The independent-reporter. [volume] (Skowhegan, Me.) 1909-1955, 1920-07-08
HtRTLAND CENTENNIAL


lie life. ard closed amid the thunder
Gus applause of all present.
The evening program was very sue
ce-gful aad many surged to the plat
form 10 offer their congratulations
for the inc manner in which every
thing WIS presented
This modest centennial celebration
was unique in way for undoubtedly
il was the first OF its kind ever pre-
sented. being both original and in
structiye without the usual large fin
ancial burden 1t is hoped that many
more towns will follow in the path
bazed BY the citizens of Hartland.
The centennial poem by Mrs. Emily
Page Webb OF Pasadena, Cal. former
" of Hartland and later of Skowhe-
gan was listened to with warm in
terest and published herewith:
THE CENTENNIAL OF MAINE AND
OF HARTLAND
fBy Emily Page Webb
We have met together to celebrate
And honor the age of Our native State,
And honor the century passed and
gone
or the dear old town where l was
born.
Her sons. and daughters will come
from afar,
To meet with US here, wherever they
are.
From over the land. aud over the sea,
Their hearts viii be here wherever
they be
As our memory wakes. and goes wan
dering back
Thru a hundred years, down the van
ishing track
How strange seem the customs OF
those old days.
How rude were their homes, how
simple their ways,
They brought in by trails thru the
painless woods,
Their primitive stock, and their house
hold goods,
And they worked long days, and half
of the night,
By the sputtering dip of candle light
A man on horseback brought in the
mail,
In saddle-bags old, by winding trail;
And often long weeks would intervene
Like a lonely stretch of time between.
Those days have passed. and have Civ
en- room
For the marts of trade, for the buzz
ing loom,
And the business shops, and the wool
en- mills.
Give life to the town amid the hills.
Though | have been gone nearly fifty
years,
l wonder oft how the town appears,
II the olden charm Is still in the air
As it used to be when | was there?
Is the sunset bright as in days of old
On Virgins Hill" where the bars of
gold
And purple, and rose. to my childish
eyes,
We're the gates that led into Paradise
Does old Huff Hill" still guard the
town,
Like a mighty soldier, silent and
brown,
Who sat in his saddle to watch the foe,
On guard hundred long years ago?
As I look to the east and over the
bridge,
Do l see the rise Of the old webb
Ridge"
That bears in its old familiar arms,
So many bright homes, and flourish
ings farms?
I see the home church as 1t stands In
the square.
That is hallowed. by time, and sacred
by prayer.
And the years roll away, till 1t seems
short while,
Since mother and l walked down its
dim aisle.
The Sebasticook riveri How often it
seems
To bring back my youth, and sing in
my dreams.
And as | pass down thru the circlng
years,
It's music grows sweeter, and com
forts, and cheers.
In congress, we all have been proud
of our men,
OF Hamlin, of Reed. and of Fessenden,
And hundreds of others can vie with
the best,
And have risen to fame in the east,
and the west.
Our symbolic motto proclaims to the
world
We lead" wherever our flag is un-
furled,
And over the land, and over the sea.
We stand by the flag, and the old
Pine Tree"