The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 9

May thy last days, in peace go past, Each being better than the last; Eternally thy joys grow brighter-- So prays D. Scott the humble writer.

MINUTES

OF THE JACKSON HALL DEBATING SOCIETY, DEC. 5, 1877.

My muse inspire me, while I tell The weighty matters that befell On Monday night at Jackson Hall December fifth. I'll tell it all, Day and year I'll tell you even, 'Twas eighteen hundred seventy-seven.

The Jacksonites were out in force, No common thing was up of course, But something rare and rich and great, 'Twas nothing short of a debate; What was the question? Let me see, Yes; "Can Christians consistently Engage in war against a brother And at the same time love each other?"

But first and foremost let me say, My muse has taken me astray, So I'll return to the beginning Digression is my common sinning For which your pardon I implore, If granted, I will sin no more, That is no more till the next time, For when I'm forging out a rhyme, The narrative which I would fix up, I somehow rather oddly mix up.

A president must first be got, So they elected James M. Scott, He said he'd serve; (and that was clever,) A little while, but not forever.

A paper called a "const.i.tution,"

Was read and on some person's motion, Was all adopted, at a word, A thing that seemed to me absurd.

Then instantly to work they went, And filled the chair of president, And William Henderson they took, They knew their man just like a book.

A scribe was wanted next to keep, A record of their doings deep.

On looking round they cast the lot, And so it fell on David Scott.

A treasurer was next in order When looking up and down the border, For one to h.o.a.rd the gold and silver, The mantle fell on Joseph Miller.

The executive committee Was now to fill and here we see A piece of work I apprehend, May lead to trouble in the end, For while they only wanted five, Yet six they got, as I'm alive, First they installed Peter Jaquett, Then John Creswell, two men well met, James Law, but they were not enough, And so they added William Tuft.

One more was wanted that was plain, That one was found in John McKane, But when the five were call'd to meet There were but four came to the seat; There are but four, said one so racy, So they elected William Gracy.

Now you perceive this grave committee Which numbers five both wise and witty, Has got into a pretty fix With but five seats and numbers six.

The question for the next debate Was then selected, which I'll state If I have only got the gumption To make some word rhyme with resumption, "Should Congress now repeal the act To pay all debts in gold in fact."

The speakers now were trotted out Their sides to choose and take a bout Upon the question, which I stated As having been so well debated, Namely, "Can christians go to war,"

The very devil might abhor To contemplate this proposition Offspring of pride and superst.i.tion That brothers by a second birth, Should make a very h.e.l.l of earth.

The war of words waxed loud and long, Each side was right, the other wrong; The speakers eager for the fray, Wished their ten minutes half a day; But time and tide will wait for none, So glibly did the gabble run, That nine o'clock soon spoiled the fun, And all that rising tide of words, Was smothered never to be heard.

The fight is o'er, the race is run, And soon we'll know which side has won, But this is not so easy done; Indeed I have a world of pity For the executive committee Who hear in silence all this clatter And then decide upon the matter; To give each speaker justice due, And sift the error from the true, Is not an easy thing to do.

To decide what facts have any bearing Upon the question they are hearing, And generally keep in hand The arguments, so strong and grand, And draw from them a just conclusion Without a mixture of confusion; The negative got the decision Unanimous, without division.

The speakers then took their position, Upon the doubtful proposition Of the repeal of gold resumption, Upon the plausible presumption, That those who pay must have the money, That laws of Congress, (that seems funny,) Are not above the laws of trade, And therefore cannot be obeyed.

Here now my muse, poor worthless jade, Deserted, as I was afraid From the beginning she would do; So I must say good-night to you, And these long rambling minutes close, In just the dullest kind of prose.

RETROSPECTION.

The phantoms have flown which I cherished; The dreams which delighted have pa.s.sed; My castles in air have all perished-- I grieved o'er the fall of the last.

'Twas bright, but as frail as a shadow; It pa.s.sed like a vapor away-- As the mist which hangs over the meadow Dissolves in the sun's burning ray.

The joys of my youth are all shattered; My hopes lie in wrecks on the sh.o.r.e; The friends of my childhood are scattered; Their faces I'll see never more.

Some are estranged, some have gone under; The battle of life is severe.

When I stand by their graves, the wonder, The mystery, seems to be clear:

They were vet'rans more n.o.ble than I; And placed in the van of the fight, They fell where the hero would die, When he bleeds for truth and the right.

The battle of life is proceeding-- The rear will advance to the van; I'll follow where duty is leading, And fall at my post like a man.

ACROSTIC

TO MISS FLORENCE WILSON M'NAMEE.

Maiden, lovely, young and gay, In the bloom of life's young May!

Sweet perfumes are in the air; Songs of gladness ev'rywhere!

Flowers are springing round thy way, Lovely flowers, bright and gay: Over head and all about Rings one constant joyous shout!

Earth is carpeted with green, Nature greets you as her queen.

Call the trees and flow'rs your own, Each will bow before your throne.

While in youth's enchanting maze, Incline thy steps to wisdom's ways!

Lead a quiet peaceful life; Swiftly fly from noise and strife; Own thy Lord before mankind; 'Neath his banner you will find More than all this world can give; Contentment while on earth you live, Nearer to your journey's end, All your aspirations tend: May you end your days in peace; Earthly ties in joy release; Eternally thy joys increase; That this may be thy joyous lot Ever prays thy friend D. Scott.

THE BOOK OF BOOKS.

Written on a blank leaf of a Bible presented to Martha Cowan, June 1st, 1868.

Esteemed young friend This book I send, I know full well thou wilt receive; For thou canst read Its s.h.i.+ning creed, And understand it and believe.

Oh could I say As much to-day, What joys would thrill this heart of grief,-- I do believe.

Oh Lord, receive My prayer--help THOU mine unbelief!

This book though small, Is more than all The wealth of India to thee; Oh priceless treasure!

Rich beyond measure Are all who build their hopes on thee.

THE LESSON OF THE SEASONS.

Written for a little girl on her eleventh birthday.

Fleeting time is on the wing-- Surely Winter, joyous Spring, Glowing Summer, Autumn sere, Mark the changes of the year.

Late the earth was green and fair, Flowers were blooming everywhere; Birds were singing in the trees, While the balmy healthful breeze, Laden with perfume and song, Health and beauty flowed along.

But a change comes o'er the scene; Still the fields and trees are green, And the birds keep singing on, Though the early flowers are gone; And the melting noon-day heat, Strips the shoes from little feet, And the coats from little backs; While the paddling bare-foot tracks, In the brooklet which I see, Tell of youthful sports and glee.

Hay is rip'ning on the plain, Fields are rich in golden grain, Mowers rattle sharp and shrill, Reapers echo from the hill, Farmer, dark and brown with heat, Push your labor--it is sweet, For the hope, in which you plow, And sow, you are reaping now.

Corn, which late, was scarcely seen, Struggling slowly into green, 'Neath the Summer's torrid glow-- How like magic it does grow; Rising to majestic height, Drinks the sunbeams with delight, Sends its rootlets through the soil, Foraging for hidden spoil; Riches more than golden ore, Silent workers they explore: With their apparatus small, Noiselessly they gather all.

When their work is done, behold Treasures, richer far than gold, Fill the farmers store-house wide-- And his grateful soul beside.

But the scene must change again, Hill and dell and spreading plain, Speak so all can comprehend Summer's reign is at an end.

Forests, gorgeously arrayed, (Queens such dresses ne'er displayed) Grace the coronation scene Of the lovely Autumn queen.

Birds, with multifarious notes, Ringing from ten thousand throats, Shout aloud that Summer's dead, And Autumn reigns in her stead.

Now another change behold-- All the varied tints of gold, Purple, crimson, orange, green-- Every hue and shade between, That bedecked the forest trees, Now lie scattered by the breeze.

The birds have flown. Faithless friends Love the most when they're best fed; And when they have gained their ends, Shamefully have turned and fled.

Winter claims his wide domain, And begins his frigid reign.

Thus the seasons come and go: Spring gives place to Summer's glow; Then comes mellow Autumn's sway, Rip'ning fruits and short'ning day; Gorgeous woods in crimson dress, Surpa.s.sing queens in loveliness.