Reminiscences of Childhood, Youth, and Manhood

As I pause awhile to ponder
   Over things that I have seen,
Looking back to days of childhood
   Far as memory now can glean.
What an everchanging picture
   Rises up before my view,
Bringing scenes, which long have slumbered,
   Back to mind as fresh as new.

With a life of fifty summers,
   Much of it remembered well,
Now I ask, as I review it,
   For the tale it has to tell
And I listen to the story,
   Some of which appears to me
Just as though the things had happened
   Somewhere in eternity.

When I sit before the fire,
   As the evening shadows fall,
I, in fancy, picture round me,
   Here and there, and on the wall,
Many whom I still remember,
   With their faces bright and gay,
And I hear their merry voices,
   As when once at school or play.

Think of me, a tiny baby,
   With my alphabet and toys,
When I had, for my companions,
   Very little girls and boys,
When, quite simple things would please me,
   And my heart was filled with glee,
Should my father or my mother
   Promise some small thing to me.

Then to wait a week or fortnight,
   Seemed to be an age of time,
Every hill was like a mountain
   And as difficult to climb:
Then my father looked the strongest,
   And my mother was the best;
Other children did not thinks so,
   But what mattered their protest.

One day, somehow, I had wandered
   From my home a little way,
When another who was older
   Brought me back without delay;
How I envied boys much bigger,
   Thinking them so strong and wise;
If I could but just be like 'em,
   Others I would then surprise.

I remember, most distinctly,
   Living in that cottage there,
With its view across the pasture
   To a cowshed rude and bare
To that shed we dare not venture,
   For it bore a fearful name,
As we thought that sometimes from it
   Black and dreaded robbers cane.

When I head some Bible story,
   Which impressed my boyish mind,
It, with places round the village,
   Was most readily combined;
In my fancy, that was Egypt,
   Further on, was Bethlehem,
Yonder hill was Mount Moriah,
   Yonder town, Jerusalem.

Granny's garden there, was Eden,
   And its tree, the "Tree of Life",
In that field, Cain slew his brother,
   Noah dwelt yonder with his wife:
By that wayside, Abraham pleaded
   For the "Cities of the Plain":
Esau hunted o'er those moorlands,
   Jacob fled on yonder lane.

Joseph slept in that plain cottage,
   Dreaming his prophetic dream:
Pharaoh's daughter finding Moses
   In the rushes by that stream:
On this hill-side, Saul was seeking
   Asses when anointed king:
In those fields, below the village,
   Shepherds head the angels sing.

Even now, those Bible stories
   Bring to mind the places too,
While arousing thoughts and feelings
   Somewhat as they used to do:
Thus it is that we, in manhood,
   Draw aside the screen of time,
Living over things remembered,
   With a tenderness sublime.

Lovely infancy and boyhood,
   With its freedom and its joy,
When our heats were full of pleasure,
   With so little to annoy:
When our future was most radiant,
   With a bright and cloudless sun,
Raising hopes so highly buoyant
   In the life but just begun.

At the bottom of the village
   Is the School to which we went,
Passing sweet shops and the smithy
   Which, to us, much pleasure lent:
There were many things to notice,
   As we strolled along our way,
And, whatever was attractive,
   Caused, of course another stay.

I can still look back, with pleasure,
   To the season spent at School;
Not a place of dreaded teachers,
   Though of order and of rule:
Teachers whom we now would honour
   For the kindnesses received,
And the help to many rendered
   For positions – since achieved.

In would step the dear old Vicar,
   With his stately form and walk,
That, with Master or with Teachers,
   He might have a little talk:
Other gentlemen, or ladies
   Also visited as well,
Sometimes to distribute prizes
   Or of holidays to tell.

We, sometimes, would fill our pockets
   With the strangest kind of things,
Such as wire, string and buttons,
   Marbles, washer, keys and springs:
Keeping them for exhibition,
   Or to "swap," if chances came,
Which in school, at times, meant business,
   Till a teacher called our name.

In the playground, through the summer,
   Swing and horizontal bar,
With our tops and hoops and marbles,
   Pleased us more than lessons far.
When the Winter cold was biting,
   And the snow lay on the ground,
Sliding and the game of snow-ball
   Would, with other sports abound.

These were not the only pleasures
   We enjoyed in boyhood days:
For at home we had enjoyments,
   Finding them in many ways:
Boys have all their different fancies,
   Which they only once enjoy,
And those hobbies give an interest
It were cruel to destroy.

Parent!  When a son or daughter
   Has some hobby that will free
Heart and brain from care and worry,
   Will it be opposed by thee?
Let not children feel, too early,
   The monotony of live;
But provide a pleasant morning
   For their day of work and strife

*Yonder cottage, now deserted,   * Since taken down to build the Organ Chamber at Lighthazles U. M. Church
   Solitary stands to-day
Much as when we paid our visits,
   And around it used to play:
What a treat when we, as brothers,
   Went to see our cousins there,
Giving pleasure, almost boundless,
   Such as only children share.

On we rambled through the "planting,"
   Or across the open moor,
Lying down among the heather,
   Or collecting things to store:
Strolling to "The House that Jack Built,"
   Passing hillock, stream and pond,
Till we gazed across the surface
   Of the water just beyond.

Rambling round about the moorlands
   Where the ling and bushes grow,
Bending now to gather bilberries,
   Leaving none of those we saw:
Rising, till we reached the summit,
   And upon its mound we stood,
While, around, were hills and valleys,
   Decked with village, farm and wood.

On returning from our saunter,
   Opening wide that cottage door,
Aunt, we saw, had finished baking
   With the bread upon the floor:
Loaves and cakes were most abundant,
   But more tempting things were there,
Such as bilberry pies and thin cakes,
   Making hunger hard to bear.

Then we gathered round the table
   To enjoy a pleasant tea,
Where our needs were soon replenished,
   Quicker than we thought could be;
And the evening shadows lengthened,
   As we sat before the fire,
Talking over things remembered
   Till the time we must retire.

What an interesting chamber!
   For beside our beds there stands
That big loom which often uncle
   Bangs and clatters with his hands;
There's the wheel where aunt sits winding
   Bobbins for the noisy loom,
While those bundles, beams and timbers
Leave for beds but little room.

In our beds awhile we chatted,
   But it slowly died away,
Till we all were lost in slumber
   To awake another day:
And, with it, the homeward journey,
   Leaving cousins there behind;
But the feelings and the pleasures
   Still continued in the mind.

Though we seldom were permitted
   Lengthened journeys to enjoy;
Thought the sea-side was too distant,
   Such did not our minds annoy:
Nearer places we could visit,
   Even for a single day,
Made us happy as the children
   On the Blackpool sands at play

How our hearts would fill with pleasure,
   When we might a journey take
In a spring-cart with our parents,
   To the shores of Hollingworth Lake,
Bringing back some small memento,
   As our portraits on a glass;
Though such presents mattered little
   If the outing came to pass.

I remember well that cottage,
   Close beside the village street,
Where we dwelt in happy union
   As a family complete:
Father, mother, sisters, brothers,
   Here and there, throughout the day,
But, as evening shadows lengthened,
   Homeward wended we our way.

What a pleasant thing to gather
   Round that bright and glowing fire,
Hearing news or telling stories,
   Some to sadden, some inspire;
But, whatever was their nature,
   All, we felt, must there be told,
For how very few the secrets
   Which we did not then unfold.

I remember, too, the neighbours
   Living higher and below,
Dear old villagers who often
   Passed our windows, to and fro:
Then I thing of that small garden
   And the rabbit hutch as well – 
E'en their mention rouses memories
   Time would fail me now to tell.

When I think how I have travelled,
   Round about this country side,
In the many kinds of weather
   Two and thirty years provide;
Walking here and there and yonder,
   As my letters lead the way,
To this farm or to that cottage,
   Week by week and day by day.

In the fresh and opening Spring-time,
   When the birds begin to sing;
In the Summer, with its brightness,
   When the sounds of harvest ring;
In the Autumn, with its glories,
   And its fields of golden corn;
In the winter, with its snowstorms,
   And its many a bitter morn.

Where are now the kind old farmers,
   On these farms when I began?
All have ceased to follow cattle,
   Save one solitary man:
While, but here and there, a cottage
   Boasts the tenants of that day
Who, from that same dwelling greet me,
   When I call upon my way.

Where are all the birds that warbled,
   On that mild September day?
Where the cattle that were grazing,
   In the fields beside the way?
Where are all the dogs whose barking
   Or whose frolic, welcomed me?-
All are gone, and in their places,
   Fresh ones everywhere I see.

When I think of what has happened,
   Slowly, yet most constantly,
Till the difference is unmeasured
   'Twixt what was, and what I see.
O! that I may have the wisdom,
   Which I need to fully learn,
How amid life's many changes
   God's own will I may discern.

As a boy, like other youngsters,
   I had troubles of my own;
Bearing burdens, fighting battles,
   Though no record now is known:
Thus I passed along my boyhood,
   And from boyhood on through youth,
Thinking much of godly people
   Like to Jonathan and Ruth.

Bible heroes, Bible teaching,
   Lives of noble men and true,
Words of kindness, good examples,
   Passed before me in review:
These were made, by God, a blessing
   To my young and anxious heart,
Till, like Mary, I decided
   To select the "better part."

As I quietly consider
   What my Christian course has been,
There is nothing very cheering
   To my heart from what is seen:
Many failures and misgivings
   Rise before my anxious mind,
Till I feel amazed and humbled
   At the little good I find.

Many deeds, the more examined,
   Leave me less of which to boast,
For some vain or selfish motive
   Seemed to prompt or rule the most,
Till I see no room for glory,
   Save in Christ, Whose cause I share;
But to know that He is honoured
   Pays for all I do and bear.

Over many hills and valleys
   I have travelled in the past,
Through the sunshine and the shadow,
   Till arriving here at last,
I declare how God has led me
   In His path from day to day,
Though in may things ungrateful
   As I came along the way.

May our daily words and conduct
   Form that high consistent life,
Which is full of grace and beauty,
   While so potent in the strife:
Full of kind and loving service
   For our fellow creatures' good.
Helping those who live around us
   To live nearer as they should.

Glowing sermons, or addresses,
   For a time, may highly please,
But, without a life in keeping.
   Lead to carelessness and ease;
Precepts soon may lose their power,
   But example will remain
In the hearts of those who witness,
   And a greater force retain.

That we all may live the gospel
   And our Saviour's image bear,
Each esteeming others better,
   Is our wish and earnest prayer:
Thus, by words and deeds of kindness,
   Gospel truths to others tell.
And extend God's blessed kingdom
   In the district where we dwell.

Though our lives be sometimes dreary,
   God can brighten them with joy;
Though we feel of little service,
   He that little will employ;
Though so weak and so unworthy,
   If we will but only give
What we have, that He may use it,
   We shall for His glory live.