The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1878-02-21

health was broken down, and had given
up all hopes Of future in this life Ny
physicians recommended as much exer-
else in the open air as possible, and
especially did they recommend that
should camp out Of nights, in the open
air, when the weather would permit
Several springs | made sugar on the lands
Of John C. Davis, a mile north of Jeffer-
son Furnace. 1t was on a steep, north
hillside where the maple trees stood, and
/ would carry the sugar water through
the day, and boil it down, and what had
accumulated would finish during the
night. One night, while filling up the
kettles and regulating the fire, took
from my pocket the National Era and
then and there first read Whittier's
dream of Summer" 1t struck me
as peculiarly fitting my case, and then
and there, in that lonesome woods, hope
revived, and here am, alive and well,
thirty-one years after that lonesome
night.
Dream of Summer" / was editor of
the Standard. and thought / would like
to publish the Dream of Summer" but
had lost it. published briefly what !
have here stated, and said that would
like to get a copy of it. and that had
first read it in the year 1916 A lady
friend in Portsmouth sent me a copy,
but she stated that it was first published
in February or March, ls47. | have
published it every spring since my friend
sent it to me. Not being positive as to
the date, wrote to the poet a short time
ago, telling him how admired the poem,
and that published it every spring, and
asked him when it was written. The
following is his answer:
"OAK KNOLL. DANvERs Mo-, %, 1878.
"DEAR FRIEND;-I think the Dream of Sum-
know that IL has found such favor in the eyes
of an Abo litionist of the times OF the National
ions q. WHITTIER"
II there is any one thingof which feel
exceedingly proud, it is that had the
honor to be IAN abolitionist in the times
of the National Era" That meant very
much, which only those who suffered for
righteousness sake can ever know or
appreciate. How we of that day labored,
and trusted, and hoped, and suffered, let
Whittier tell, in the following lines,
which he wrote in March, 1865, after
slavery had been abolished
Not unto us who did but seek
The word that burned within to speak,
| Not unto us this day belong
The triumph and exultant song.
Upon us fell in early youth
| The burden of unwelcOme truth,
And left us, weak and frail and few,
| The censor's painful work TO do
Thenceforth our life a fight became,
| The air we breathed was hot with blame;
| For not with guaged and softened tone
We made the bondman's cause our own.
We bore, as Freedoms hope forlorn,
/ The private hate, the public scorn;
| Yet held through all the paths we trod
| Our faith in man and trust In God.
We prayed and hoped; bat still. with awe,
The coming of the sword we saw;
/ We heard the nearing steps OF doom,
And saw the shade OF things to come.
In grief which they alone can feel
Who from mothers wrong appeal,
With blended lines of fear and hope
| We cast our country's horoscope.
For stin within her house Of life
| We marked the lurid sign of strife,
| And, poisoning and embittering all,
| We saw the star of Wormwood fall.
Deep as our love for her, became
Our hate OF all that wrought her shame,
And II, thereby, with tongue and pen
We erred,-we were but mortal men.
We hoped for peace; our eyes survey
| The blood-red dawn of Freedoms day;
We prayed for love to loose the chain;
II Is shorn by battles axe in twain
Not skill nor strength nor zeal of ours
Has mined and heaved the hostile towers;
Not by our hands is turned the key
That sets the signing captives free.
redder sea than Egypi's wave
Is piled and parted for the slave;
A darker cloud moves on in light,
A iercer fire is guide by night
The praise, o, Lord be Thine alone.
In Thy own way Thy work be done
To whom be glory, first and lasti
Sd Mo-, 1855.
must close, and will do so by once
more, but hope not for the last time,
giving my readers the beautiful lines
many OF them have seen SO often:
A DREAM OF sUMMER-BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
Bland as the morning breath of June
| The southwest breeZes play;
And through its haze, the winter noon
| Seems warm as summers day.
The snow plumed angel Of the North
| Has dropped his icy spear;
| Again the mossy earth looks forth,
| Again the streams gush clear.
| The fox his hillside cell forsakes,
| The muskrat leaves his nook,
| The blue-bird in the meadow brakes
| Is singing with the brook.
| "Bear up, o, Mother Nature :" cry
| Bird, breeze, and streamlet free,
| sour winter voices prophecy
| OF summer days to theew
So, in those winters of the soul,
| BY bitter blasts and drear,
Ger swept from memory's frozen pole,
| Will sunny days appear.
Reviving faith and hope they show
The soul its living powers,
And how beneath the winters snow
Lie germs Of summer flowers.
The night is mother of the day,