Mike O'Hara. Him that played the tenor horn. All that Irish wit could muster In the way of jibe an* fling Seemed to be at Mike's disposal. An' young Granger felt their sting. Quit? AVell, now, that very question's Come to me more times than one. An' the reasons that he didn't Is his own, all said an' done; But I've got my own opinion An' I'll pass it on to you, Tho, of course, I may be lookin' From an anglin' pint o' view. First place, Franklin wa'n't no quittei'- - He had jinedthe band to stay — 78 Goldenrod He was mortal fond o' music, An' I tell you he could play! Didn't seem to make much difference What he tackled drum or horn — He was one o' them musicians That aint made, they're simply born. An' I think, too, that O'Hara Had him stuffed with the idee There would somethin' dreadful happen If he left the band. You see There wa'n't no one in the country Anywhere that we could get That was even half Frank's equal For to play the clarinet. We was havin' extra practice As 'twas near Memorial day, An' it seemed as if O'Hara Couldn't find enough to say. He had rung all sorts of changes On poor Granger's latest scare, Now he called to him at parting, As Frank's foot was on the stair: ' Farewell, Beauty, may the roses On yer swate phiz niver fade ! ' Franklin's sallow cheeks tiusht crimson. An' he answer hotly made, 'Mike, some day I'll make you sorry If you've got a lick o' sense.' ^Mike's grimace was simply killin' An' the laugh at Frank's expense. Golderirod 79 Now the rest o' this here story Jest leakt out in cliff 'rent ways. An' we didn't git the details Straight an' sure for sev'ral days. Thei'e is othei* things than murder That leaks out sometimes, you know. An' I think it is a mighty Wise provision makes it so. Franklin struck out right across lots, Hoppin' mad — don't blame him none — Crossin' roads an' leapin' fences. Till he reacht a little run Spanned at that place by a foot bridge. Here he paused, and blank dismay Took the place of ragin' anger. For a board was givin' way Whore the stream was at its deepest An' was swayin' 'neath the tread Of a child, a tiny toddler, Gazin' at the waves in dread. Like a flash tlie situation Filled young Granger's tortured mind. If the kid would come straight forward. It would safety soonest find. Should he call? Spring to its rescue? No : if startled it would fall, An' its life hung in that balance — Franklin couldn't swim at all. 80 Goldenrod Off the road, no time to summon Help, 'twas clearly up to him To attract the tot's attention, Take the ehaiice however slim. Weak an' sick with fear, an' tremblin' Franklin raised his clarinet To his lips, an' them that knows him Aint at all afraid to bet 'F ever soul was put in music That's what Fi'anklin Grang-er did AVheii he felt that he was playin' Fo]' the life o' that there kid'. Soft an 'loAv an' pure an' tender As a bab}^ angel's prayer, Cooin', ripplin', gurgiin', winnin', Float the sweet tones on the air, An' the little shaver listens, Starts at once to meet the sound, Straight an' steady, nearer, nearer, Till he reaches solid ground. When the danger was all over, An' the little runaway Had been duly kist an' scolded. An' the doin's o' the day Had been properlv exploited Much to Granger's great distress. Mike O'Hara paid his tribute To the hero's nobleness; GohlpnroS 81 F-[andsome is that handsome docs." byes, An' if that's a-^oin' to stand. Then there aint no use denyin' (Jranpfer's fairly beat the band. That he saved my baby brother. I'm not loikely to forget ; An' I'm anything but sorry. Thanks to Reautv's clarinet.' THE SPEAKING DEAD. (For Memorial Day.) Over the graves of the fallen today Flowers are scattered and tears are shed : Mingling together the Blue and the Gray Honor the mem'ry of heroes dead. Comrades recount their brave deeds with a siu'li. Tell of defeats and of victories won. i^peak of the hour when they, too, must die. Pray that their duties may be well done. Kastern hills answei- to fai' western plains. Northern heights call and Southland replies: "'Mourn for the fnllen: sing soft, sad refrains Over each grave whei-f a soldiei' lies." l^isten! A voice like the clear tones of youth. Pure and sweet as the breath of morn. Earnest and bold as a herald of truth. Gently from fai' to oui- ears is borne Galmly it speaks and our grief is allayed. Tenderly pleads and its prayer is heard. 82 Gohloirod Urges and warns and onr best thots are swayed. Strangely responsive our hearts are stirred. Solemn, mysterious voice of the dead, Speaking to us as the years roll by! Humbly, devoutly with uncovered head. Listen and learn for the time draws nigh. "Comrades, we labor and struggle no more; Fearlessly, proudly, our lives we gave; l^ravely you fought till the conflict was o'er. Suffering, toiling, your cause to save. Oh, by the mem'ry of camp and of field, Tjong, weary march and dread prison pen. Oh. by the mem'ry of principles sealed With our own life blood in glade and in glen — Honor the right and let ti'iith be your guide. Justice your watciiword and strong defense. Mercy your talisman trusty and tried; rh(n-ish all o'oodness without pretense. Stand as one man against all forms of vice. Sacrifice self for the good of all. Nations, like men. may by righteousness rise: Weakened by evil at last they fall." Hear, oh, ye living, this voice of the dead! Wake to the needs of the present time! Rise in the spirit in which they bled, Firmly sustained by a faith sublime. Evil is rampant todav in our land, Loyalt}^ bids us uphold the right. Great, living issues our best thot demand. Oh, let us meet them in virtue's might. Goldenrod S3 THE SONG OF THE TUB. With fingers blistered and torn, With shoulders aching and bent, A woman stood at a leaky old tub. Washing to pay up the rent. Rub. rub, rub ! In wretchedness, want, and despair. And still with a voice that once had been sweet, She sang of her woe and care. ''AVash, wash, wash! Ere the day is ready to dawn; And wash. wash, wash. Till the blazing sun is gone. It's oh, to be at rest Along with the unthinking dead — Tho toiling and saving my Yery best, My children cry for bread! "AVash, wash wash, Till my head is sore with pain ; Wash, wash wash. For the thot of stopping is vain. Morn and noontime and night. Night and noontime and morn — Ah. few are the hours of blessed rest That come to mv life forlorn! .^4 (joldcnrod ''Oil. nu'ii with happy homes I Oh. men who lieense the drink- 1 1 is not money alone that's spent P'or rnm, whatever you Ihiiik! Rub, rub, rub. In weariness, hunju^er and pain. Sii-i\inii' for bread lest my chihli'en starve- 'Pheir father is drunk a^'ain. "■I>nl wliy do I speak of this. My sorrow so deep and dj-ead ? 1 almost wish that tomorrow's sun Mio-ht I'ise to find me dead; ;\Iiiiht find my children dead. Beeanse of the woe and shann^ That elin^- as lono- as life itself Around the drunkard's nanu\ ''Wasli, wash, wash! My work is not yet done. A fid what ai*e its wag'esf A bitter eurse. A blow, pei*ha[)s, from one Who once was kind, ere the temptei- came To ruin oui* happy home; l^'or I ean't give all my earnings so snuiU T(^ furnisli him with rum. ''Wash. wash, wash, Thi'u the blessed sunny day! Wash, w a sh . w a sb , Tho i1 \\v'<\\ mv life awav ! (Joldenrod ^'^ Wcallli ;jii(l honor and fame, . Friends and comfort and hope Are the price, in part, tliat the Rinii-liend claims For the rem]^tinir. sparklini;- cuj). ■' Wash. wash, wasli. In the cheerless wintn- liizht; And wash, wash, w^ash. When the summer is warm and l)i-iii'hl. AYhile other homes are blest. And other hearts are gay. ft is hard, alas ! to think that here The shadow's comes to stay. "Oh. but to taste once more Of the bliss that I used to know. Of the love that orlorified All my life in the lon^r a^ic! To live it o'ei* again. The s-sveet life that used lo be. Before I dreamed of days like this With theii- want and misery! "Oh, but to stand once more The care free and happy bride. To feel secure from danger and grief With the loved one at my side ! A little thing it may seem to some To barter men for* gold : But 'tis better to part with life than love. Av. better a thousand fold!" S6 Goldenrod Witli Hii^i'i-s blistered and toTii. With shoulders aching and bent, A woman stood at a leaky old tub. Washing to pay up the rent. Wash, wash, wash. For clothing and fuel — the rub Went on — with a voice that once had been sweet, AVould that its tones I could repeat, She sang- this song- of the tub. ODE TO SPRING. How dear to my heart is this glad longed-for season, When nature is spreading her carpet of green, AVhen budlets are swelling and blackbirds are yelling, And gophers skedaddle for fear they'll be seen; When farmers get up before five in the morn- ing, And get on a hustle and keep it all day. When wild bees are humming and gardens are coming. And sporty young breezes are heading this way; The balmy spring breezes, the health-giving breezes. The genuine article's headed this way. Goldenrod 87 The housewives are cleaning from hen honse to parlor, And taking off chickens and raking the lawn: The young calves are bawling and babies are squalling, Ancl all hands are busy when spi'ing time <*omes on. The kids are rejoicing that school is near ck)s- And graduates conning orations galore. And even the teachers, those long suffering crea- tures. Are trying to smile at their pupils once more. The underpaid teacher, the poor, weary crea- ture, The sad-visaged teacher is smiling once more. 'I'lie summer's too liot for real comfort, I'm thinking, And winter's too cold on this part of the map. AVhile autumn is hazy and makes me feel lazy And far less like working than taking a nap. l>nt spring with its green things, and other things grooving, With just enough frost to keep everything cool, With sunshine and showers and buglets and flowers. I vote it 0. K. as a general rule ; T s evei' new season, this fair, fickle season, Tlrs much talked of season's all right as a rui*.. 88 (lohie (^LOUDS. The slushy January days Of chilly mists are here. These gloomy, soul-depressing times, The ornariest of the year. The grass with frost is laden. The ponds are frozen hard, 'I'he neighbors pigs and yearling calves Tome tracking up the yard. Where is the sun. th(^ pleasant sun. Tliat often used to sliine With genial floods of golden light Across your path and mine? Alas! the clouds are dark and thick Between us and its light. We see its smiling face no more From morn till dismal night. And now 1 think of something Which makes me almost mad : It takes my appetite away And leaves me worn and sad. M,y breast is torn with tumult. My eyes are filled with brine. To think of last week's washing Still hanging on the line. (hjldenrofl 89 PART II. The followinu wns written on the occasion of Bill Nye's lecture in Ilastinj^s, when Prof. Marian Thrasher taught in Edgar and 11. G. Lyon was editor of the Edgar Times: FACT AND FANCY. Listen, my children; and I will tell Of a genuine, modern, first-class sell. On a Friday evening in '88, In the broad and smiling Nebraska state, The cause of which, as you'll hear by and by. Was a noted humorist, one Bill Nye. With joy we heard of the coming treat, And our honored professor, as it was meet, Proceeded essential arrangements to make A fair delegation from Edgar to take. And every pulse w^ith joy beat high At thot of hearing the famous Bill Xye. ^linister, doctor, and editor, too. Down to the depot fairly flew, And fair young schoolma'ams' nimble feet Hastily sped down the dusty street, While from anxious lips rose the panting cry, "On to Hastings to hear Bill Nye!" 00 Ooldenrorl AYe reachl the depot in time to wait For the eoniiiis' train which, of course, was late. And the fear of all hearts was thas exprest By Prof. T. with heavin^' breast, With quivering lip and tear dimmed eye, "We shall be too late to hear Bill Nye." At last in spite of all ouj- fears, The train arrived, was hailed with cheers, And Prof. T. tho stayed and proud. For very joy now wept aloud. Between his sobs his voice rose high, "We shall get there to hear Bill Nye." As the train pulled out he gravely rose. Looked at his watch and wiped his nose. And then remarkt with smile most bland. "Of all great speakers in the land. My friends, I say without a jest, I truly think Bill Nye the best." With merry chat we crept along. With laughter gay and cheerful song : All fears and cares were left behind. One thot alone filled every mind. And each did with each other vie To say the most about Bill Nye. Next morning Professor, gossips say. Encountered a Lyon in the way. And clasping his friend in a warm embrace. While tears courst down his classic face, Goldenrod 91 To a qnestioiiing look in the editor's eye, In acoents of woe he faltered. "Rill \ye!" "I enjoy a hnnibug now and then. 'Tis relisht. yon know, by the smartest men : But this. I mnst say, was too awfully thin. And the principal source of my deep chagrin Is that pupil and parson and doctor and 1 Were all sold so cheap bv that infamous Bill Nye." After "bumpino' their heads" with a mourn- ful "good day." They "unlockt their horns" and each went his way. Tn my girlhood days I thot perhaps sometime I would study medicine. This bit of verse was written for an exercise in the themes class. HOW I SPENT MY VACATION. Wishing that I had a hammock Made of barrel staves, you know;" Wishing then that I were in it. Swinging gentl}^ to and fro. Longing for a cooler climate. Grumbling at the pesky tiies. Chewing gum and eating onions, Climbing trees for exercise. Reading extracts from the papers, Playing checkers and croquet. f»l^ (iohh'iu-od Mrikiiiy '^j>rim and iifhastly" failures 111 my efforts to crochet. Thinking of the days of childhood When my lieart from eare was free. When I lived on barley coffee, JohTHiy-cake and cherry tea. Dreaming of the happy future, When to cure human ills, F^rth I'll go with my diploma And a case of sugar pills. FORMEE DAYS. The woi-ld is growing better, so Some bold 7'eformers say; And may ])e they are right, but I Don't see things just that way. I have been young and now am old. And I remember well Some good things in the past of which We nevermore hear tell. When I was young we used to learn The spelling-book by heart, And all we'd need to spell it thru Was just to get the start. We used to have the spelling-school To test our knowledge, too ; A thing the youngsters nowadays Would scarcely care to do. Golrlrnnui ^3 We used to ehoose up sides and spell : The contest oft was hot. And often some were standing yet At midnight, like as not. And then the last one on the floor Was 'most a hero crowned. And you eould hear his praises sunt:- For twenty miles around. I heard a young man yest(M'day, A promising M. D.. Tell of a modern spelling-school. And it just tickled me. Each wrote the list of words pronoun ct. And after, found his grade; Who stood the highest then had put The others in the shade. To miss is now thought no disgrace : My friend, at any rate. Announct without a blush or .sigh. His grade was 28 ! AVell, ev'ry fellow to his taste, Is now the common rule ; But shade of Webster! would you call That thing a '' spelling-school ?" ^>4: Goldenrod TWENTY YEARS AGO. I've read the county papers, Tom. I've spent one blissful hour among- the scenes of other days, and if I had the powei- Pd make you feel the thrill, dear Tom. the sweet, exultant glow, that filled me as 1 read the news of twenty years ago TIow Mrs. Tucket's "garden sass" was spring- ing fresh and green, and Jason Pegg had bot a horse, the sleekest ever seen, and Xancy Tubbs had set a hen on eggs as white as snow, and that old hen had left her nest just twenty years ago. How Bildad Spriggins broke his leg in wrest- ling with his chum, and Soakem had a special sale of socks and chewing gum ; how pretty little Stella Styles went riding with her beau one moon- lit evening on a cart just twenty years ago. The news.' AVhy. yes, I think there were some items here and there, but somehow people nowa- days for such things do not care ; thej^ think the old times are the best and so they want to know what happened in the good old town just twenty years ago. You see we have the telephone, and 'tis a pleas- ant task, if one would know his neighbor's biz, to call him up and ask. In town and on the rural lines the tidings pass not slow, — the papers tell us charming tales of twenty years ago. I went to see the graveyard, Tom; I had for- Goldenrod 95 gotten quite what year the Widow Saunders died and left our yearning sight ; but reading this week's paper, Tom, I found they laid her low be- side her husband (number six) just twenty years ago. We both remember well, old friend, the time has not been long, since if the papers lackt the news we felt 'twas something wrong: but modern progi-ess does away with many things, and so we feast our minds on what was news some twenty years ago. And editors would rack their brains and sit up late at night, composing Avhat they fondly hoped would public taste invite : but now thej^ fill her up with "plate." they advertise a show, and copy columns from their files of twenty years ago. And w^hen our summons comes, dear Tom. in silence we will pass, and none will know we're sleeping here beneath the weeds and grass, un- til some county editor will cause hot tears to flow. by stating that we died one day ''just twenty years ago.'' STAND UP FOR EDGAR. When some pessimist gets busy and begins to vm\ things doAvn, dwelling on the shocking mean- ness of this bustling little town, something seems to rise within me, something I cannot define, call- ing for a loud remonstrance, much as if the town were mine. 96 Goldprirorl Well, it is; I'm living in it, and have surely right to claim some small portion of it. also to de- fend its worthy name. Ti'ue, it has its impei-fee- lions, hut the only one. we're told, whieh has not is yonder City where the streets are pure gold. And the Avay to make men hettei* — same rule holds, too, in a town — is to talk them up and never push aside noi- kick them down. And if we bui seek to find it, good does overbalance ill; Satan's not foreclosed his mortgage on this town and never will. There are ovenfuls of leaven lying scattered all about; be it ours to see and use it, not to gainsay nor to doubt. If we'd only count our blessings, talk of all the good iri town, we should have no time for kicking nor foi- running people down. So when chronic indigestion, or a case of "sour grapes." causes men and things in Edgar to as- sume peculiar shapes in the eyes of would be critics, and they point their guns this way, I ad- vise tlu^m to move onward, as it is my "busy" day. IN NEBRASKA. Come now, ye Solons, small and great. Lend me your ears while I relate The way the wise men legislate In Nebraska. And if your children want to know Why certain things are so and so, Then you (*an tell them "such things go In Nebraska" GoIdeiirorJ 97 A certain senator was seen With "unkempt" hair and tragic mien. To ponder long and grow quite lean In Nebraska ; And when his fellows asked the cause, He sobbed outright and said, "Because There is a scarcity of laws In Nebraska." If I could only get the floor, I'd stand until my corns were sore. And plead for just one good law more In Nebraska. I can 't say now what it would be ; I'd study up some bright 'Idee' I'd like to put on record, see? In Nebraska." He got the floor, he kept his word. The legislative hall was stirred; Such eloquence was never heard In Nebraska. Said he, "I've heard a sound of woe From half a dozen lips or so ; It gets onto my nerves, you know. In Nebraska. Now gentlemen, an almanac On which I never turn my back. And which was never known to ''whack" In Nebx^aska. 98 (rohlprirofi Declares without a ''but" or "if," That raging winds both high and stiff, Will take a sudden, spiteful miff At Nebraska. And this year March will usher in Such hurricanes as have not been Since Adam first learned how to sin. In Nebraska. And yet, I hear of plans on foot. Which have already taken root. To hold a Teachers' Institute In Nebraska. h\ this same month of March, in Clay. Which greatly adds to my dismay. I jest our fair teachers blow away In Nebraska." lie tore his hair in wild appeal. His voice rose to a piteous squeal : His whole frame anguish did reveal. In Nebraska. "Six letters on my desk do lie, And more are coming by and by. Which bid you to the rescue fly In Nebraska. Oh. pass a law and pass it quick,. Fix it somehow so it will stick, If it should fail — it makes me sick — In Nebraska! Goldenrod 99 Forbid this deed so strange and rash On which Clay county's made a mash And send that institute to smash In Nebraska. Will you sit here, my colleagues, say, Enacting laws from day to day And let those teachers blow away, In Nebraska?" He plead with gesture and with jaw, Until the Solons clearly saw Their way to make a famous law In Nebraska. Henceforth, ''no institute" they say. 'Until the thirty-first of May," And teachers will not blow away In Nebraska. When mighty deeds are called to mind In days to come. I think you'll find We shall not lag so far behind In Nebraska. But after all is said and done Our grand old state will tally one. And give three cheers for Epperson In Nebraska. 100 Goldenrod OUR RECEPTION. Written for the occasion of the reception ten- dered Kev. and Mrs. E. N. Tompkins in the Meth- odist church at Edgar in the fall of 1907. When the conference is over and the new man has been sent, Soon as he is nicely settled and seems fairly well content, 'Tis a joy to give him warning that his people will receive Ilim and his with proper handshakes on a certain Friday eve. Then's the time that we get busy and we plan for something fine ; And we call for contributions, ev'ry fellow in his line; Then such strenuous rehearsal as is heai-d all ovei' town ! We pi'opose to have no slouch Avork. but to do the thing up bi'own. So the girls look up thcii- music and select their very best. Pi'actice until after midnigiit. scarcely taking time to rest: While the boys take ofl' theii* collars, f(l: theii- lunys and cleai' their thi'oats (roldenrod • l^^l And give Yi.G'orniis attention to fill kinds of fetcdi- ing notes ; And Lee Browne before the mii-roi- poses patiently and long. Lest a gestnre shonld get sidetrackt. or sonn^ other tiling' go wrong. FjYi\. from another eity comes to us with smiling face, (rlad to be upon the program, deeming it a worthy place. Even Paul, to whom the rostrum is familiar as his hat. Meditates for full two minutes ei-e he thinks of something pat. Youth and beauty, grace and genius, willingly their tributes bring. To the end that this reception may be quite the proper thing. When the Tompkinses are aged And their locks have all grown gray. When they have well-nigh forgotten Many things along life's way. Then, methinks. that in their mem'ries. Like a full moon, round and bright, Still will shine the warm reception We have planned for them tonight. The persons referred to above are Lee Browne. Miss Eva Ferrce. and Paul Lester Klingermaii. 102 . Ooldenrod ,all young people of talent and well known in Ed gar. The two pieces following refer to local happen- ings in the spring of 1908, STODDARD'S MILITARY MAND. Who is the leader grave and stern, Who wants things done just to a turn And does most princely wages earn? That's Moffatt. Who is it plays the clarinet With credit to himself and yet Mien miodest as a violet? 'Tis Voorhees. Who plays as to the tenor born And dearly loves to toot his horn And practices both night and morn? That's Ackley. Who plays the alto sweet and low Like summer brooJ^let's purling flow, Or kittens purring in a row? Young Strawser. Who is the genial baritone We greatly miss when he is gone And absent claim him as our own? Our Cecil. Golderirod 103 And who is it, pray tell me that, Who beats the tenor drum so pat We pause to hear it rat-tat-tat? It's Frankie. Who are the ones whose dulcet toots Just lift a fellow in his boots And make his hair rise at the roots? Cornetists. Who are these bashful blushing ones, These faithful and deserving sons. The players of the slide trombones? Who are they? They shall be as nameless as shall they Who do the rieh-toned tubas play, Lest they take fright and hike away And leave us. Who is it pounds the big bass drum And makes the cymbals fairly hum rill all declare he's going some? That's Rickel. Who'll give a concert some glad night And public patronage invite And do their best to treat you right ? All of 'em. 104 Goldenrod COME ON. Gladys, don your silken scarf And come along with me. We'll have the gayest time tonight That ever you did see. For Stoddard's Military band. In uniforms so bright, Will make this old disgruntled town Sit up and stare tonight. When Moffatt waves his slim baton And gives the starting word. There'll be let loose the richest thing That you have ever heard. For Richards will forget to blush, And Beck to smooth his hair. The while their cornets' silvr'y tones With music split the air. Jesse Humphrey's classic toots will make Some folks i)riek up their ears, And Strawser brothers' alto melt Old maidens into tears. Clair Voorhees when he once cuts loose That clarinet of his, Goldenrod K^ Will simplj' "beat the baud" and put The birdies out of biz. Frank Lake and Stayner, Percy, too, Will slide as slick as grease, Right into favor with the crowd Before they've played one piece. And Cecil's coming from the "hub" To lend his cheerful aid ; He plays as fine a baritone As any that is made. And Ervie Westering will blow The tuba up-to-date, The while his soul is rackt with fear His tie is not quite straight. When Raymond Ackley beats the drum, He beats the record, too; And there are hints of other things They talk of putting thru. The man that prints the Edgar Post,^ Will pound the big bass drum; He told your paw the other day He'd like to have us come. So, Gladys, get your dainty scarf And let us hie away. And I will pay for both of us And then the band will play. 106 Oolderi/rod THE EDITOR'S CHILL. The editor sat in his sanctum, The fire and his spirits were low: He took a dolifierous tantrum And wrote of "the beautiful snow." 'The bleak northwest wind is a-roaring Like creditors armed with a dun; And heat up the chimney is soaring As fast as an auto can run. The snowflakes are holdino^ a war dance, A rollicking, weird jambaree. The wind whistles loud in discordance, And rattles my windows in glee. The sky looks as dull as my future, Thermometer 's low as my coal, Days are long as the bill from my butcher. And profits as thin as my sole. I'll get sixteen 'poems' tomorrow From maidens of ev'ry degree, And they all will find out to their sorrow They can't stuff their 'Snow' slush down me. I'll fire it into the basket As fast as it ever can go, And there it shall stay in its casket — These odes about cold, clammy snow." Goldenrod 107 THE EDITOR'S FOURTH. The editor was weary, His countenance was sad; A friend with smile most cheery Askt of the time he'd had. He tried to smile but couldn't, And pensively he sighed; He longed to weep but. wouldn't, And huskily replied : It was a celebration Well pleasing to the crowd, And Fairfield in elation Just fairly laughs aloud. When Avild applause was stormin; I shouted with the rest. And in the band performing I did my very best. But Edgar — oh, she needed To celebrate this year! I eloquently pleaded To have a good time here. With me there's no forgetting That Edgar would have made 1<^^H Goldenrod A most attractive setting For such a grand parade. If she had only heeded She niiii'ht have had the nion Which she so sorely needed. And likewise all the fnn. All day a cloud of sadness Has hovered round my heart. And shadowed all my srladness And will not yet depart. T may be hard to show, but There's little to console. For Fairfield's ^oi the doughnut And Edgar's in the hole." WHAT AA^OULD YOT^ DO? The editor sat in his study And read his exchanges quite thru, And then this "original" poem He wrote for the public to view. 'We publisht a joke in our paper One day in a frolicsome mood ; It cost us three old time subscribers Who said that such things were no good. We vow^ed no more jokes in our columns- Our patrons declared 'twas so dry Goldenrod 109 That powder would look damp beside it, And seven more bade us good-by. We cudgeled our poor brain foi* matter Original, pungent, and pat : They clamored for standard selections. And said our productions were 'flat.' An ! when we had humored their notions And printed selections galore. They said we must be growing lazy. Because we 'don't wi'ite any moi'e.' We stayed in oui* office to hustle Some work we'd been forct to neglect. And someone complained that news items Were shorter than he would expect. We went on the street to procure The latest news floating about, Some said that our 'business must suffer' AVhen we were 'so constantly out.' Our wardrobe had grown somewhat seedy. Our hat had a weo hole a-top : This branded us 'gvowing quite shiftless.' With several papes to 'stop.' Then one day we donned a new headgear. And more of the people cried 'Shame!' Predicted we'd land in the poorhouse. Extravagance onlv to blame. liU (ioldnirod Will somebody please kindly tell us What course we may safely pursue? We own we are nearly distracted — Now candidly, what would you do?" Remorse seized the editor's conscience, And gripping his pencil once more. He wrote that another pen-pusher Had thot of these same things before But modestly added a postcript That no one. so far as he knew. Had ventured a rhyme on the subject. And here this reporter withdrew. THE EDITOR'S PUZZLE. The editor rode in his buggy Past acres of ripening corn, And stacks of the fragrant alfalfa Sun-kist in the fair autumn morn. He called on the prosperous farmers AVhose homes lined the roadway foi- miles They came to the crossings to greet him. And brightened his path with their smiles. They loaded his buggy with pumpkins, Encouraged his heart with their praise. And told him his excellent paper Like sunshine illumined their ways. Goldenrod HI They spoke of his tact and his genins. And all of his virtues did paint. Until the dazed editor wondered If he'd really turned to a saint. He bragged on their crops and their live stock. And landed farm life to the skies. Avoided political questions, And rose higher still in their eyes. He hinted at unpaid subscriptions. And they all declared 'twas a shame That they had his claims so neglected. And said they'd reflect on the same. , He tried to enroll new subscribers, But they wouldn't read any more. They said, until after election With all its excitement was o'er. The editor rode thru the twilight. Envelopt in thots that were blue. Of creditors not over-patient. And bills that were heavy with "due." He paid for the use of the buggy. And SAvallowed his supper of hash, And pondered till long after midnight On how he could live without cash. The following was written in reply to a humor- ous allusion in one of the Edgar papers by Dr. T. E. Casterline to borrowing this author's "poetry machine." 112 Goldenrod WHEN THE "MACHINE" CAME HOME. iViisted ! 'Just as T P]xpected- (^oiildn't well refuse to lend To a friend. Told him to handle with care — I declare 1 can't make a decent rhyme! Not a stop is in place. The safety valve's lost. There is not a single trace Of the handle-bars, and thej^ cost A five, if a cent ! Of course the good doctor was bent Almost double, At thot of the worry and trouble He'd caused with the borrowed machine. He thought The x-rays ought To have some effect on the wreck, And he almost broke his neck In his haste To make amends. I love all my friends, And I'll ''kindly loan" Anything else I own; Goldenrod 113 But I vow Riffhl now (3n the relics of this machine, When I get another, To Dr. C, or anj^ other Friend T will not lend. For several months a discussion was carried on in "The Edg'ar Post" between two prominent Edgar citizens. After it had continued for some time, the following account of it was written : COONRADT AND CASTERLINE. The preacher and doctor they got on a tilt. Anci buried their sword-blades cleai' up to the hilt In literal phrases and coinmon horse sense. In honest convictions and gilded pretense. And interpretations galore. While dogmas an.d ci*eeds felt the point of theii' steel ; They cut and they slashi with a strenuous zeal At errors in doctrine and errors in speech; They liackt and they hewed at whatever they could reach. And eagerly panted foi' more. The passersby smiled and then halted to gaze. Xext lifted their hands in a troubled amaze. As blow after blow, like as one felling trees, 114 Goldenrod Was dextrously dealt or was parried with ease. Yet neitlier assailant would yield; The}' pranced o'er the grounds of historical lore, They ventured where sages had scarce trod be- fore, They called on the spirits of ages long gone To witness the conflict, and still they pressed on. And neither was thrust from the field. And closer and hotter the contest became; Their swords, keen and pointed, and flashing like flame, Now thrusting, hoav cii'cling. now poised, up and down Went whacking, till heard to tlie ends of the town. And ev'ry one turned out to see; And some cheered the preacher with vigorous lung. Some urged on the doctoi' with chimoi-ous tongue. Some argued the fight had progrest far enough. While othei's declared it to be just the stufl'. All asked what the outcome would be. J^ut suddenly, boldly, the preacher advanct. And straight in the eye of the doc1:or he glanct ; He leaned on the hilt of his terrible sword, In clarion accents he gave forth the word, "It's up to me, doctor, to quit!" The medical man seized the elder's ofl^ hand. And said with a smih' that was heartv and bland. Goldenrod l-«3 "Whate'er may be said of the strength of your blade, I frankly admit that now you have made At last, quite a sensible hit." With dignified paces the preacher withdrew. And ev'ryone thot that the doctor would, too. They took up their hats and prepared to depart : Doe spit on his hands and he took a fresh start, And grabbed his old sword with a will; He cut out great chunks of the ambient air, He slit and he sliced them beyond all compare. In awe striken slience the crowd slipt away, But some who lookt back on that famous field say The doctor w^as fighting there still. * * STRAY THOTS. When the days are growing longer And the sun is climbing high, iMounting to his throne of splendor In the cloudless summer sky, When the warm Nebraska breezes Give a hint of coming days Growing hot and growing hotter. With their clouds of dust and haze, Then I borrow an umbrella, x\nd I pack my grip and scoot For the center of the coiuitj'. To the Teachers' institute. 116 GoldcnrocJ I return the friendly greetings Of the few I used to know. Ere my hair was quite so streaked. In the blissful long ago : And I see the witching glances Of the sweet girl graduate Who is longing for the honors That attend the teacher's state; And I hear the smothered sighing Of the gentlemen so lone, And it forcibly reminds me Of that old ''sixteen to one." Then I listen to the good things Our instructors, patient men, Have been telling us these ten years. As they tell them o'er again; And my brain turns topsy-turvy. Crammed with methods which they praise For beguiling frisky youngsters Into wisdom's pleasant ways; Hut I swallow all prescriptions. Some unmixt and some dilute, AVhich McNally, Graham, Beattie Give us at the institute. Oh, it's hot and growing hotter. And I'm tired as I can be. And these warm Nebraska breezes Scatter all my energy. And I'm on the go from sunrise Till the wee small hours of night. Goidcnrod H' ('lass(*s. loptures. (Mitertainnients All my Avakin*!- hours invjte: But I smile liko all the others. While with sinking" heart I foot All my bills, then, poekets empty. Go home from the institute. THE DEARTH OF IDEAS. The week of institute has come. The saddest of the year. Of empty purses, aching heads. And hearts that thump with fear. Heapt on the tables and the trunks Are books and notes galore, They meet you ev'rywhere you turn. On stand, or chair, or floor. The hours of peace and leisure have Flown sadly far away. And teachers as with one consent Are "stuffing'' all the day. Where is the wisdom, rare and great. We thot we once possest. When standing at our school-room desk. Our pupils we addrest? Alas! the little that we know. Like dcAV before the sun. Seems likely to evaporate Ere one short lecture's done. The efforts w^e have made to teach The young idea to shoot 118 Goldeyirocl Look no more like this "^lodel School" Than snow resembles soot. Young Weaver delves in vain to find The thing's we used to know About geometry and such, Forgotten long ago ; But Blakesley draws us gently on To parse and write and read, Until our heads begin to swell. AVith honest pride indeed. Till Dowling pounces on iis with His vast historic lore. And the brightness of oui- smile is gone And lights the gloom no more. And now when comes that kindly man. For Clippinger is kind. To quicken our befuddled wits And bring some things to mind. When he propounds a question. We each in turn keep still. And try to look like wiseacres. With all our strength of will : And he and Clark, with footsteps light And puzzled faces go. And sigh to find how very much There is that we don't know. And now I think of one Avho is The cause of all this fuss. Who so unfeelingly had planned To make a show of us. (lohlrnrorl 11^ \ ^nsh th.'it he were sitting here. As I now sadly sit. Without an answer on his tongue — I wouldn't en re a bit! Yet not unmeet it is that one Should bear the blame I trow. And why should not that one be Coons Since fate had willed it so ? The above was written on the Clay Connty Teachers' institute held at Edgar in the summer of 1907. THE OLD S(T100L TTOT^SE. The new school house in District 26. commonly Ivuown as Excelsior, Avas formally opened last Friday night, December 8. 1905. with an enter- tainment and box social. A program consistin"' of songs, readings, dialogues, and tableanx by the school; music by the Excelsior Glee Club: and an address by Supt. Coons, was followed by the sale of boxes and supper. The school house was filled with an attentive and appreciative audience, and the proceeds amounted to about .^20. One of the numbers which was particularly well received was "The Old School House," written for the occasion, and sung by Bessie and Metta Harrison: HoAv dear to my heai't is the old shabl)y school house. When fond recollection presents it to view ! The place where my father his knowledge did gather, 120 (iolderirorl Wny hack in tlio dnys when this country was now. That scliool house when builded was something to hoast of — 1 know, for I've heard niv deai- i»"randfather tell— The compliuKMits paid it were really quite touch- in ^\ That very same school house we all love so well : That pioneer school house, that time honored school house. That little old school house we all love so well. That weather stained school house we hailed as a landmark ; Full thirty odd wintei's had ov(M' it passed; Tlu' district was proud of their tii'st institution. And some of us hoped that it miii'ht be the last. In vain were our protests, in vain was our plead- ing. In vain were the votes we so loyally cast ; The cranks have succeeded, oui' fond hopes de- feated, And have a new school house to hoast of at last ; l>ut ever and ever, till earth ties shall sever, (^ur fond hearts will cling to this love of the past. How sAveet are the menu)ries clinging about it! What tender emotions unbidden will swell. At thot of the good times now gone by for- ever, Golrhnirorl 121 The jolly urood times vvc reiiiciiihcr so wcij ! We shivered with cold in th^t blessed old school house : The rain trickled on us in rills from above; The plaster fell down on our heads so devoted. But this only strengthened the cords of our love, (roodby, dear old school house! the leaky old school house. The shaky old school house, our fathers did love. GREETING SONG. Composed for the school on the same occasion as the preceding verses, and sung by them to the tune of "Birdies' Ball." It made quite a hit with the children and for them it is reproduced here : Someone said to the carpenter men, ''Go to work and build again. Build a house big enough for all. The old and young, the great and small." (Chorus.) Tra la la la la tra la la la la Tra la la la la tra la la Tra la la la la tra la la la la Tra la la la la la la. 122 Goldenrod They went to work with right