The Greene County Republican. [volume] (Waynesburg, Pa.) 185?-1867, 1866-05-23
TO BEN LINDSEY.

I've stretched my weary frame,
And my cold, contracted members,
Yield to the fitful flame;
My blanket is round me drawn, Ben,
To temper the north winds strife
And keep the mists of the midnight
From damping the wick Of life. a.
Four hours have | got for rest Ben,
From labor to rspose.
And then two hours rs sentinel
Where lurk our treachrous foes
But my mind with watching is worn, Ben,
I've bid my thoughts go play,
And like the bee they're gath'ring sweets,
From boyhood's flow'ry way.
OH those were glorious days, Ben,
When you aud were boys
Life seemed n cornucopia,
O'eriill'd with golden joys
With song the woods were vocal, Ben,
The fields how gay with flowers
And the links that foIm'd Times chain
Were made ofshining hours.
Again l sit in the shade, Ben,
Ofthat dear grove Of pines,
Earth contains not such another
In all its vast confines
The breezes ore signing soft, Ben,
The branches gently sway,
The blackbird is singing aioit,
How sweet the roundelay!
The scene spreads out before ne, Ben.
The fields are fresh and green.
The hill slopes down to the mlll-dam,
The orchard stands between
On the cliff still waves the beech, Ben,
With consequential air
Its trunk is a register bi oad--
Our names are lotter2d there,
But who shall answcr the names, Zen,
On tho roll on t1at uil ,roe?
Who of the struggling wanderers
Its trunl: again snail sce2
Alas the many have gone, Pen,
With death hay, marched away,
And only will answer tbGt roll
That's called on Judgment day.
The orchard is hanging with f,nit. Ben,
The boughs are hendiAg down,
And that which tempted our mother
Has lured the boys from town
But the owner is on the watch, Ben,
His portly form see
Observing the distant shadows
Fitting from tree to tree.
Again his s.entorian voice, Ben,
Comes swelling on the breeze,
And wild stampede is rushing
Swift through tlfe dark pine trees;
Like guails do they vanish from sight, Ben
And under cover remain,
He wanders back to his dwelling,
They back to mischief again.
There's asound of distant voices, Den,
Whose changes sweetly ring,
There's bevy of rustic children
Down by the mineral spring
They have made them dock-leaf cup, L
From lip to lip 1t goes,
And the worlds high upper-ten- dom
Are not SO blest as those.
They have just been let from school, Ben,
And are on joyous round,
Their cheeks are aglow with running,
They're playing fox and hound
Again they are off with vigor Ben
Their 5aying sound grows faint
They're wild as fiery mustangs
That neer have known restraint.
The old schoolhouse stands the same, Ben
AS it did in days of yore--
The rough stonestep at the threshold,
The time-worn batten door;
The rude backless benches of slabs, Ben,
And desks of oaken gray
The smoke -colored ceiling of pine,
Dotted with papiermache.
A thousand thoughts are rushing, Ben,
Tumultuous through my brain,
Of every shape and color,
Like some fantastic train
They arc too wild for service, Ben,
Enthrallment they disdain,
They laugh at being fettercd,
And scorn my inky chain.
! see in the gloom of the future, Ben,
Two hands of human form
One appears frigid and clayey,
The other rosy and warm
The first is pointing downward. Ben,
Down to the crumbling clud /;
The other IS reaching upward,
Up to the throne of God.
They ore guide.hoards on life path, Ben,
The first all must obey,
Death will take charge Of our bodies
And mix them with the clay;
But our senses are born of dust, Ben,
And cannot pierce the gloom,
Where faith and hope are the angels
That lead us from the tomb.