Traditions of the Miami Valley, songs of the West and other poems . owly stationFlumble and forlorn. Others born down lowlyWithout wealth or name. Leave their lives on pagesOf immortal fame. Sleep ! Then sleep, dear babyLuckless born or blest,Nature will receive andFold thee to her breast. 25 TRADITIONS OF THE MIAMI VALLEY. Round thy life most precious, Storms may gather wild;But the God of Nature Will watch oer his child. Round about, a savage forest with its shadows darkand lone, Stretched away in boundless distance to the farand wild unknown; There the tall tree wall around them let the mid
Traditions of the Miami Valley, songs of the West and other poems . owly stationFlumble and forlorn. Others born down lowlyWithout wealth or name. Leave their lives on pagesOf immortal fame. Sleep ! Then sleep, dear babyLuckless born or blest,Nature will receive andFold thee to her breast. 25 TRADITIONS OF THE MIAMI VALLEY. Round thy life most precious, Storms may gather wild;But the God of Nature Will watch oer his child. Round about, a savage forest with its shadows darkand lone, Stretched away in boundless distance to the farand wild unknown; There the tall tree wall around them let the mid-dry sunshine through To a clesring near the cabin where some corn andpumpkins grew; And the fathers ax resounded over Twin Creeksgurgling rills. He returned unto his baby when he heard the whip-poorwills. When he came home every evening he would rock or hold her would feel his burdens lighten when he saw her face again. She grew fair and strong and healthy as she played around the would meet her father coming when his long days work was oer ; 26. MARY THARPE. And her eyes were blue as flax flowers blowing in the sunny field;And her clothing was of linen which her mother spun and reeled; And her dolly was a pumpkin that she loved and dressed and would hear its prayers each evening; then would kiss it in its bed. Round her playhouse in the wild-wood flowers grew with colors rare;Up above her lived a squirrel that would coax and mock her there; And she could not catch the squirrel; it was wise and cute and sharp;But she said, What is your name, sir? Mine, you know, is Mary Tharpe. In the cold lone nights of winter she would play before the she was ever busy, yet, she seemed to never tire. When the long late hours grew weary, and her evening prayer was the mother tucked her daughter in the little trundle bed. 29 TR-\DITIOXS OF THE MIAMI VALLEY. One night when her mother kissed her. having put her in her said, ??^^lIats an In
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