Vermont farmer. [volume] (Newport, Orleans County, Vt.) 1870-1877, 1874-09-25
Reported for the VERMONT FARMER.
A POEM.
PUBLISHED WEEKLY.
1T ST. JOH.HS " URF, VT.
Composed for the picnic at smusglers Notch stowe,
Sept. 9, 1874.

Osod for the picnic at smuggler's Notch, ST
Sept. 9, 1874.
Dear friends. is no, this our temple,
This wild, secluded spot,
This curious, wonderful structure
With so much grandeur fraught,
Without sound of saw or hammer
Or without work of hands
"IIe spake, and it was done,"
"Stood FAST" at his commands.
Yes, the whole earth is our temple,
Created at Ills nod,
And our priest is nature,
And our high priest is God.
Our priest holds out sermon
At every step we take,
And asks us TO pause and read it,
For our Great High Priests sake.
He speaks to us in the blade Of grass
That bends beneath our tread
He whispers in the little leaf
That trembles DER our head.
He cares for each little lowly flower
That blossoms at every turn,
As into their blushing cups he pours
The dew from his antique urn.
And whom the early morning sun
Sends down its blessed rays,
Their dew like daily prayers arise
To Him who crowns their days.
Find in the humblest violet,
Or daisy Of the sod,
A sermon folded in the flowers,
That binds the heart to God.
The giant tree upon the rock
A lesson would coniidc:
Take root somewhere; don't 20 drifting
Slowly down the tide.
Take root somewhere, deeply, firmly,
Hold the warm earth in your grasp,
Thon when tempests howl around you
Fiercely, loosen not your clasp.
Choose spot all bright and cosy,
Warm and sunny, if you can,
But if not, why, take root somewhere,
Don't 90 drifting, brother man.
If lie sends His storms upon you,
Bends you over to the ground,
Only strike your roots the deeper;
BY this means new strength IL found.
Shades will fall and clouds will lower
O'er us as we journey oni
But the sunshine seems the brighter
Al. 4 ii +.
Everything in nature speaks,
Sometimes in u warning tone,
And oft Of comfort, rest, and peace,
To the weary, sad, and lone.
The smile that fills with songs orjoy
The soaring lark and lOwly bee,
Must be for faiths serene employ
Must be a fathers smile, for thee.
The peaceful hour Of summer noon,
Like an old nurses story,
Sung as she held us on her breast,
Tells US Of love, and glory.
Solemn night, with its starry eyes,
Asks us at days gate, whittier
We go, what our password is,
TO the grange beyond the river.
Oh did we listen to the voice,
Ever to US speaking,
Should we not cease from evil ways,
And a better life be seekins'
Grain has whtened for the harvest,
Fruit IL ripening for the fall,
Soon, how soon, will come December!
Hear the Harvest Masters call.
Have wO opened wide our garners
Ieaped up high the golden storel
When the sunshine falls upon it,
Does ii CLEAN from roof to nOor'
Have we cheered the broken-heartedl
Have we given the smile, or tear,
Or tho look, or hearty hand-shake,
That will give so much joy here'
The voice that finds its gentle way
The wounded heart to cheer,
Has Oft the fewest words TO say,
But, oh, those few, how dear
1t is like the slvery tinklo
Coming down from woodland rills,
And 1t fills the heart with rapture,
Strangely sweet and strangely still.
Ifthy brother droop and langulsh,
Pass not by the other side
Give a smile, or cup Of water,
In the name Of Him who died
For gentle words, and living deeds,
Live ever, and forever;
They send their echoes cover there"-
Over beyond the river.
lBS N II