The Kennewick courier-reporter. [volume] (Kennewick, Wash.) 1939-1949, 1947-02-27

Twice, outside our hall, they for
got the drill.
Like lost sheep of old, they were
frightened and lost,
And couldn't remember inStruc-
tons Of the boss.
Have named them all? All those
who were there?
I've tried to name all, and each
brings a spear
In my memory of the days long
ago
When we were much younger and
not quite so slow.
Just now, in our dotage, we look
way back.
To the days of our young life. the
two seated hack,
The cars, weren't they something,
that came into style.
And we're happy to tell you, in
way not mild,
Those were wonderful days, as
days were then,
And we'll never be happier, If
we live to 10. II 81 -
Now, thirty years is a mighty long
time. -
It was 80 good years of Horse
Heavens prime,
Barring the depression, the recess
sion, the heat,
The winds of the spring and the
freezing of wheat,
Tho cac,,a1<;oS - .11.>.. A.
tokens of death,
The shocking accidents that most
took our breaths.
Barring the coyotes that howl in
the night.
Barring the rattlesnakes that
viciously bite. e..
Barring the rabbits and squirrels
and mice,
And, above all, something that
never Is nice,
The worst of the hills, that we
couldn't trust.
That everlasting, eternal Horse
Heaven dust.
I've seen it so thick no man dare
emerge II
From his working equipment,
altho with an urge
OF pity and concern for his fam.
lily at the house
He Shielden himself from the wind
and the dust,
I've seen 1t so thin, I've cleaned
house with care.
I've busted each table, each
mantle and chair,
I've worked like a slave with
polish and cloth,
No one can call me an indolent
sloth!
Only to find, at the close Of day
Dust has caught up with me.
every step of the way.
But tomorrow comes on. Tomor.
row III try
To see each tomorrow with no
dust In my eye.
But tomorrow comes on. Tomor-
row I'll try
To see each tomorrow with no
dust in my eye,
But see it with pleasure, with feel
ing content
To know that to work In Gods
plan we were meant,
It's the song Of the winds and the
voice Of the birds
That gives me the courage to
write these words.
Let's talk of the smell of the
sage and the wheat,
After Gods showers and sun
shine heat.
Let's talk of the spring and It's
greenness and, then,
OF the labor Of love in the fields
and glens.
It's the beauty of spring and the
harvest in fall
That makes us forget to count
work at all.
It's the peace Of the hills, and
the quietness there
That endures to our hearts all the
troubles and cares
That all Of US have, as we journey
along
Thru LIES highway, In search Of
the song
That teaches us gladness and quiet
content.
All the Years in this community,
we've happily spent.
The Grange had q great part In
our families life,
It's composed of all principles Of
happiness and strife,
Worked out, day by day, and by
offers true,
Who've worked very hard for
every one Of you.
For thirty long years its been
beacons of light
Held out on Friday at 8 at night,
For all Locust Growers and those
who were here,
It's been a great blessing, Of that
I am sure.
For meetings, for parties, for
dances, for fun,
For 80 years, its served all OF you,
every one,
AS onward we 60, as the years
roll by
Let's all give hand, hold Locust
Grove high,
That all these young people, these
boys and these girls,
- = -