Henry Reed Conant

“ Love is a dew-drop on the rose-bush glowing,
Soon to depart as e’en the bush must perish:
All things of earth are like the fleeting shadows
Except the love of Him whose power and wisdom
Exceeds, by far, man’s deepest understanding,
And He, who clothes the lillies in their beauty,
Who feeds his flocks and marks the falling sparrow,
Will shield His children from life’s raging tempests,
And lead them safe through waters of affliction
Until, at last, beyond the vales and shadows,
Their eyes behold that Land of endless beauty.
TEMPUS FUGIT.
71
Men sleep, but time speeds on ”

“ In the sea of Eternal Love.
49
THE CROWN OF FAME.
5051
What toils and hardships oft confront man’s sight,
When first ascending fame’s immortal height:
What cares, vexations, worriments prevail,
What deep-laid plans, repeated efforts, fail;
Yet who would dwell in hermit den, obscure,
To shun the toils that hero-gods endure!
Bestir thyself, O man, for soon—too soon,
As youth recedes, shall fade life’s golden noon!
If thou wouldst make thyself undying name,
Direct thy efforts to one worthy aim ”

“ We know that we’re stubborn and willful,
And tho’ we have kindly been shown
The true way, which God has appointed,
We often go on in our own.
And thus we go on in the darkness,
Groping our way thro’ the night ”

“ Still bears the name of that sweet Indian girl.
36
DAYBREAK.
We behold the bright joys of another day’s dawn,
As time swiftly flies “like a bird on the wing;”
Let’s improve every moment, now, ere it has gone,
For no one can tell what the next one may bring.
Our hopes of the future we never may see;
Our days that are past we can never redeem;
But to-day every heart, love and joy may impart,
Which surpasses the sun’s most radiant beam.
37
TO A BROWN THRUSH, On finding its nest and young.
38
O little thrush, what gives thee such alarm? ”

“ It’s hard to write a decent song, tho’ maybe you deny it,
Most any job looks easy you’ll allow;
But if you’re inexperienced perhaps you’d better try it,
An’ you’ll find the nickromancy’s in the art o’ knowin’ how. ”

“ An’ to hear the merry music o’ the brook thet flows between.
It makes me fairly home-sick sech cold wintry days ez these,
The snow a driftin’ everywhere an’ layin’ in the trees;
An’ when Jack Frost steals ’round et night an’ frescoes everything,
It makes me hanker more an’ more to see the dawn o’ spring.
Fer I know when spring comes ’round ag’in with all her sweet perfume;
Her reses all in blossom an’ her orchards all a-bloom,
An’ robins singin’ gaily—I’ll be happy ez a king ”

“ A while ago I left thet place of farmin’ enterprise,
An’ now my folks are livin’ ’neath the broad, blue western skies,
An’ tho’ I ain’t a farmer I’m convinced there’s nothin’ made,
Unless you work et farmin’, same ez any other trade.
Weeds don’t need cultervatin’, but they grow up tall an’ stout,
An’ you mus’ work to save the grain an keep the thistles out:
You can’t loaf ’round frum morn till night an’ talk the hull day thro’,
For yer crops’ll go to ruin jest ez surely ez you do. ”

“ Sech sportin’ allus hed fer me a wondrous fascination,
An’ so I spent more time et this than on my eddication.
I of’en git to thinkin’ what fine chances I hed then
To git an’ eddication, but of course it’s useless when
The opportunity is passed to mourn yer situation—
It’s pooty hard when you are ol’ to git an eddication.
Now boys I’m ’fraid thet some o’ you are growin’ up this way,
I’m ’fraid fer learnin’ some o’ you are substertootin’ play,
I’m ’fraid there’s boys a-livin’ in this present gineration,
Who’ll wish some day they’d seen less play an’ more o’ eddication. ”

“ Perhaps you think it’s silly, but it’s jest ez I hev sed,
Thet all the other presents ol’ St. Nicholas ever hed,
Compared with that he give to me w’ud be but worthless chaff,
Nor comfort me one half ez much ez mother’s photograph.
88
FIFTY YEARS.
89
Two score and ten summers have glided away,
As time speeds relentlessly on;
And our thoughts wander back, as we sit here to-day,
O’er the past that has faded and gone.
Many dear ones have gone to their rest in the grave,
Young hearts have departed from play ”

“ Without the thought thet carelessly you missed an eddication.
82
UNCLE NICK, ON GOSSIPERS.
83
When people git to gossipin’ sometimes they’ll set an’ talk
Fer hours an’ hours together, jest ez reg’ler ez a clock;
I s’pose they think folks love to hear their never-endin’ yop,—
But when Samantha’s talked a while she knows enough to stop.
When Mrs. Jones wuz tellin’ et our place the other day,
Thet Mrs. Williams told her thet her neighbor, Mrs. ”

“ Henry Reed Conant, like many other beginners in the literary arena, commits his poems to a critical public with the full consciousness of their poetical deficiencies. Criticism he must13 await, and gladly accept as the basis of that future development through which every poet must pass ere he attain that popular following that is the reward not only of genius, but of bitter disappointments.
A. K. G.
Appleton, Wis., Nov. 22, 1893.
We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths ”