The St. Louis Republic. [volume] (St. Louis, Mo.) 1888-1919, 1901-03-10
GEORGE p. NORRIS AND T..

workers formed that early set of men who's
work was first call.d distinctly american
Compared with many present-day writers
their literary efforts were med oc.e. bu
they have the merit of having appealed l
their readers sentiments. and they are SUI
remembered. Morris's best known poem
perhaps. is called 'Woodman. Spare Tina
Tree
Woodman. spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth II sheltered ire.
And I'll protect II now.
Twas my forefather's hand
That placed 10 near his cot:
There. wo0dman. let 1t stand:
Thy ak shall! harm 1t not
That old familiar tree.
whose glory and renown
Are spread DER land and sea
And wouIdst thou hew II DOWN.
Woodman. forbear thy stroke!
Cut not It's earth-bound ties:
Oh. spare that aged oak
Now towering to the skiesl
When but an idle boy
sought its grateful shade:
In all their gushing Joy
Here. too. my sisters played:
Ny mother kissed mo here;
My father pressed my hand
Forgive this foolish tear.
| But let that old oak stand.
J My heartstring, round thee cling.
Close as thy bark. old friend!
Here shall the wild bird sing.
And still thy branches bend
Old t-eei the storm still brave,
And. woodnan. leave the spot;
While I've a hand TO save.
Thy ak shall harm 1t not.
Morris was born in Philadelphia In 1901.
In early life he went to New York. where
he formed an association with Samuel
WooGworth. with whom he began the pub
LEGATION of one of the earliest Of American
literary journals, the Mirror. In 1879. Wood
worth was the author of THE Old Oaken
Bucket" Morris was the editor of this
journal until 1872. In fact, his newspaper
enterprises covered a period of thirty years.
Among the Mirrors contributors were
Bryant. HaIleck. Paulding. Leggett and
Hoffman. while Theodore s.. Fay, n. p.
Willis. William Cox and Epes Sargent
were more especially identified with its
pages. Another ~well-known poem by Nor
ris is MY Mothers Bible"
This book is all that's left me now!
Tears will unbidden start.
With faltering lip and throbbing brow
/ press il to my heart
For many generations past.
Here Is our family tree:
My mothers hands this Bible clasped.
She. dying. gave it me.
All. we'll do I emember those
Whose names these records bear:
Who round the hcarthstone used to close
After the evening prayer.
And speak OF what these pages said.
In tunes my heart would thrill,
Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still.
My father read this holy book
To brothers, sisters dear;
How calm was my poor mothers look
Who leaned Gods word TO hear.
Her angel FACET see 1t yet.
What vivid memories come,
Again that little group Is met
Within the halls OF home,
Thou trues; friend man ever knew.
Thy constancy I've tried:
Where ali were false 1 found thee true.
NJ counselor and guide.
The mines OF earth no treasures give
That could this volume buy;
In teaching NE the way to live,
II taught me how 10 die.
George T. Morris died in New York July
6. 1861. His last years were passed in retire
ment. caused by i'll health.
Here is a pretty little poem Of his called
JEANNE Marsh:
JEANNE Marsh OF Cherry Valley,
a, whose call the muses. rally:
OF all the nine none SO divine
AS Jeanrie Marsh OF Gerry Valley.
She minds me OF her native scenes.
Where She was bonn among the cherries.
OF peaches. p.u!ns and nec;arines.
Pears. apricots and ripe strawberries.
Jeannle Marsh Of Cherry Valley.
In whose name the muses. rally.
or all the nine none So divine
AS JEANNE Marsh of Cherry Valley.
A sylvan nymph Of queeniy grace.
a goddess she In form and feature;
The sweet expression OF the place.
a dimp.e IN the smile of nature.
Here is Morris's Near the Lake:
Near the lake where dropped the willow.
Long time ago!
Where the rock threw back the bil.ow,
Brighter than The snow.
Dwelt q maid beloved and cherished
By high and low;
But with autuan's leaf she persisted.
Long time ago!
Rock and tree and flowing water,
Long time ago.
Bee and bird and blossom taught her
Loves spell to know.
While TO my fond words she listened,
Murrnuricg low.
Terderly her dove-eyes g~lissened.
Long time ago!
Mingled were our hearts forever,
Long time ego!
Can l now forget her? Never!
No-lost one-no.
To her grave these tears are given.
Ever to flow;