Part 8 (1/2)

How are you, George, my rhyming brother?

We should be kinder to each other, For we are kindred souls at least; I don't mean kindred, like the beast,-- Mere blood and bones and flesh and matter,-- But what this last is makes no matter.

Philosophers have tried to teach it, But all their learning cannot reach it; 'Tis matter still, ”that's what's the matter”

With all their philosophic chatter, And Latin, Greek, and Hebrew clatter, Crucibles, retorts, and receivers, Wedges, inclined planes, and levers, Screws, blow pipes, electricity and light, And fifty other notions, quite Too much to either read or write.

Just ask the wisest, What is matter?

And notice how he will bespatter The subject, in his vain endeavor, With deep philosophy so clever, To prove you what you knew before, That matter's matter, and no more.

Well, this much then, we know at least, That matter's substance, and the beast And bird and fish and creeping thing That moves on foot, with fin or wing, Is matter, just like you and me.

Are they our kindred? Must it be That all the fools in all creation, And knaves and thieves of every station In life, can call me their relation?

But that's not all--the horse I ride, The ox I yoke, the dog I chide, The flesh and fish and fowl we feed on Are kindred, too; is that agreed on?

Then kindred blood I quite disown, Though it descended from a throne, For it connects us down, also, With everything that's mean and low-- Insects and reptiles, foul and clean, And men a thousand times more mean.

Let's hear no more of n.o.ble blood, For n.o.ble brains, or actions good, Are only marks of true n.o.bility.

The kindred which I claim with you, Connects us with the just and true, And great in purpose, heart and soul, And makes us parts of that great whole Whose bonds of all embracing love A golden chain will ever prove To bind us to the good above.

Then strive to elevate mankind By operating on the mind; The empire of good will extend, A helping hand in trouble lend, Go to thy brother in distress, One kindly word may make it less, A single word, when fitly spoken, May heal a heart with sorrow broken, A smile may overcome your foe, And make his heart with friends.h.i.+p glow, A frown might turn his heart to steel.

And all its tendencies congeal, Be it our constant aim to cure The woes our fellow men endure, Teach them to act toward each other As they would act toward a brother.

Thus may our circle wider grow, The golden chain still brighter glow; And may our kindred souls, in love United live, here and above, With all the good and wise and pure, While endless ages shall endure.

ANNIVERSARY HYMN.

Written for the anniversary of the Jackson Sabbath School, Aug.

23rd, 1870.

The ever rolling flood of years, Is bearing us, our hopes and fears, With all we are or crave, Into that fathomless abyss-- A world of endless woe or bliss, Beyond the darksome grave.

One year of priceless time has pa.s.sed, Since we in Sabbath school were cla.s.s'd, To read and sing and pray; To hear the counsels of the good; Have we improved them as we should?

How stands the case to-day?

How have we used this fleeting year?

Have we grown wiser? O, I fear, And tremble to reflect, How sadly it has gone to loss, How I have shunn'd my daily cross, Some idol to erect.

To gain some trifling, selfish end, It may be I have wronged a friend, And turned his love to hate; How many idle words I've said; How many broken vows I've made; How shunn'd the narrow gate!

O Lord! forgive our wanderings wide, Our oft departures from thy side, And keep us in thy fold; Be thou our Shepherd and our all; Protect these lambs, lest any fall, And perish in the cold.

On this our Anniversary, Help us to put our trust in Thee, And lean upon Thy arm; Direct us through the coming year; Protect us, for the wolf is near, And s.h.i.+eld us from all harm.

Our Superintendent superintend; On him Thy special blessings send, And guide him in the way; Enrich our Treasurer with Thy grace, So that he may adorn the place, He fills so well to-day.

Write on our Secretary's heart Thy perfect law; and O, impart, To our Librarian dear, The volume of thy perfect love Which cometh only from above, And casteth out all fear.

In pastures green, O lead us still!