Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1873-06-28
For the Chronicle.
MY CITY LOVE.
BY JOHN. W. rErrEn.

but what care Tor smile or 1roWns
Or whether the world goes up or down.
She came from her home in IT, beautiful
town.
To see the rough uncultured clown;
With dainty foot and silken gown
ITO bring the royal farmer down."
Such her boast to them who own
The tales concealed behind the throne,
But, lady fair, to you be known,
He bends the knee to God alone.
Nor cen loves ectatic trance
Bends he to witching beauty's glance,
Nor the worlds envenomed lance,
Nor ought that moves, nor ought that
chance.
For swiftly the years are sweeping Ger
Carrying us on 10 the unseen shore,
And all we learn from human lore
Are the solemn words ave return no
more"
Soon, thyself, so strangely blent
With dust of earth for some intent,
Will leave thine wornout tenement
And gladly fly from Punishment.
But, music and song and posey,
And all the minds wierd imagery
Are gems whose worth can never be
Weighed in the scale of mortality.
A lovely form he likes to see,
But an empty casket yours may be,
So like the fruit of the worthless tree
That grows on the shores of the silent sea.
n 1T
If justice, truth and money shine
Like gems that light the secret mine,
Beneath that snowy breast OF thine,
II that which fits the tigers lair
Finds not a secret Judgement there
He'll givethee all that brow so fair
Can claim for virtues now so rare.
Nor think of the vain or sneering boast
That may only have been from fancy tost,
Yet trifiing words have often cost
Hot burning tears DER loved and lost.
And now we've strolled through forest
and glade,
And talked of the changes that man has
made,
And listened 10 music that God has said
Deep in the glen where seldom stirred
The maple leaf, or ever was heard
The voices of men, a spirit word
Came from beautiful dovelike bird,
That high on a swinging branch above
Kept singing of truth, and joy, and love,
Kept swinging, and singing, his joy to
prove,
ain Heaven is God and God is Love.
But from high on a tree leafless and bare
Came the warning words " Beware, be-
ware!
The form thou see'st so lovely there
Is not what it seems, beware, beware"
And the owlet's wild, wierd monotone,
From that blasted tree his airy throne,
Awakened voice to wisdom known,
And ever will tread life's paths alone,
My love is fair as fair can be
But then she's blind she cannot see
The glories of the forest tree,
And much that is near and dearto me.
She loves not the tints of the fallen leaf,
Nor yet the harvest's golden sheaf
Nor deem the roar of old Oceans reaf,
Could rouse her heart to joylor grief.
l called her to see the Auroral Light
That rose and fell in the beauteous night,
Like spirits winged so clear and bright,
But failed to rouse her dormant sight.
No Joy for her in the morning days,
Or the mountains brow in the suns
bright rays.
Or the valleys depths I'm the moons clear
gaze
Or Indian summers golden haze.
The glories of earth and air and sea
All seem made for her and me,
And yet she's blind as blind can be,
Although so fair so fair TO see.
If nature no joy to her can give
'Tis not with her for me TO live,
'TwoaId be all to hate or all forgive,
And not for me the alternative.
But she's so fair as fair as the May,
Around her mouth the passions play,
And in her eyes the light of day
Mightlur the soul from its God away.
Oh, why does nature so seldom enfold
In beautiful form a beautiful soul?
But the ways of God we can't control,
And what we see is not the whole.
Perhaps when the soul on its wings may
fly
To the pearly gates in the azure sky,
Much that is dark, and deep, and high,
May lose its air of mystery.
No doubt the glass through which We see
ftthrows a vail of secrecy
Ger many things that then may be
Clear as day to the spirit free.
Oh God when Thou in thine own good
time
VIII gather us home to a grander cline,
When the naked soul in faith sublime
Stands ready to cross the mystic line,
Or shudders and shrinks on the silent
strand
Of the shadowy, dim, mysterious land,
Little Wen think of the tapered hand,
Or the jewels that shine in the circling
band; .
Little of the city's vain excess,
Little of the country's awkwardness,
Little of her pride her words express,
When they sneer at the farmers bashful-
ness.
But she's so fair, as fair as the May.
And has the proud imperial sway
That in the prehistoric day
Led ev'n the Sons of God astray.
My Love has gone back to the town again,
ButIeaving the heart she said she'd win,
she's now in the church among the child
rem of men,
He, with his God in the silent glen.
And though his manner be coarse and
rude,
And though his faith be wild and crude
And though he love wierd solitude,
Still may not his heart be partly good.
Perhaps she'll sneer, perhaps she'll frown
At the manner of him she calls the clU- a:
But little he'll care for sneer or frOwn,
Or whether her steps go up or down.
South Bend, Ind.
-
$3.50 Oats rs Manure.
AKentucky farmer writes: L have seen
frequent inquiries how to recldim old
and worn lands. A quick and cheap
plan is to sow the land in oats as earl y as
you can in the spring; as soon as ripe
pillow under; keep off all stock and you
will have tremendous full growth OF
oats. Plow them under in October,
or, If South, the first of November
then SOW rye, Craze in the spring and
feed down; when ripe pillow under,
and you will see one of the finest rye
fields you ever saw; or, if you wish