The Washington herald. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1906-1939, 1914-01-11

Borough. The house Is situated on an
eminence overlooking the valley and pre-
senting a beautiful view of the surround
ing hills
Here Mr. Wilson spent what time he
could grasp from his busy life rambling
about the hills or in his library. which
had taken years to collect. The beau
ties of the country surrounding his home
are depicted in these lines, entitled Sun
set:
September sun. with autumn's glow,
Behind the hills was setting low,
Rejecting on Toea's streams
The saried tinting Of its beams
And looking DER to Bsrneys hill.
Where loudly sang the whip-poor-will.
His last clear song boreal time
Should force him to a warmer cline,
II tipped the tree tops with its light
And kissed item. one and al, good night.
The dusky shadows falling fast
A cleaning through the valley cast,
And when the r1isset glow had ceased
II awed to stiffness man and beast.
Each hill and valley, field and wood
Seemed but q mighty solitude,
So calm and quiet the night had grown
Where Nature called the scene her own.
The Life of q Miner.
The history of the miner. from the era
die to the grave, is told in "The Coal
Miner" by Secretary Wilson, in a force
full way. and shows close personal knowl-
edge of the author with the life.
A slight little fellow. not yet in his teens. =
His arms to his elbows tucked down in his Jeans.
No cares Of the present. no thoughts Of the past.
y" plans for the future. no troubles that last;
No bird 1t sings DER its nest in the tree
Its ode to the morning more happy than he.
His loud ringing whistle clear. piercing and shril
Re-echoes the ioys Of his heart DER the hill.
He is starting in life a miner.
A youthful-lke Parsonage, why and strong. =
Deepchested. broad-shouldered. limbs supples and
long.
The coal seems today to be flying more thick
Than ever before from the point Of his pick.
Fast flows the sweat from each pore in his FACE,
As blow after blow brings the coal from its place.
What pride in his voice as he says. by the way.
want you to know am sixteen today.
And ! want fun Turn a miner"
middle aged man with q calm. pleasant air.
His face and his brow slightly furrpved with care;
Fighting life's battles with stubborn will
Doing his work with mastery skill.
Leading his comrades in honors grown gray,
Taking their laurels triumphant away.
High . workman has risen his fame
Til over all others is spoken his name
He Is just in his prime as miner.
An old gray-haired man who walks with a cane
Every wrong step brings q volley Of Jain.
Walks short distance. then stops for a rest
From difficult breathing. pains all through Lis
Telling with siee and a care for the truth
Great tales Of the digging he did in his youth,
The soft snaps" he had and the hard work he'd
done,
The foes he defeated. the laurels he won
he has worked all his life as q miner
A plain. common coffin. no trimming Of gold,
Its occupant lifeless. rigid and cold;
Gone from this life with its pleasures and pains
Its rises and downfalls losses and gains
Now all his work a miner Is DER,
And the tales he once told he win never tell more
Green DER his grave let sweet immortalles grow,
Nov since he's gone where all mortals go
All mortals as well a . miner.
Verses Written I'm . Night.
When the international headquarters of
the Mine Workers Union were in Indian
apolis Mr.. Wilson, with his daughter.
Miss Agnes Hart Wilson, who was then
his secretary. was strolling in Riverside
Park. Despite the snow that covered the
ground here and there they found and ad-
mired hardy little Johnny Jump-Up."
That night Mr.. Wilson penned DO You
Call This Spring.
Little Johnny Jmp-Up. peering through the ground.
Lcng before the other flowers know that springs
around.
Laughing at rs cutely with your merry yellow face.
While the chilly 'breezes keep ALLOWING round the
And the siis,ening icicies to the earespouts cling
Tel me. Johnny JrmpUp.
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