There is a time to laugh, a time to sigh;
And there will come a time to lie down and die.
Rural Baptizing Years Ago.
A good and noble friend invited us to come
And bring the family along, to spend the month of June.
We planned and talked trip, both night and day,
Until the time came, we would be on our way.
We packed a basket full of good things to eat
On the train, for the children, was happiness complete.
In the afternoon at four, we reached our destination,
Looking around, there was no one at the station
To meet us with family small.
Was our letter miscarried or lost in the mail?
A man on a horse came leisurely riding so light;
Can you direct us to the home of Mr. White?
It’s three miles from here—take the road to the right;
And walk we must, there was nothing else in sight.
We arrived there safely, ’twas a small home, but neat,
Nestled away under pine trees so sweet.
There wasn’t a screen on windows or doors,
Not even a mat on any of the floors.
A sturdy farmer, he declared a home to make
For his family; but hard work it would take.
A church deacon called one cool Friday night,
And said he wanted to have the right
To have a baptizing in the lake next Sunday at eleven,
For their minister had many souls to bring to heaven.
Mr. White said the water in many places was deep,
Especially such and such a place; must open eyes keep;
The place that he mentioned was a very deep hole,
You will have to be careful—I’ll prepare a long pole.
Sunday morning dawned, not a cloud to be seen,
And the weeds all around had been mowed down and clean;
Many wagons drove in full of good people
Who were going to praise God without a church or a steeple.
Out in the open, a gorgeous blue canopy, and the sun
Was warm and delicious, this day in June.
The minister looked pale, I thought, as he stood there.
The services began, a few words and a prayer;
Then an old man sang out, after giving thanks
With a trill in his voice on Jordan’s stormy banks.
They all joined in and sang this way and that,
And another good friend passed ’round the hat.
The minister held to the pole, and the Good Book,
And began to descend into the water. I shook
From my head to my heels, in every limb,
I was very much troubled in watching him.
The next cautious step he took I let out a yell,
I was nervous true, I’m ashamed to tell;
I heard Farmer White say, only two nights before,
Be very careful, not too far from shore.
People said this fine minister was mighty brave,
Such a good man of the gospel, these poor souls to save;
The baptizing went on; each one received tender care
By the friends who lived in the neighborhood there.
When the last amen was said, I lifted a prayer
And a deep sigh, for His merciful and tender care.
It was all so simple, out on the green.
To a more solemn service I never have been.
They dined and feasted, the sun went to rest;
Each wended their way to the home they loved best.
This was the beginning, but it was not the last,
They have built up a church, and many years have passed.
The days glided by, our visit came to an end
Only too soon, we parted our mutual friend;
Then we bade them to remember our latch key was always outside;
Do come and make a visit, and we’ll show you our town, with much pride.
Leaving the Old Home.
We are leaving the old home that has sheltered us long,
Its walls have recorded many a tear, many a song.
How can I leave you, sweet home, for the new;
We have baeen such good friends, some years, it is true.
I know every corner, from the attic down,
And also the cellar; dear house, painted brown.