Plymouth advertiser. [volume] (Plymouth, Ohio) 1853-1988, 1855-01-26
BY ROBINSON & LOCK.
gfjgrt p0Gtry.
NY Farmsf Friend.
By W E. N'LARES,

DA " u - LsA4sA-s'
have a farmer frical, wacse virtues pure,
Encra~ci Us, have bgcv;ny my eynOsurc;
Whose love, above the love q other men.
My high ambition and reward hath been.
Where willows bend above the quiet stream,
Sharing with sun alternate shade aud beam,
Ills walk was won, u be; there, hour on hour,
sweet Silence 'guiled Kim with her pensive
power.
Nor thcr9 alone tho willing grasses she
Their m prning tears beneath his oa.ly tread
On slopes OF green. in me,lls and cuws.ip fsls,
He heard fond welcomes from the pasturt bells
As, sailing unto Indies frequently,
The pilot knows the currents OF the sea,
So he knew all the choicest hooks, and where,
To sun himself at noon, in balmiest air.
His home cottage, white and neaI' and small,
| In forest grand, of oak aud maple tall;
Yet there it was, his nature best to please,
That he might dwell, like birds amid the trees.
Sweet soul may every bud and leaf Of Spring
Thrill out for thee Joy on perfumcd wing;
And with each sere and Autumn icafbe shed
\ or5eous blessing on the poets head!
! He sat, serene and pure, at natures feet
| As child sitsat its mothcr's-posture sweet;
And. looking fondly up with faith and love,
Compels approval from the eye above.
True was his heart, and faithful TO the Right:
| His faith was ardent, and his hope was bright;
| lie loved the skies above and earth he trod;
| His Mother nature and his Father God.
Wouldst see his riches?-for they're all untold
Go, ask lin Of his gems and heaps ofgold;
He points you, smiling, to his garden bowers
| Yes! yes! thank Him, am rich--rich in towers
I know not how it was but so it seemed,
That lavish Heaven on his young soul gleemet
A SUNRISE of true poetry; so high
On Fancy plume his mind was wont to fly.
Seer-like, with eye Of fire, would he upstat.
And from dull earth and sense dwell long apart
Till some bird s note sudden and clear, would ris
Or leaf would fall and snatch him from the skies
To him no gift of utterance was given:
He saw, but sang not of the opened heaven:
Himself a poem, filed with thought sublime,
His days were verses, and his actions rhyme.
Yet deem him not ideal and of air:
He Ices: and under his strong hand and caro-,
Gay fields of golden grain and ripened corn
Await the sicke's edge on harvest morn.
The song of larks, out-warbled from the blue,
The blast Of barnyard wa der, tried and true
! 1hn hlent of Ia NH far wanda %. a.. Ill,
The rush Of waters at the great wheeled mill:
These and al music of the morning hour,
Filled his rapt soul with deep poetic power;
But none the less they summoned hiin away,
The breakfast DER, the abors Of the day.
/ God never was forgot. The evening prayer
Of witc and b.ue-eyed child ascendcd there's
sweet Sabbat!ls saw gentle train, betimes,
Obey the summons of the Vlliage-chmes.
" And in all seasons OF the day and night,
II. saw his God, and worshpped him Alright.
True pUet-soul have vision psnetrait,
And see a God in all things militant.
II such is my farmer friend; whose soul so puie,
i Unconscious has become my cynosurS
w ose love, above the love Of other men,
), NV h rh ambition and reward hath been.