Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1886-01-09

1 Wall street-and our Crmsus
With his wealth unnumbere6 told,
Unexpected gets his summons,
1 And must leave his heaps of gold.
Thus the King Of Terrors, levels,
| Mems unequal stations down;
On the same plane with the beggar.
Placing wealth and princely crown.
| But we hasten, time is precious,
Other scenes crowd on the view;
Fire, flood and grim disaster,
Follow like demon crew.
Oh. how strangely here commiugled,
In this Christian land so free,
Are the scenes of joy and sorrow,
Health and wealth and poverty.
Dens of vice rest in the shadows
OF the lofty churches spires,
While the means of dying outcasts
Drown in songs of wealthy choirs.
Oh how differs now Religion,
In her golden slippers shod.
From the meek and lowly teaching,
OF the blessed Son of sod.
But we must not longer linger,
On theme so sadly true,
But must trace a few more shadows,
As they pass before our view.
Martinsburg and dear old Berkeley,
Locked in slumber silent rest,
Like picture framed in mountains,
On the peaceful valleys breast.
And as Mornings crimson pencil,
/ Streaks the eastern sky and hills,
Waking voices rise in murmur,
Like the distant mountain rills;
And the hum still growing louder,
| Bursts at last i'll accents clear,
Everywhere in joyful echoes,
l Greetings to the newborn year.
Blessed, blessed, happy valley!
Home and birth-place-what thought
As return the dear old faces,
OF the friends who now are not.
! Many and many New Years morning.
We have felt the cordial grasp,
OF the hands Of dear old neighbors,
| That we never more shall clasp.
] To them, then, we pay our tribute,
In their long and silent sleep,
| That our mem'ries green forever,
May these good old neighbors keep.
Passing slowly, and shadow
Seems to darken all the town,
| For the angel, death, among us,
Strikes our brightest young men down.
| And our townsmen while they're passing,
See the Grape upon the door,
| And they sadly tell each other,
l "Mart and Harry are no more"
Lighter and the shadows flicker,
| And together seem to mix,
| And the poet finds his measure,
| Hard to regulate and fix.
| prosy facts and local matters,
| Here indeed must have their place,
| Though they lack both shape and beauty,
| And the true poetic grace.
| There old Henry still is standing,
At the INDEPENDENT case,
| IT'S about the time you witness
| Christmas symptoms in his face.
| Next, a lot of soldiers breaches,
| And pile of rusty guns,
| Show the martial glory vanished
| OF old Berlleley's war-like sons.
| Where is now the ZOuaYe so gallant
| And the Camden cannoniers
! Echo answers-dead and busted
Some way do not flourish here.
| Here among our new attractions,
| We shall mention one we think
| That now equals any city's,-
| 'Tis a first-class skating rink.
| Do not fail to 90 and see it,
! Managed well on Martin Street;
| There you'Il see great crowds of people
! And on rollers lots of feet.
| All, here comes crowd OF young men,
| .'ySherHdn I33UjncibleS" they're called;
| Brother Colston, seized with horror,
Stands before them quite appalled,.
| Name so awful, upsets reason,
| Fills his mind with fancies full,
| Acts upon him as in Spain-land,
| Does red rag on bull.
| Brother Colston, do not mind it,
| Pray restrain your frightened quill,
| For this club will stick to sherman,
| With firm and iron will.
! Now dear readers, for moment,
| We will pause in this address,
| just to call attention briefly,
| TO our INDEPENDENT press.
! Our subscribers still increasing,
| Every month ana week lew, ~
| Which is proof of solid progress, }t
! In the work we have to do. ssers
! For this long and faithful service,
4 : For the labor we have had
! Can't you bring new subscriber?
/ Help us to another Ad.?
| One good turn deserves another
| Ii you think our course was right,
| We demand your aid and influence,
| In true financial light.
Ink and paper cost us money,
| Printers also money need,
| And you see our cash all over,
| Every paper that you read.
l We won't make suggestions further,
| Guess you know just what we mean,
| Leave it for yourself to answer,
| If your printers bill is clean.
| Here our New Years tributes ended.
| And as often heretofore,
| Stands onr faithful Carrier, Harry,
| Gently knocking at your door,
| Wants, you know, a New Years present.
| He's an honest orphan lad
| Can't you ope your wallet, reader,
For his faithful work you've had
! Give him fifty cents or quarter,
For his simple rhyming lay,
| And we know you'll feel the better,
/ AS he joyful bounds away.