Page:The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag.djvu/30

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That Old Cider Mill

Say, Bill, d'you 'member that ole cider mill,
Down thar in the holler 't the foot uv the hill?
Some fruit on the trees, an' lots on the groun'.
An' piled up reel high like a great big moun',
Lots mo" n the cows 'n the pigs cud eat;
An' often we'd fire 'em at bobtail Pete.
Gosh, how he'd run an' kick up his heels,
W'en a hull lot'd hit him rite whar it feels!
An' up on the floor uv the good ole mill,
Thar wuz piles an' piles like a great big hill.
So ole Deakin Jones tuk boards an' bilt
Little yards 'at looked like a crazy quilt.
An' when we wuz cumming along frum skool,
We'd git straws an' suck most a hull pail full.
An' golly! 'twas lickin' sweet an' good,
When we dipped it outer that tub uv wood.
An' wen the deakin wuz goin' upstairs,
An' didn't know we wuz around anywheres,
We'd plug ole Pete, an' he'd jump an' nod,
An' we'd see that yeller stuff squirt a rod.
The deakin 'ud holler an' stomp on the floor:
"Clar out, 'r I'll cum down an' give yer some more!"
An' wen the old deakin 'ud start ter cum,
We'd fill up our nails, an' scoot fer hum.

1921

The Old Church Bells

As I listen again to the Old Church Bells,
There comes a vision their music tells,
Of the scenes long gone in the old, old times,
As the peals ring loud from the Old Church chimes.

Peal out your vibrant tones as of yore,
While eager feet near the Old Church door,
And reverent souls with dim, bowed head,
Hark to the Word from the pulpit read.

How those bells rang out in the long ago,
When cup and chalice passed to and fro,
And prayers were breathed in an ancient pew,
Whilst fervent in mood the Pastor grew.

On Sabbath morn to the rural sons,
Those peals rang out with their solemn tones;
O'er verdant hills and through shady dells
Pure joy welled up from those Old Church Bells.

Ofttimes beside the flowered bier,
The veil hides many a scalding tear,
While in rhythmic step the Pastor led,
Where 'ashes and dust to dust," was said!

The falling clods of earth in the tomb,
Awake in sorrowing hearts a gloom!
In solemn tread we turn away,
As the shadows fall at close of day.

O joyous Life and closing Death!
'Twas thus decreed ere our souls had breath;
The autumnal, circling, frosted leaf;
The drooping flower—the closing grief!

1921


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