Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1888-01-07

Then came fields of golden grain;
Followed soon the brown eyed Autumn,
With his easel and his brush,
Staining Vineyards red and purple,
Staining orchards with a blush.
Thus the seasons were propItlous,
Sometimes tickle, it is true,
Yet as vassals did their duty,
Brought the Old Years harvest thro'.
Fair Columbia, queen OF nations,
What sight we here behold!
With her growing, teemlng millions
And her wealth of solld gold.
Grand and lofty towers the temple,
'Mong the monarchies of earth,
Where each citizen is sovereign,
Disregarding wealth and birth;
But gloomy shadow rises,
And we turn our eyes to see,
Which shall triumph, Law and Order
Or the demon, Anarchy?
All, its law in all her GRANDEUR
In her majesty sublime,
Swinging high the sword of justice,
Ger Haymarket's bloody crime.
Nav the lesson at Chicago,
Teach the communistlc clan,
That true freedom gives no license,
Here to murder fellow man.
Now we hear an angry murmer,
Rise from every hill and glen,
IT'S about our Growers order,
To return those fiagS again;
Rather guess he somewhat missed II,
Rather late it seems to be,
For the nations recognition,
OF the late Confederacy.
Wise the order In reyoking,
Wise the flags were never sent,
For that movement 'mong the people
Had created discomfort.
Cleveland is the incarnation,
OF his marty: and its fate,
Hangs upon his words and actions,
And his policy of State.
Heretofore, on tariff doubtful,
Now his message makes 1t plain,
That he leaves the ranks of Randall,
And with Watterson will train.
That presents the issue squarely,
The republicans delight,
And the leaders Blaine or Sherman,
Glad would meet him in the fight.
Close the work shops, close the mines
up.
Close the factories ev'ry where:
Buy of England, buy of Europe,
What our people use and wear.
Such the issue now is rendered,
To our little mountain state,
West Virginians will you meet it.
In the fall of eighty -eightf
All, another vision passes,
And our legislature meet
And in angry battle wrangIe,
Ger the Senatorial seat
Long and stubborn was the conflict,
High the tide of battle ran,
Camdenites and 'kickers" madly,
Fought each other, man to man,
Till at last came dashing bravely,
From the legislative smoke,
Two fierce knights who in the battle,
Old Knight Camuen's lanees broke.
Knight of Charlestown, Knight of
Boydville,
How the people all huzzahed,
AS each poised his lance for battle,
And his charger neighed and paved,
Brief the tournament and contest,
In the fight came lanceS down,
While the Faulkner bore the palm off,
And received the victor's crown.
Politics is still in order,
And upon the slate we see,
Here and there name dim written,
Who a candidate would be.
Berkeley county wants an office,
IT'S the auditor Of state;
And to both the parties oilers,
Now tirst-class candidate.
'Mong the democrats we mention,
Gettinger so strong and true,
While republicans are shouting,
s.Bowers always pulls us through"
y =
With Flick upon the field?
Wilson, Martin, Raymond, all must,
Next time to the giant yield.
But from politics returning,
Come we to our city queen,
By the murmuring Tuscarora,
In our mem'ry ever green,
Martinsburg and good old Berkely,
How like magic is the flow
OF our recollection backward,
To the dear old long ago.
What change and transformation,
Once a simple rustic town,
With old fashioned men and manners,
Women dressed in plainest gown.
Now we are full grown city,
Sporting all of Fashions airs
Then we smut our eyes and shouted
Now we write and read our prayers
Sermons then were much more simple,
And the preacher plain would tell,
All his hearers, poor and rIch ones,
Bout devil and hell;
Now, he smoothly rounds his periods,
Makes the rough words all ideal,
Scarcely ever as the old school,
Gives dose of literal Sheol.
And the singing was SO rustic
Then we used the buckwheat notes
And the leader forked the tune up,
AS we opened wide our throats,
And it mattered very little,
If we could not all agree,
AS we sometimes one tune started,
And closed up, a singing three.
Now the choir sits in the corner
Round a kind of bureau box,
Where a man with back towards us,
Brings out music by kicks and knocks
And the church too, then was plain as
could be,
Nor cushion nor steeple was there,
And brother was known by his callous
knee,
Made so by his kneeling in prayer.
But the churches now have steeples sc
high
That each has lightning rod,
Some say a telegraph up to the sky,
Their only connection with God.
Religion is not SO high colored,
Indeed, i'm places is thin,-
And measured by the old fashioned
standard,
Is considerably mixed up with sin.