The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag/To Wilson M. Tylor

by Jonathan E. Hoag

Songs of Friendship

 

To Wilson M. Tylor

Read at the Closing Meeting of the Alpha Class of Marshall Seminary

 

Listen, O my friends and neighbors,
To the story I shall tell you,
To the story, to the legend,
Of this school and of its teachers.

Years ago when we were younger,
Men and women came together,
Came together to consult there
How to lead us, how to teach us,
Teach us in the ways of Wisdom,
For 'tis better than gold treasures.

Gold allures, but never knowledge;
Get you knowledge, keep it, hold it,
Wear it as a necklace on you,
For with use it gleams and brightens.

Teachers came and teachers left us,
Came from city, came from country,
Came to lead us, came to guide us,
Came with clear and good intention,
Hands and hearts as willing workers,
And this vineyard, rocky, barren,
Blossoms as the summer roses.

In the bright days of September,
When the air was warm and fragrant,
When the forests change their plumage
To the colors of the rainbow,
Colors vying with the artist's,
Artist human cannot equal
All the beauty there depicted.

In these days of Autumn splendor,
Came one from a sunny climate.
From the swallow and the red-wing,
Land of sunshine, land of blossoms,
Not like prairie flowers scentless,
But perfumed like holy incense.

Since he came we learned to love him,
Love him for his manly virtues,
For his kindness to us reaches
In our schooldays, in our labors,
Toiling on the road to knowledge,
Weary-worn and heavy-laden.

But ere long, his spirit lonely,
Winged its way to southern breezes,
Where the waters are and sea-fowl,
Waters dim with sail and sea-gull,
Waters touched with drooping willow.

In the land of gracious women,
Lived there one, a light-haired maiden,
Like the lovely "Laughing Water,"
Gentle, artless, as the roe is.
Now the arrow from the quiver,
Like the arrow from the bow-string,
Speeds its flight, unerring ever,
Never weary, never faltering,
On to pierce the very heart-depths.

Speaks he now—young Hiawatha,
To this maiden of the Powell's;
"If you love me as I love you,
Leave the waters and the flowers,
Leave the flowers and the sunshine,
Climb with me the hills to northward,
Where the air is cool and bracing,
Where your cheeks will ruddy blossom.

"Up among the hills and mountains,
To the sturdy oak and pine-tree,
Where the creeping vine is laden,
Laden with its tempting sweetness,
Where the arbutus and myrtle
Shed their fragrance 'neath the snow-drifts."

"Do I love thee?" quoth the maiden,
Does the oak support the vine-stock,
Clinging closely with its tendrils,
Safe, secure, in love celestial?
Does the birdling nestle closely
'Neath the wing's maternal shelter
Till the stormy blast is over
And the dangers are all passed?
Do the waters seek the ocean,
There to cease their onward flowing,
Swallowed in the ocean's bosom,
Lost, but saved from earthly troubles?

"Yes, I love thee, Hiawatha,
Where thou leadest, I will follow,
Go with thee unto the mountain,
Go with thee o'er hills and valley,
Where the fir tree and the maple,
Where the maple and the locust
Breathe their fragrance on the breezes.

"As the dew-drop on the flower
Sparkles in the morning glimmer,
Like the radiance of the sunshine
Beams thine eye with heaven's lustre.
In thy dark eye there is mirrored,
Mirrored all the soul immortal;
In thy soul, emotions tender,
In thy breast a heart of trusting.

"Yes, I love thee, and would serve thee;
Thou art manly, true, and upright,
Trusting, I would lean upon thee,
Till the storm of life is over.

"In our pilgrimage together,
In our walking and our pondering,
Let our spirit eyes be single,
Till we reach the Golden Gateway;
Though we weary on the journey,
There'll be rest for us forever,
'When the weary watch is over,
And the mists have rolled asunder.'"

March 20, 1885