Farewell to Wayside

Handwritten poem, dated August 30, 1875, Long Branch, New Jersey.

Found in "The Gospel of Saint John" published by The American Bible Society, 1878.

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Rejected

Typed and mimeographed poem:

Rejected

A stranger stood at the Gates of hell
And the Devil himself answered the bell.
He looked him over from head to toe
And said: My friend, I’d like to know
What you have done in the line of sin
To entitle you to come within?

Then Franklin D, with his usual guile
Stepped forth with his toothy smile and said:

“When I took charge in ’33
A nations faith was mine,” said he.
“I promised them this and I promised them that
And I calmed them down with a fireside chat.


I spent their money in fishing trips
And fished from the decks of their battleships.
I gave them jobs in the WPA
Then raised their taxes and took it away.
I raised their wages and closed their shops
I killed their pigs and buried their crops
I double-crossed both old and young
And still the folks my praises sung.


I brought back beer, and what do you think?
I taxed it so high they couldn’t drink.
I furnished ’em money with Government loans
When they missed a payment I took their homes.


When I wanted to punish the folks, you know
I’d put my wife on the radio.
I paid them to let their farms lie still
And imported foodstuffs from Brazil.
I curtailed crops when I felt real mean
And shipped in crops from the Argentine.


When they started to worry, stew and fret
I got them to chant the alphabet
With the AAA and the NLB
The WPA and the CCC.
With these many units I got their goats
And still I crammed it down their throats.
My workers worked with the speed of snails
While the taxpayers chewed their fingernails.


When the organization needed dough
I closed their plants with the CIO.
I ruined jobs, I ruined health
And I put the screws on the rich man’s wealth.
And some who couldn’t stand the gaff
Would call on me and how I’d laugh.


When they got too strong on certain things
I’d pack and head for “Ole Warm Springs.”
I ruined their country, their homes and then
I placed the blame on “Nine Old Men.”

Now Franklin talked both long and loud
And the devil stood and his head he bowed.
At last he said: “Lets make it clear
You’ll have to move, you can’t stay here
For once you mingle with this mob,
I’ll have to find myself a job.”

A little research tells me the poem is attributed to V. M. Rodebaugh and was first printed in 1938.

Found in "Italy's Great War and Her National Aspirations" by Mario Alfieri and others. Published by Alfieri and Lacroix, 1917.

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A Gift To Santa

Note, titled "A Gift to Santa."

I Sent dear Santa Claus a note:
"Please bring me a sled." I wrote;
"I love you, Santa, yes I do,
"I'd like to make a gift to you,
But, oh, dear me, I cannot tell
The sort of present would please you well;
And so I send you only this:
A great big black, black, inky kiss."

-Virginia Baker

Found in "The Dupe" by Gerald Biss. Published by Greening and Co., 1907.

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What Is His Name?

Yesterday, I was sorting some books and I came across this little fellow:

It's a little book of poetry, still in its original gift box, with a spider web pattern jacket.

It appears the jacket held in a bit of moisture over the years, which led to the discoloration.

Inside the book, I found this:

Presented To
Augusta Kiel
for the Best poem written in the Otego High School
1930-1931

by W.H. Alger - June 23, 1931

And this:

What is His Name?

There is a little artist,
Who paints in the cold night hours
Pictures for little children
Of wondrous trees and flowers

Pictures of snow-white mountains,
Touching the snow-white sky,
Pictures of distant oceans
Where pretty ships go by.

The moon is the lamp he paints by,
His canvas the window pane,
His brush is a frozen snowflake,
Jack Frost is the artist's name.

The book is "One Hundred and One Famous Poems" published by The Cable Company, 1928.

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Mummy Dear

Here's a charming poem and note:

To Mummy dear

To Mummy

A little package of Lavendar
sweet.
For when you want to dress
up neat.

Found in "Science and Health With Key to the Scriptures" by Mary Baker Eddy. Published by The First Church of Christ, Scientist, 1934.

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Never Alone

Typed poem:

NEVER ALONE

One is never alone in the world,
There is always the Friend that's most dear;
And when Life's roughest banner's unfurled
Then the Greatest of all friends is near.

So you don't face your trials alone,
God loves you and does what s best;
Though it seems you are all on your own,
You can still turn to Him when distressed.

Do not wait till you think it the end,
Go to Him at least once every day;
He'll become the most genuine Friend,
And He'll guide you along your rough way.

So in prayer may you ever be true;
May He never be cause for your shame,
He'll never be ashamed of you,
So then make faithful praying your aim.

And when all of Life's trials are o'er,
And the things are broken you've done,
Upon death you'll rejoice ever-more
For in truth you've in every way won.

Capt. Jensen

Found in "Here and Now Story Book" by Lucy Sprague Mitchell. Published by E.P. Dutton, 1929.

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Your Little Canoe

A little note, in the form of a poem:

Scout Camp '28

As you sail down the river
In you little canoe,
Think of the girl
Who slept in the tent with you.

Marion Fuller

Found in "Scouting for Girls" published by the Girl Scouts, Inc, 1927.

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Potty Time

I apologize if the following is in poor taste, but I couldn't resist posting what is likely the only poem ever written about the humble bedpan.

Here is the full text of this piece of... literature.

Found in "Sportsman's Arms and Ammunition Manual" by Jack O'Connor. Published by Outdoor Life, 1952.

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Jumbo

A poem, attributed at the bottom to Mary Field:

Jumbo

Jumbo is my baby,
Great big elephant calf,
He fat, slow, and lazy,
But sure to make you laugh.

His tail is like his nose,
I pull them both quite hard.
His feet those my (??) toes
Can never hurt his (??)ard

I'm afraid my Jumbo sick,
And must have doctor stuff.
Now Jumbo don't you kick
For doctor is not rough.

Found in "The Rudiments of Written Arithmetic" edited by Daniel Fish. Published by the American Book Company, 1877.

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Such Was The Hero Of Our Race

Typed poem titled "Abraham Lincoln." With a little searching, I discovered it's by Charles Monroe Dickinson. This paper doesn't have the complete poem, I'll reproduce it in its entirety:

If any one hath doubt or fear
That this is Freedom's chosen clime--
That God hath sown and planted here
The richest harvest field of Time--
Let him take heart, throw off his fears,
As he looks back a hundred years.

Cities and fields and wealth untold,
With equal rights before the law;
And, better than all lands and gold--
Such as the old world never saw--
Freedom and peace, the right to be,
And honor to those who made us free.

Our greatness did not happen so,
We owe it not to chance or fate;
In furnace heat, by blow on blow,
Were forged the things that make us great;
And men still live who bore that heat,
And felt those deadly hammers beat.

Not in the pampered courts of kings,
Not in the homes that rich men keep,
God calls His Davids with their slings,
Or wakes His Samuels from their sleep;
But from the homes of toil and need
Calls those who serve as well as lead.

Such was the hero of our race;
Skilled in the school of common things,
He felt the sweat on Labor's face,
He knew the pinch of want, the sting
The bondman felt, and all the wrong
The weak had suffered from the strong.

God passed the waiting centuries by,
And kept him for our time of need--
To lead us with his courage high--
To make our country free indeed;
Then, that he be by none surpassed,
God crowned him martyr at the last.

Let speech and pen and song proclaim
Our grateful praise this natal morn;
Time hath preserved no nobler name,
And generations yet unborn
Shall swell the pride of those who can
Claim Lincoln as their countryman.

Found in "Cyrano de Bergerac" by Edmond Rostand. Published by Hurst, 1907.

There was an amusing inscription in the book:

I won boo-by prize
Jany 18 1908
Towns curd (???) Party

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The Sweetest Flower

Illustration with a short poem:

The sweetest flower that e'er was planted
By the hand of our great Creator,
In the lovely garden to man granted,
Was Woman - image of her Maker.

Then let our heart and hands be joined,
The wreath of Love let us entwine,
Earth's richest blessings - all combined,
Shall fill up life's sweet Valentine.

Found in "The Moon and Sixpence" by M. Somerset Maugham. Published by The Modern Library.

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The Arrow And The Song

Handwritten copy of a Longfellow poem:

I shot an arrow into the air
It fell to earth I know not where,
For so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breath'd a Song into the air
It fell to earth, I know not where.
For who has sight so keen and strong
That it can follow the flight of a song?

Long, long afterward in an oak
I found the Arrow still unbroke;
And the Song from beginning to end

I found again in the heart of a friend.

Found in "Pierre M. Irving and Washington Irving: A Collaboration in Life and Letters" by Wayne R. Kime. Published by Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1977.



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Daddy Said

Poem (could be lyrics):

Daddy said that I might tell you,
Just what he told to me.
But he said I must be careful
Just as careful as could be.

First of all he called him Santa,
Said he's jolly round and fat
Wears a bright red leather waistcoat,
And a big white fuzzy hat.

And Daddy said that he could tell
If all the long year through,
You have been a good or naughty child
Or faithful, kind and true.

Found in "Elizabeth and her German Garden" by Countess Elizabeth Von Arnim Russell. Published by Macmillan, 1900.

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The Friendly Things

There is a forgotten bookmark in today's post, but I think the book it was found in is just as interesting.

The book is "The Elf-Errant" by Moira O'Neill and features exquisite black and white illustrations by W.E.F. Britten.

Here is the cover:

 The front endpaper has an cute inscription:

To Kay (An Irish Girl)

From Edna (An English Girl)

Title page:

Here are some of the illustrations:

 

Finally, the poem:

THE FRIENDLY THINGS

Oh,  it's just the homely little things,
The unobtrusive friendly things,
The "Won't-you-let-me-help-you" things
That make our pathway light.

The "Laugh-with-me-it's-funny" things
And it;s the jolly, joking things,
The "Never-mind-the-trouble" things
That make the world seem bright.

Are not the human little things,
The "Everyday-encountered" things,
The "just-because-I-love-you" things
That make us happy quite?

So here's to all the little things,
The "Done-and-then-forgotten" things,
Those "oh-it's-simply-nothing" things
That make life worth the fight.

"The Elf-Errant" by Moira O'Neill. Published by Lawrence and Bullen, London, 1895.



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My Heavy Burden To Bear

Today's post comes courtesy of Samuel, who sends this find along from the Wellington Square Bookshop in Exton PA:

Samuel informs us that he found five four leaf clovers, a Ginkgo leaf shadow, and this poem:

A Cripple's Wish.

I was all alone in my chamber,
And midnight hour was near;
I was thinking of the days gone by,
When I was well and on my feet--
How happy then was I ;
I little thought as time went by,
That misfortune thick and fast
Would fall on me, and make me go
A cripple to the last.

An accident befell me one day,
And I was taken sick ;
The wrong medicine was given me,
And to my legs it went,
And left me as you see.
For six months I lay
Upon a bed of pain ;
No use for me but just my hands
To cheer me as I lay.

At last my Saviour did see fit
To take away my pain,
And five long years He let me roll
Upon the floor again.
For eight years I had to creep
Upon my hands and knees,
And exercise it gave me strength
To help myself again.
The God above, whose name I love,
Reached forth His open hand,
And said, "Courage my boy, look to me
For thy daily bread."

And now, kind friends, I am, as you see,
A cripple as long as I live ;
No other way to earn my daily bread,
Please buy this ode and help me along
My heavy burden to bear,
Accept my thanks for your kind aid ;
God bless you all, both old and young,
Is the poor cripple's wish.

JOHN E. PERCY

Found in "Swiss Family Robinson."



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Pass It On

Burton poem on thick stock card:

Pass It On

Have you a kindness shown?
Pass it on;
'Twas not given to you alone,
Pass it on.
Let it travel down the years,
Let it wipe another's tears,
Till in heaven the deed appears -
Pass it on.
Have you found the heavenly light?
Pass it on;
Souls are groping in the night,
Daylight gone.
Hold thy lighted lamp on high,
Be a star in some one's sky,
He may live who else would else would die, -
Pass it on.

-Henry Burton

Found in "The Holy Bible" published by American Bible Society, 1880.

-- Feel better, A.S..

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In Heaven We May Dwell

Handwritten poem:

Youth is the time to improve the mind
In things that is to us inclin'd
And may our thoughts be ever rais'd
To God in prayer love and praise
The days to us alotted here
Are short and few as it doth appear
And may we thus improve them well
So that in heaven we may dwell

Found in "English Grammar on the Productive System" by Roswell C. Smith. Published by William Marshall and Co., Philadelphia, 1835.

What Gentle Zephyrs Fan

Poem (ed: it's James Whitcomb Riley, some of the verses are left out)

Salutation

To Benj. F. Johnson

The Old Man

Lo! steadfast and serene,

In patient pause between

The seen and the unseen,

What gentle zephyrs fan

You silken silver hair, -

And what diviner air

Breathes round you like a prayer,

  Old Man?

Can you, in nearer view

Ol Glory, pierce the blue

Of happy Heaven through;

And, listening mutely, can

Your sense, dull to us,

Hear Angel - voices thus,

In chrous glorious - Old Man?

In your reposeful gaze

The dusk of Autumn days

Is blent with April haze,

As when of old began

The bursting of the bud

Of rosy babyhood -

When all the world was good,

  Old Man.

Found in "The African Queen" by C.S. Forester. Published by The Modern Library, 1940.

I Cannot Root for Gertude Stein

Poem on pink paper:

They Don't Speak English in Paris

I wish that I could get in line
And shout the praise of Gertrude Stein
In any high class hullabaloo
I rather like to holler to;
I hate like anything to miss
Smelling the roar of Ah! Boom! Siss!
And most particularly when
THe cheers are led by famous men.
The fault I'm sure is solely mine,
But I cannot root for Gertrude Stein.
For Gertrude Stein I cannot root
I cannot blow a single toot;
I must preserve a dreary silence
Tho' doomed thereby to d????? violence.
I'm fond of women, also wine?
But not the song of Gertrude Stein.
No laurels can I pass, alas.
No pidgeons in the grass, alas.
Oh woefully must I decline
To dance in the street for Gertrude Stein.
O, Gertrude, Gertrude, is it me?
Couldn't it possibly be thee?
Not in the face of all the roses
Avoided by they? who ????
From Walla Walla to the Rhine
Carillons sang for Gertrude Stein
Rung not by nitwit nincompoops
But geniuses in pervert groups.
Those p?? of talent most divine
Scratch ????? for Gertrude Stein
U???? all their personal muttons
Tyey genuflect to tender buttons.
Why must I grunt, a lovely swine,
Rejecting the pearls of Gertrude Stein?
Why can't I praise in cataracts
The Four such Saints in these such Acts?
Four Saints, Three Acts, Three Acts in fact
The act gets a Saint and a third an act??
And Lizzie Borden took three axe
And gave her mother tongue forty whacks
And a hundred eminent artistic figures
Swallowed the woodpile including the n???es
I prefer to wade their Rasselas
To pidgeons in the grass, alas
The English language is better as language
Share spattered like a lettuce & mayonnaise sausage
So let those who will read Alice B. Toklas,
And I'll take the complete works
of Shakespeare and a box of choclas.

--Love this, and Gert. Stein-

Found in "1984" by George Orwell. Published by Signet, 1961.