Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1891-11-12
ON LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN.

IT'S fit on this historic height
Where once the bullets sobbed their songs
The pen in all its distorted might,
Should note the laying by of wrongs;
For time,-with healing balm,
Draws heart to heart-makes dear to all
The magic splendor of her thrall,
The mercy of her calm.
To-day-there is no north or south,
There is no east no west,-no seas;
The daily press with trumpet mouth
Ger comes such simple things as these;
One God gives heed on high;
The charity of justice grows
That levels kings and beggars woes
And hears the fedglings cry.
But in the past, in grim war days,
How well the press upheld its part
Meeting the fainting patriot praise,
Raising the terror stricken heart
Sinking like yours and mine,)-
Wiping away the Mothers tear,
Sending the nobler word of cheer,
Thrilling, along the line.
But there are battles come again
AS fierce as fought in foreign field
The sword is banished for the pen,
The warriors conscience is his shield
True to the mass he tolls;
His fortress is his sanctum's wall
His pass word, Enter free to all.
There are few battle spoils.
How great a victory has been won
When e'er a man has laid aside
His work when only just begun
And crude, we call it having died.
And yet is not forgot
When eloquent his sanctum stands
AS for the touch of loyal hands;
I know and love that spot.
There is a some thing in the place
That wipes away each death and BIRTH
That brings old comrades face to face
And makes our bit of Mother earth
Just as it use to be
In youthful springtime's promised land
Before time laid her heavy hand
Hard upon you and me.
Who ever yields gentle pen
And holds it high,-an honored trust
Though voiceless-yet shall live again
In words that burn from out the dust.
Oh loyal heart of gold!
The book of life may shut its lid,
But memories rise to lips unbid,
Ere yet your tale is told.
There lived a scribe in days of old,
So runs legends ancient rhyme
Who knew the pangs of want and cold,
Yet in whose heart the summer time
Made sunshine all the year;
The weary dropped their cares and said
1t would not be that Pan was dead,
So true the burdens cheer.
This scribe of old writ wond 'rous lays,
Taking homely thing in prose
He wove it into subtle ways
That made it blossom as the rose,
Plain to all men.
He had the gift of STOPPING low;
He found the whitest souls might glow
From out some loathsome den.
His rhymes reached out and bore their seed
Until at length they brought him name;
The poor folk lost their friend in need
Who missed their by ways following fame.
Destined to please the great,
He brought his inmost thoughts 20 light,
Yet none snothed cries from out the night,
Or Gained bitter hate.
And through the burdens lofty strain
Some tone he missed that once he sang;
No thrilling out of glad refrain,
No vibrant carol clear up rang,
Making a holiday;
The rich forswore his hollow song
And cast him from their tickle throng.
And babe him go his way.
And praising fate,-his simple past
He lived again, his lesson learned:
He knew the laural crowns that last,
The many, not the few, have earned;
In very truth he knew
That famous songs,-how e'er well known;
No quicker rise to Gods white throne;
Above,-there are no few.
And so to those whose honest creeds
Unclaimed, are cast from out their touch
THE MANY,-those of hidden deeds
Who love and labor over much
What shall be said of t6em?-
Can it not be meath fairer skies
Each lons forgotten word shall rise
A royal diadem?
ENVOY.
Perhaps within the coming age
Some scribe may say,-to see this page,
" Twas writ and printed long ago;
The old time printers ways were Slow
l,o,- sott I,oir t1--.sa hi