The Republican journal., 1898-03-10
"The Creating of the Book"
Poem by Ellen Hamlin Butler at Hubba

Poem by Ellen Hamlin Butler at Hubbard
Free Library Dedication, Hallowen.
All, fortunate children of these last days,
Who come with eager and fearless gaze
To this shrine of the books are ye never
stirred
To bow in their presence? Have We not
heard
Their stery,-how they begun to be
With the days of the worlds first mystery
Oh for an angel-bard to sing
This epic of Gods own purposing!
For l have only their speech who rhyme
tireside tale for the twilight time
And yet have come to sing once again
How God gave books to the sons of men !:
The strangest song that ever was sung.
Then listen:
While yet the~world was young,
Before the days of evil and good,
While man with the brutes kept brother
hood -
To the Wild fierce jewellers in caves and
dens,
To the beast-men providing in forest fens,
With nothing to hold and nothing to give,
To these the Great Spirit came crying,
"Llve!'
SO they gathered themselves in tribes and
bands
And journeyed into the Pleasant Lands.
And built them cities, and made them
speech.
And learned to forbear and toll and teach;
And when, in the hour Of human need
They learned the JOY of noble deed,
Ay, even when bought with suffering
Again came the Spirit TO whisper, "Sng!"
Then through the war cries of battling
hordes.
Above the clash of their crimson swords,
Rose the chant of Singers 50 steadfast. clear,
The world hushed its barter and war to
flushed and hearkened, until in the breasts
of men
The Soul awoke, never to sleep again
Never again to lie bound aud dumb
And 10, the day and the hour were come!
For unto the Soul in the first delight
OF its being, The Spirit came calling,
"Write!"
Then in the hearts of hero kings
Arose strange, bitter murmurlngs =
NV hen the singer dies, shall we i've no more,
But pass with the voice and the flesh he
wore2
Shall the earth that trembled to know our
tread,
Hide us forever when We are dead?
Shall our wrath and terror be turned to
shame?
No; the stones of the mountains shall keep
our name!''
So they commanded, and it was done;
Bondsman and priest and cunning one,
18th carven figure and craven line,
With hieroglyphic and arrow-sgn,
Pictured on throne and cotfin-lid,
On gateway temple and pyramid,
The deeds of the deathless kings,-nor knew
That God from His prophet-treasur es drew
Mans far-otf, beautiful heritage,
And smote from the rock, the first great
page.
Oh, that one might name the hour, the morn,
When the Spirit knew that the book was
born
But no man knoweth. The sages tell
story stranger than miracle:
From azure harbors with white sails set
Came proud ships bringing the alphabet.
On ivory table and leathern scroll
The world lay bare it's innermost soul
All that Hebrew and Greek once saw
And mingled in vision and matchless law,
All that Roman and Teuton wrought,
All that Moor and Arabian sought,
All that Gods chosen ones dreamed or
learned
Was gathered and written,-and cursed and
spurned,
For bestial with lust, and drunken with
crime,
The nations went down to the shameless
time.
Oh Truth, too pure for mems evil eyes,
Oh Science, hunted in wizards guise,
Oh Art, Oh Song, how we fled away
When those Dark Ages put out the day!
What wonder the Spirit in wrath looked
forth
And summoned the whirlwind out of the
North?
With Hun and Vandal and Goth, it came
Baptizing the earth in blood and flame.
But the Spirit knoweth and keepeth His
own
Meath many city overthrown,
In hermit's hut, and in outlaws tower,
The books lay, safe from the Norseman's
power,
And hillside mOnasteries hid
Their precious volumes twiX lid and lid.
With only the murmur of prayer and bell,
The monk sat deep in his shadowy cell,
And wrought and wrought till his eyes grew
dim,
While never an echo came to him
From the valleys below, where, with siege
and rout,
The kingdoms and empires were blotted out
On vellum and parchment his skilled hands
told
In wreathed scarlet and blue and gold,
| Letter by letter, line by line,
| Legend and fable and word divine.
All, the world lay mute at a savage will,
| But the voice of the book was never still!
And the years went by, Oh those bitter
years,
| When kings lay moaning in dust and tears,
And the very saints, for their woeful cries,
Scarce heard the Spirit crying, "Arise!"
| But one who toiled for the sons of men
| Set the printers press by the scholars pen,
And seekers, Knocked by the schoolmen's lie,
Found natures answer in earth and sky,
| And forth to the world in dire need
Came the Christ-Book bearing this message,
| ''Read'
And the world is reading until the hour
When the Spirit again shall speak with pow
| er;
| Ay, the world is reading!
Consider ye
What hath God willed that the books may