The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1896-01-04
MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME.

Inc corn Tops rlpe anu the meadow III the doom,
While the birds make music all day;
The young folks roll ON the little cabin floor,
"A: Al merry, AZ happy, al bright
Then my old Kentucky home, good night!
Wen sing one song for our old Kentucky home,
For our old Kentucky home far away.
They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon,
On the meadow, the hill and the shore;
They sing no more by the glimmer Of the moon,
The day goes by, like the shadow DER the heart.
With sorrow where all was delight;
The time has come when the darkeys have to part,
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night
The head must bow, and the back win have to bend,
Wherever the darkey may go;
In the field where the sugarcane grow;
few more days to tote the weary load.
No matter, it will never be light;
few more days to totter on the road,
Then, my own Kentucky home, good night.
This poem-The Burial of Moses-is
said to be one Of the grandest short poems
ever written. In the sublimity of the
thought, the majestic sweep Of the diction
and the even, stately flow of the numbers,
it is rare gem of poesy. Like the assem-
bling winds which kiss the brow Of NebO
is the gathering description in the first
stanza; like their noiseless tread from
bowlder to bowlder is the portrayal of that
hushed procession solemn sweep to the
knownless grave; as the swaying branches
cease their motions in a lull of the breeze,
so do bird and beast, at the poets COM
mand. stand mutely by till the heavenly
train has passed; and not more softly do
the dews Of evening fall on the mountain
side than do these noble verses close
BY Nebos lonely mountain,
1 On this side Jordans wave,
| In vale in the land OF Moab,
There lies lonely grave;
| And no man dug the sepulehre.
And no man saw 1t eeri
| For the hand of God upturned the sod
And laid the dead man there.
| That was the grandest funeral
That ever passed on earth;
| But no man heard the tramping.
Or saw the train go forth,
| Noiselcssy as the daylight
Comes when the night is done,
| And the crimson streak on oceans cheek
| Grows into the great sum-
| Noiselcssly us the spring time
Her crown Of verdure weaves,
| And all the trees on all the hills
Open their thousand leaves
So without sound of music
Or voice of them who wept,
| silently down from the mountain'scrow
The great procession swept
Perchance the bald old eagle
On gmy Beth-peors height.
Out from his rocky eyrie
| Looked on the wondrons sight;
PeIehance the lion, stalking,
| Still shuns that hallowed spot;
For beast and bird seen and heard
That which man knoweth not
But when the warrior dieth. .t
| His comrads In the war,
| With arms reversed and mufted drum,
Follow the funeal-car;
| They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,
| And after him lead his masterless steed,
| While peals the minute gun.
Amid the noblest of the land
| Men lay the sage to rest
And give the bard an horned place,
With costly marble drest,
| In the great minister-tansept,
Where lights like glory fall
And the choir sings and the organ rings.
Along the emblaZoned wall.
This was the bravest warrior
That ever buckled sword;
| This the most gifted poet
That ever breathed a word;
| And never carth's philosopher
Traced with his golden pen,
ON the deathless page, truth half so sage
As he wrote down fqr men,
| And had he not high honor?
The hillside for his pail
To lie in state while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall,
| And the dark rock:pnes like tossing plumes
! over his bier to wave
| And Gods own hand, in that lonely land,
To lay MIN in the grave
In that deep grave without name.
| Whence his uncofiined clay
Shall break again most wondrous thought
Before the Judgment day,
| And stand with glory wrapped around
/ On the hills he never trOd,
And speak of the strife that won our life
With the Incarnate Son OF God.
! o lonely tomb in Moab's land?
| dark Beth-peor hill
| Speak to these curious hearts of ours.
And teach them to be STILL
| God hath his mysteries ofgnee-
Ways that we cannot tell;
| He hides them deep, like the secret sleep
| OF him he loved so well.
Park Benjamin, lawyer by profession
but magazine editor by practic, has left
no collected edition of his writings, which
embraced both prose and poetry, He is
doubtless best known by this poem, which
set to music has been favorite with bari
tone singers for many years.
THE SEXTON,
Nigh to grave that was new ly made
Leaned sexton old on his earth-worn SPADE
His work was done and he paused to wait
The funeraltrain at the open gate.
A relic of by-gone days was he,
And his locks were white as the ioamy sea-
And these words came from his lips so thin
| 81 gather them in-I gather them in
Gather-gather-I gather them in.
| 81 gather them in; for man and boy,
Year after year of grief and joy,
| I've builded the houses that lie around
| In every nook of this battle-ground
Mother and daughter, father and son,
Come to my solitude one by one
| But come they stranger or come they kin,
| gather them in-I gather them in
MANY are with me. yet I'm alone;
ON a monument slab Of marble cold
| NY sceptre OF rule is the spade hold.
| Come they from cottage, or come they from hall,
| Mankind are my subjects, all, all, all
May they loter pleasure, in or toilfully spin,
| gather them in-I gather them in
| al gather them in, and their final rest
Is here. down here in the earth's dark breast"
| And the sexton ceased as the tuneraltrain
Wound mutely over that solemn plain,
| And / said to myself: When time is told
Will be heard DER the last trump's deadful din.
| 81 gather them in-I gather them in
4 OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES them II"
All the roses | have gathered are deep
ly tinted-after all are not the full-blown,
red roses handsomer and more suggestive
than the pink or tea-colored blossoms?-
and this one, open to its fullness has, per-
chance, already dropped few scented
leaves to the ground in pure sadness. 1t
is Charles Kingsley's best known ballad.
THE THREE FISHERS.
| Three fishers went sailing out into the West,
! Ont into the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him the
! best,
And the children stood Watching them out of the
| town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
| And there's little TO earn, and many to keep,
| Though the harbor bar be moaning.
Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went
! down,
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the
! shower,
And the night rack came rolling up ragged and
| brown
Bnt men must work. and women must weep,
| Though storms be sudden, and waters deep
| And the harbor bar be moaning.
Three eorpses lay out on the shining sands
In the morning CLEAN as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their
hands
For those who will never come back to the town.
| For men must work. and women must weep,
/ The sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep
And goodby to the bar and its moaning
There are the roses, dear reader, a