The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1891-01-18
"a Rolling Stone Gathers No Mos,

hate moss and with all my soul
hate the stone that will not roll;
But in its bed of slothful ease
1t gathers there by slow degrees
This useless garb of idle years.
No thoughts, no strifes. no hopes, no fears,
Unfold a life of crisp conceits,
That yield luster. and completes
A round Of beneficial deeds,
Responsive to ambitious needs.
As the unwinding wheel of time
Pays out the centuries sublime,
And each successive one reveals
The grander lesson IL conceaIs,
So onward goes mighty world.
The god of nature has unfurled
The banner of progressive thought.
The subtle laws that he has wrought
Evolving to the human mind
In currents measured and combined
With comprehensive methods rare,
The race that lives to-day declare
Achievements to the past unknown,
But still this messy, carpinR stone
Ignores the grandeur of the scene
Contrasting with its needless mien,
And chants the aphoristic wall
By countless ages rendered stale,
Which pleads for favor and for fame
Upon that weak and foolish claim
OF having clogged its years with drosS
By ever boarding worthless moss.
sing Lne stone mat QareS TO roll,
That superstition can't control,
That braves traditions naughty creed,
And journeys on with rapid speed,
UpSetting al dogmatic wbimS,
Whose stolid shadow ever dimS
The mental vision of the age
With that peculiar quoting rage
Adopted by the weary host
That ever fiaunt so1Ie linGual ghost
Into the light of PRISE ut needs,
10 RarniSh thus their feeble deeds.
The rolling stone encounters then,
Every shade and class OF men;
Observes tie spirit Of their lives,
And ever watchful, it contrives
To CLEAN the substance, and regale
Its bright career with such detail
OF enterprising thoughts, that lead
To broader aims, and supersede
Inc wlthered yearninSS OF the stone
That only pleads to be alone.
To catalogue the human race,
And designate by trait and place,
The current attributes of life
Outfiowed by aggressive strife,
Commands attention to the grade
Attained by human natures trade,
When moiding on that narrow plan
The form and semblance of man,
Whose meager soul is ever prone
To typify the idle stone.
The highway of his true domain,
Where walk the pigmies of his brain.
Lead not among the fragrant fields
OF cultured minds and grand ideals.
But circles in q smaller sphere
The confines of his whole career.
Enclosed within this petty realm,
He vAinlY thinks he holds the helm
That lets the course of mighty deeds
And guides the Judgment that succeeds.
His shriveled nature is replete
Vita ! the forms of mean conceit,
And when his little mind is sought
To harmonic with broader thought.
He shrinkS away from easy view,
Abhorring all things that are pew,A
Unless they bear the stamp and creed
Of a sluggish heart and selfish greed.
No softening showers of heavenly grace
Can melt the hardness from his face;
The nectar that the gods do quaff
Could ne'er subdue his vulgar laugh;
No magic minds could e'er impart
single impulse to hfs heart;
No joyous scenes, with gladness fraught
Can kindle there warmer thought;
No soothing words, however choice,
Can take the harshuess from his voices
His little life's enacting roll
Echoes the dryness of his soul;
But when the suns outpouring light
Redeems day from gloomy night,
And brings to view the silent force
Depressing manhood's only source,
'Tis then we know the conscious loss
Of being clogged with skeptic moss.
Z. f. HoYT, N.
Neto York. May 5, 1886