How Ensign Sheldon Brought the Captives Back, Vol. 5: A Poem Read at the Unveiling of a Memorial Tablet to the Memory of John Sheldon, on the Site of the ''Old Indian House;" Built by Him, and His Deerfield Residence, August 22, 1911 (Classic Reprint)

Henry H. Barber

ISBN 10: 0267689411 / ISBN 13: 9780267689415

Edité par Forgotten Books, 2018

A propos de cet article

New Book. Shipped from UK. Established seller since 2000.

N° de réf. du vendeur LW-9780267689415

Détails bibliographiques

• Titre: How Ensign Sheldon Brought the Captives Back, Vol. 5: A Poem Read at the Unveiling of a Memorial Tablet to the Memory of John Sheldon, on the Site of the ''Old Indian House;" Built by Him, and His Deerfield Residence, August 22, 1911 (Classic Reprint)
• Éditeur: Forgotten Books
• Date de parution: 2018
• Langue: anglais
• ISBN à 10 chiffres: 0267689411
• ISBN à 13 chiffres: 9780267689415
• Reliure: HRD
• État de l'article: New
• Poids: 241 grammes

A propos de ce titre

Synopsis

Excerpt from How Ensign Sheldon Brought the Captives Back, Vol. 5: A Poem Read at the Unveiling of a Memorial Tablet to the Memory of John Sheldon, on the Site of the ''Old Indian House;" Built by Him, and His Deerfield Residence, August 22, 1911

How near to-day That summer noon-tide almost sixty years away When first I trod this since familiar street, Its picturesque and antique style, Unlike to all that I had known erewhile, And to my youthful fancy passing fair and sweet The old Academy, then deeply elm-embowered, And thronged by many feet, Now grown a silent treasury of the Past, With relics of the old-time life each year more richly dowered, By old associations once again empowered, Grows vocal with young voices long since stilled, And rich with school-time memories gathering fast Of long bright days with genial studies filled; The loved Preceptor''s kindling voice and eye, The happy comradeships of days gone by, Making the ancient structure, in the far recall, In other senses a Memorial Hall.

Comes back the vision of our Sunday ways, The meetinghouse, well-thronged in those more churchly days; The wonder that befell When the blind sexton crossed the street to ring the bell, Or waited, watch in hand, precise the hour to tell, As his skilled fingers note the minutes well; Or when the sightless patriarch of the place With solemn vision written on his face, Took his accustomed place the preacher''s stand beside; His reverend form lending the lofty pulpit grace, Scripture and song by his high aspect glorified; Conscience incarnate, which the town had grown Almost to worship in the long years known Of faithful witness to the truth alone.

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