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4 (148) THE ]
Famil/ f
IL_
BIVOUAC.
By Mabel Earle.
"And ye ttoere fore now have sorrow; but I will see
you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your Joy
no one taketh away from you."
It Is not far to go;
lit Is not long to wait;
Red on the coals and low
Our bivouac fires burn late.
The night is In tbe sky.
The snow is on tbe steep;
Hope of the dawning night
Has held our hearts from sleep.
Across the withered grass,
And through tbe branches bare.
The sleet's thin rain of glass
Thrills on the gusty air.
And brighter leap the light.
From watch-fires smouldering low.
Christ keep us through the night!
It is not far to go.
Younder the path they trod?
Who went home yestereven?
Crosses the sleet-trimmed sod,
And climbs the heights toward heaven;
White-armed hosts, they stand
Within the cloud-barred gate;
Christ lead us to that land!
dt is not long to wait.
A little white, and red
The flush of dawn shall thrill
The gray clouds overhead.
The far snow-crested hill;
And through the wide-flung gate
God's morning 'bugles blow.
It Is not long to wait;
It is not far to go.
?Sunday School Times.
THE AUTHOR OF THE "OLD OAKEN
BUCKET."
BY FRED MYRON COLBY.
DoWll linnn tho onoot tint an
many miies from Boston, is the little town of
Scituate, than which there are none more romantic
and interesting, or few with greater attractions
in New England. But though its picturesque
charms are important and some of
its houses are the oldest in Plymouth county,
Scituate is still more famous as being the
birthplace of the author of one of the most
a : i :? o i tit ? . **
11Kiymai muci lcnii iynus, oaiuuei woouwonn,
who gave to the world "The Old Oaken Bucket."
Probably no poem in the English language
is more popular, or has been more frequently
referred to and quoted by three generations of
admirers than Woodworth's fine old song. It
has embalmed in undying verse so many of the
most touching recollections of rural childhood,
that it appeals to every one who ever
knew and loved the country. The first stanza
calls up a host of memories which are one fa
miliar with old New England life cannot bat
be touched by the suggestive lines:
"JIoio dear to this heart are the scenes of my
childhood
When fond recoiltctiong presents them to
victef
n? 1 - - "? " * * - -
. nc orcnara, xne meaaoic, the deep-tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond and the mill which
stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract
PRESBYTERIAN 07 THE 8
i m nro
VVxUVllllg o
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the
well." * r
The author was full of the memories of his
childhood days upon the farm when his poem
came to him, and he expressed himself accordingly.
Every line of it calls ud a Die
ture, and so the poem lives because it appeals
to every one who has ever lived in the country,
who has ever slaked his thirst from the cool
water drawn from the northwest corner of an
old well in a moss-covered, iron-bound bucket.
It has been beautifully said that the poem will
preserve the memory of the almost obsolete
emblems, through all dialect changes, as long
as English shall be a spoken language.
ri i a. a t n < i
oamuei w ooaworin was oom in scituaie,
January 13th, 1785. He was the son of a
farmer who had been a Revolutionary soldier.
His mother is said to have been more than an
average woman, and to her the boy owed much
of his poetic talent. Samuel Woodworth as a
little boy showed decided literary talent, and
the verses he composed at an early age were
considered so wonderful that the Rev. Nchemiah
Thomas, the clergyman of the place, oft
a motninf V? 1 r*i in 4 lin nlnoaiaa V\i?4 4l? a
jlva vu tv moi&uvif uiiu ia tuc V/iaooiuo^ uut luc
limited means of the elder Woodworth made
a college education impossible for him.
He was accordingly apprenticed to a printer.
His first work was done on the Columbian Sentinel,
conducted by a Mr. Benjamin Russell.
It was in this office, it is said, that he wrote
his famous poem. According to the story, one
of the compositors, an intemperate man, on a
sultry afternoon, expressed a desire for a drink
of West India rum. Woodworth at once declared
that he would much rather have a drink
from the old oaken bucket that hung in the
well at home, and with the thought in his
mind he sat down and composed the lines which
are so familiar. It was inspiration, and of all
his numerous lyrics is probably the only one
that will live.
At a later date he edited various newspapers,
the Belles Lettres Repository, in New Haven;
another in Baltimore; The War, in New York,
during the War of 1812, and finally the New
York Times, in connection with George P.
Morris. At the end of the war he published
a novel, the Champion of Freedom. His verses
cover a wide variety of themes, and appeared
for many years over the pseudonym of "Selim."
He also wrote several operattas, and in
his lifetime was a good deal courted as a literary
man. Webster, Channing, Halleck, Everett,
Washington Irving, and Sir Walter Scott
were among his admirers and eulogists.
Wood worth died in 1842, possibly with many
of his literary ambitions unfulfilled, not realizing,
perhaps, that one poem most closely connected
with his boyish days was destined to
give him immortality.
His memory is highly cherished in his birthtown,
and many places are shown that are as
sociated with the early career of the poet and
with his immortal lyric. The old farm house
is no longer standing where he was born, but
the well can still be seen by the visitor in
Scituate, and in it hangs the bucket, "the ironbound
bucket, the moss-covered bucket," in
fact, the very bucket that inspired the poet.
This, indeed, is what they say in Scitnate?and
even if the sceptical is inclined to doubt that
A wooden bucket could withstand the wear and
ODTB (February 19, 1913
tear of a hundred years there is no doubt that
Samuel Woodworth as a boy used to drink
from a similar bucket dipped into this very
same well. The old sweep weighted with rocks
at one end has been discarded, and the bucket
is now raised by a windlass and chain.
"The wide-spreading pond, and the mill
which stood by it," are still there, the veri1511)1
P fllrl mill nf thn nnom o cniiovs nl<l fooUSnn
w*. iuv ^/wtU| u ovjuai v viu'iaomvu*
ed structure that must have seen a century and
a half of years. The most ancient house in
Scituate is known as the Barker house, and is
said to be the oldest in Plymouth county. It
was used in early days as a fort, and its stout
walls testify to its antiquity.
It is pleasant to wander about the childhood
haunts of this sweet singer, to view the spots
that wore familiar spots to him and from which
he received his inspiration. Scituate has changor)
l\iif litf 1 a oimaa 1???J -' 4 *? ?- - A
vu uui, uiuo oiutc iiu> utiy, auu ix iiits poei
could come back to his birthplace, he could
easily find.
"The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled
wildwood,
And every loved spot which his infancy knew."
Samuel Wood worth's picture represents him
as a slender, elegant man, with a handsome,
refined face, lighted by dark eyes and framed
by brown curling hair. He ought to be better
known as the people of America.?United
Presbyterian.
PRAYER AS A HABIT.
mi . V. ?
mere is no naDit so necessary to tiie power
of a disciple's life, and the effectiveness of his
work, as that of prayer?not simply an occasional
half hour of supplication, however
earnest, but a habitual frame of mind that
makes direct and definite petition natural and
spontaneous, at any time and about anything.
Prayerful contact with God's life and power,
so that every touch on the part of others brings
out 'virtue" from it and from the Master. We
are not to think of prayer as common and
habitual. There is an attitude and aDtitude of
mind and heart that is prayer in spirit, like
electricity in storage?only waiting for the
occasion to become prayer in action. Any employment
or enjoyment that would be un
favorable to the prayer spirit is, therefore, inexpedient,
if not positively sinful.
"Pray without ceasing." Does any one say
this is hard to doT Impossible and impracticable
1 Hear the testimony of that brave soldier,
Stonewall Jackson: "I have so fitted the
hnhh in mv min/1 1 ? ?* -f
..V m.uu lllUt M. "t?CI 1 ttlBC U glUSH Oi
water to my lips without asking God's blessing;
never seal a letter without putting a
word of prayer under the seal; never take a
letter from the post without a brief sending
of my thoughts heavenward; never change my
classes in the lecture room without a minute's
petition for the cadets who go out and those
who come in."?The Churchman.
A Chinese preacher, in urging the sacredness
of the Lord's day, used this story: "It
came to pass that a man went to market, having
on his shoulder a string of seven large
copper $oin8 (Chinese coins are strung on
strings and carried on the shoulder). Seeing
a beggar crying for alms, he gave the noor
creature six of his seven coins. Then the beggar,
instead of being grateful, crept up behind
the kind man, and stole the seventh coin
also. What an abominable wretch 1 Yes, but
in saying this you condemn yourselves. You
receive from the hand of the gracious God
six days, yet yon are not content. The seventh
also you steal 1"?World Wide Missions.
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