For CaptainJamesDavis “A Precious Love”

The American Eagle

EagleFlight

The American Eagle: Southern Religious Telegraph

Bird of the cliff! thou art soaring on high;
Thou hast swept the dense cloud from thy path in the sky;
Thou hast breasted the storm in thy heavenward flight,
And fix’d thy bright eye on the fountain of light;
Thou hast braved the keen flash of the lightning in sport,
And poised thy strong wing where the thunders resort;
Thou hast follow’d the stars in their pathways above,
And chased the wild meteors wherever they rove.

Bird of the forest! thou lov’st the deep shade,
Where the oak spreads its boughs in the mountain and glade;
Where the thick-cluster’d ivy encircles the pine.
And the proud elm is wreathed by the close-clinging vine;
Thou hast tasted the dew of the untrodden plain,
And follow’d the streams as they roll to the main;
Thou hast dipp’d thy swift wing in the feathery spray,
Where the earth-quaking cataract roars on its way.

Bird of the sky! thou hast sail’d on the cloud,
Where the battle raged fierce, and the cannon roared loud;
Thou hast stoop’d to the earth when the foeman was slain.
And waved thy wide wing o’er the blood-sprinkled plain;
Thou hast soared where the banner of freedom is borne;
Thou hast gazed at the far dreaded lion m scorn,
Thy beak has been wet in the blood of our foes,
When the home of the brave has been left to repose.

Bird of the clime in which liberty dwells,
Nurse the free soul in thy cliff-shelter’d dells!
Hover above the strong heart in its pride,
Whisper of those who for freedom have died!

Bear up the free-nurtured spirit of man,
Till it soar, like thine own, through its earth-bounded span
Waft it above, o’er the mountain and wave —
Spread thy free wing o’er the patriot’s grave!

Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlisle & Randy Thomas

father-and-daughter

Butterfly Kisses
There’s two things I know for sure.
She was sent here from heaven,
and she’s daddy’s little girl.
As I drop to my knees by her bed at night,
she talks to Jesus, and I close my eyes.
And I thank God for all of the joy in
my life, But most of all, for…

Butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer.
Stickin’ little white flowers all up in her hair.
“Walk beside the pony daddy,
it’s my first ride.”
“I know the cake looks funny,
daddy, but I sure tried.”
Oh, with all that I’ve done wrong,
I must have done something right
To deserve a hug every morning,
And butterfly kisses at night.

Sweet sixteen today,
She’s looking like her momma
a little more everyday.
One part woman, the other part girl.
To perfume and makeup,
form ribbons and curls.
Trying her wings out
in a great big world. But I remember…

Butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer.
Stickin’ little white flowers all up in her hair.
“You know how much I love you daddy,
But if you don’t mind,
I’m only going to kiss you on
the cheek this time.”
With all that I’ve done wrong
I must have done something right.
To deserve her love every morning,
And butterfly kisses at night.

All the precious time
Like the wind, the years go by
Precious butterfly
Spread your wings and fly

She’ll change her name today.
She’ll make a promise,
and I’ll give her away.
Standing in the bride room
just staring at her,
she asked me what I’m thinking,
and I said “I’m not sure,
I just feel like I’m losing my baby girl.”
Then she leaned over….and gave me….

Butterfly kisses, with her mama there
Sticking little flowers all up in her hair
“Walk me down the aisle, daddy,
it’s just about time.”
“Does my wedding gown look pretty, daddy?”
“Daddy, don’t cry.”
With all that I’ve done wrong,
I must have done something right
To deserve her love every morning,
And butterfly kisses
I couldn’t ask God for more, man, this is what love is
I know I’ve gotta let her go, but I’ll always remember
Every hug in the morning, and butterfly kisses…
Bob Carlisle & Randy Thomas

love-quotes-father-and-daughter

Daddy’s Girl
When you were young, pony-tailed,
face full of playful freckles,
were you a daddy’s girl?
I was. I still am.
Did you look to him for your security,
for love and attention,
for the understanding, and the patience you lacked
as a child?
My daddy was the center of my small world,
the focus of my affections,
the star that lit my life, shining bright.
Shining still in my heart.
The years have led me here,
weathered with maturity and responsibilities,
and I see more clearly now.
The hardships, burdens of love,
and all the small sacrifices he made for me,
for our family.
He created stability, a place to call home.
All the photographs I browse through
of a child long forgotten, scarcely remembered
smiling, so happy and so loved.
The mere thought of becoming that role model
is enough to send me cowering, afraid…
looking for guidance.
Turning to my father and my more for support,
advice, wise counsel, and for approval.
Grown up, I see differently now…
A new perspective of a man I have always known.
My heart is full, my emotions overpowering
just in the certainty of that bond.
He’s been there for me through all the conflicts
helping me over the rough, ragged stones of growing up.
My respect for him is unending,
faith is unbound, and love is unquestioning.
Even in the midst of all my imperfections, he is lenient,
ignoring the pitfalls, the downfalls, the shortcomings,
he just accepted me as I was, as I am.
The sheer purity of it leaves me awe-struck
and it lifts me up, it holds my head a little higher,
it keeps me in balance,
harmonizing with the world around me
beautifully, like an inspired masterpiece from the soul
of an honest man.
I am honored to know him, to love him, to be of him.
He’s my hero, and I am his daughter, his little girl.

Fathers are Wonderful People by Debora Waddell

father-and-daughter

Fathers are Wonderful People
Fathers are wonderful people
Too little understood,
And we do not sing their praises
As often as we should…

For, somehow, Father seems to be
The man who pays the bills,
While Mother binds up little hurts
And nurses all our ills…

And Father struggles daily
To live up to “HIS IMAGE”
As protector and provider
And “hero or the scrimmage”…

And perhaps that is the reason
We sometimes get the notion,
That Fathers are not subject
To the thing we call emotion,

But if you look inside Dad’s heart,
Where no one else can see
You’ll find he’s sentimental
And as “soft” as he can be…

But he’s so busy every day
In the grueling race of life,
He leaves the sentimental stuff
To his partner and his wife…

But Fathers are just WONDERFUL
In a million different ways,
And they merit loving compliments
And accolade of praise,

For the only reason Dad aspires
To fortune and success
Is to make the family proud of him
And to bring them happiness…

And like OUR HEAVENLY FATHER,
He’s a guardian and a guide,
Someone that we can count on
To be ALWAYS ON OUR SIDE.
Debora Waddell

A Little Girl Needs Daddy
A little girl needs Daddy
For many, many things:
Like holding her high off the ground
Where the sunlight sings!
Like being the deep music
That tells her all is right
When she awakens frantic with
The terrors of the night.

Like being the great mountain
That rises in her heart
And shows her how she might get home
When all else falls apart.

Like giving her the love
That is her sea and air,
So diving deep or soaring high
She’ll always find him there.
Author Unknown

A Father Is:
There in every memory
See his love and care
Strength and hands to count on
Freely he does share
Provider, toil so faithfully
To make our dreams come true
Give strong and tender discipline
Though it is hard to do
A Father is God’s chosen one
To lead the family
And point it to His will for life
Of love and harmony…
Sue Skeen

My Dad’s Hands by David Kettler

Fathers-Day

My Dad’s Hands
Bedtime came, we were settling down,
I was holding one of my lads.
As I grasped him so tight, I saw a strange sight:
My hands. . .they looked like my dad’s!
I remember them well, those old gnarled hooks,
there was always a cracked nail or two.
And thanks to a hammer that strayed from its mark,
his thumb was a beautiful blue!
They were rough, I remember, incredibly tough,
as strong as a carpenter’s vice.
But holding a scared little boy at night,
they seemed to me awfully nice!
The sight of those hands – how impressive it was
in the eyes of his little boy.
Other dads’ hands were cleaner, it seemed
(the effects of their office employ).
I gave little thought in my formative years
of the reason for Dad’s raspy mitts:
The love in the toil, the dirt and the oil,
rusty plumbing that gave those hands fits!
Thinking back, misty-eyed, and thinking ahead,
when one day my time is done.
The torch of love in my own wrinkled hands
will pass on to the hands of my son.
I don’t mind the bruises, the scars here and there
or the hammer that just seemed to slip.
I want most of all when my son takes my hand,
to feel that love lies in the grip.
David Kettler

Fathers Can Be Solitary Mountains
Fathers can be solitary mountains,
All their love rock-like, steep, and strong.
Though warm and caring, somehow they belong
Halfway home to mothers’ bubbling fountains.
Each of us needs love that knows no quarter,
Reminding us of bonds that cross a border,
Strengthening our sense of right and wrong.
Author Unknown

Grandfathers Are Fathers Who Are Grand
Grandfathers are fathers who are grand,
Restoring the sense that our most precious things
Are those that do not change much over time.
No love of childhood is more sublime,
Demanding little, giving on demand,
Far more inclined than most to grant the wings
Allowing us to reach enchanted lands.
Though grandfathers must serve as second fathers,
Helping out with young and restless hearts,
Each has all the patience wisdom brings,
Remembering our passions more than others,
Soothing us with old and well-honed arts.
Author Unknown

My Dad
When I was just a tiny kid,
Do you remember when,
The time you kissed my bruises,
Or cleaned by soiled chin?

You scrambled for the balls I hit,
(Short-winded more than not,)
Yet, every time we’d play a game,
You praised the “outs” I caught.

It seems like only yesterday,
You wiped away my tears,
And late at night I called your name,
To chase away my fears.

Though time has changed your handsome grip,
Your hair is snowy white,
You gait’s a little slower now,
Thick glasses help your sight.

Oh, do I thirst for years gone by,
To be that growing lad,
Re-living all of the memories,
Of growing with my dad.
Author Unknown

Father’s Day by Mary Frances Bogle

fathers-day-16

Father’s Day
Over the years
As we grow old,
We remember our father
So brave and bold.

In the garden,
Leaning on the plow,
He would listen to me;
I see him now.

He would give advice
And understand;
He was always there
To lend a hand.

God made fathers
Strong and firm,
For he knew our lives
Would have great concerns.

So he gave us fathers
To teach us to pray,
And guide our lives,
And show us the way.

So on his day
Let’s take the time
To say “Thanks, dad.
I’m glad you’re mine.”
Mary Frances Bogle

What Makes a Dad
God took the strength of a mountain,
The majesty of a tree,
The warmth of a summer sun,
The calm of a quiet sea,
The generous soul of nature,
The comforting arm of night,
The wisdom of the ages,
The power of the eagle’s flight,
The joy of a morning in spring,
The faith of a mustard seed,
The patience of eternity,
The depth of a family need,
Then God combined these qualities,
When there was nothing more to add,
He knew His masterpiece was complete,
And so, He called it … Dad
Author Unknown

PROVIDENCE, PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE by Samuel G. Arnold 1876

Samuel G. Arnold

Samuel G. Arnold

PROVIDENCE, PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE, Oration By The Honorable Samuel G. Arnold (1821-1880) Delivered At Providence, Rhode Island, July 4, 1876

To trace the causes that led to the American Revolution, to narrate the events of the struggle for independence, or to consider the effect which the establishment of “the great Republic” has had upon the fortunes of the race in other lands— these have been the usual and appropriate themes for discourse upon each return of our national anniversary. And where can we find more exalted or more exalting subjects for reflection? It is not the deed of a day, the events of a year, the changes of a century, that explain the condition of a nation. Else we might date from the 4th of July, 1776, the rise of the American people, and so far as we as a nation are concerned, we might disregard all prior history as completely as we do the years beyond the flood. But this we cannot do, for the primitive Briton, the resistless Roman, the invading Dane, the usurping Saxon, the conquering Norman, have all left their separate and distinguishable stamp upon the England of to-day. As from Caedmon to Chaucer, from Spenser to Shakespeare, from Milton to Macaulay, we trace the progress of our language and literature from the unintelligible Saxon to the English of our time; so the development of political ideas has its great eras, chiefly written in blood. From the fall of Boadicea to the landing of Hengist, from the death of Harold to the triumph at Runnymede, from the wars of the Roses to the rise of the Reformation, from the fields of Edgehill and Worcester, through the restoration and expulsion of the Stuarts down to the days of George III, we may trace the steady advance of those nations of society and of government which culminated in the act of an American Congress a century ago proclaiming us a united and independent people. When the barons of John assembled on that little islet in the Thames to wrest from their reluctant kins the right of Magna Charta, there were the same spirit, and the same purpose that prevailed nearly six centuries after in the Congress at Philadelphia, and the actors were the same in blood and lineage. The charging cry at Dunbar, “Let God arise, and let His enemies be scattered,” rang out a hundred and twenty-five years later from another Puritan camp on Bunker Hill. So history repeats itself in the ever-recurring conflict of ideas, with the difference of time, and place and people, and with this further difference in the result, that while in ancient times the principal characters in the historic drama were the conqueror, the conquered and the victim, these in modem days become the oppressor, the oppressed and the deliverer. Charles Stuart falls beneath Cromwell and Ireton, George III yields to Washington and Greene, serfdom and slavery vanish before Romanoff and Lincoln.

But we must turn from this wide field of history to one of narrower limits, to one so small that it seems insignificant to that class of minds which measures States only by the acre, as cloth by the yard; to those men who, to be consistent, should consider Daniel Lambert a greater man than Napoleon Bonaparte, or the continent of Africa a richer possession than Athens in the days of Pericles. There are many just such men, and the materialistic tendency of our times is adding to their number. It is in vain to remind them that from one of the smallest States of antiquity arose the philosophy and the art that rule the world to-day, Judea should have been an empire and Bethlehem a Babylon to impress such minds with the grandeur of Hebrew poetry or the sublimity of Christian faith. But for those to whom ideas are more than acres, men greater than machinery, and moral worth a mightier influence than material wealth, there is a lesson to be learned from the subject to which the Act of Congress and the Resolutions of the General Assembly limit this discourse. And since what is homely and familiar sometimes receives a higher appreciation from being recognized abroad, hear what the historian of America has said of our little Commonwealth, that “had the territory of the State corresponded to the importance and singularity of the principles of its early existence, the world would have been filled with wonder at the phenomena of its history.

Roger Williams Statue

Roger Williams Statue

Hear too a less familiar voice from beyond the sea, a German writer of the philosophy of history. Reciting the principles of Roger Williams, their successful establishment in Rhode Island, and their subsequent triumph, he says: “They have given laws to one quarter of the globe, and dreaded for their moral influence, they stand in the background of every democratic struggle in Europe.” It is of our ancestors, people of Providence, that these words were written, and of them and their descendants that I am called to speak.

To condense two hundred and forty years of history within an hour is simply impossible. We can only touch upon a few salient points, and illustrate the progress of Providence by a very few striking statistics. Passing over the disputed causes which led to the banishment of Roger Williams from Massachusetts, we come to the undisputed fact that there existed, at that time, a close alliance between the church and the State in the colony whence he fled, and that he severed that union at once and forever in the city which he founded. Poets had dreamed and philosophers had fancied a state of society where men were free and thought was untrammeled. Sir Thomas More and Sir Philip Sydney had written of such things. Utopias and Arcadias had their place in literature, but nowhere on the broad earth had these ideas assumed a practical form till the father of Providence, the founder of Rhode Island, transferred them from the field of fiction to the domain of fact, and changed them from an improbable fancy to a positive law. It was a transformation in politics—the science of applied philosophy—more complete than that by which Bacon overthrew the system of Aristotle. It was a revolution, the greatest that in the latter days had yet been seen. From out this modern Nazareth, whence no good thing could come, arose a light to enlighten the world. The “Great Apostle of Religious Freedom” here first truly interpreted to those who sat in darkness the teachings of his mighty Master. The independence of the mind had had its assertors, the freedom of the soul here found its champion. We begin then at the settlement of this city, with an idea that was novel and startling, even amid the philosophical speculations of the seventeenth century, a great original idea, which was to compass a continent, “give laws to one quarter of the globe,” and after the lapse of two centuries to become the universal property of the western world by being accepted in its completeness by that neighboring State, to whose persecutions Rhode Island owed its origin. Roger Williams was the incarnation of the idea of soul liberty, the Town of Providence became its organization. This is history enough if there were naught else to relate. Portsmouth, Newport and Warwick soon followed with their antinomian settlers to carry out the same principle of the underived independence of the soul, the accountability of man to his Maker, alone in all religious concerns. After the union of the four original towns into one colony, under the Parliamentary patent of 1643, confirmed and continued by the Royal charter of 1663, the history of the town becomes so included in that of the colony, in all matters of general interest, that it is difficult to divide them. The several towns, occupied chiefly with their own narrow interests, present little to attract in their local administration, but spoke mainly through their representatives in the colonial assembly, upon all subjects of general importance. It is there that we must look for most of the facts that-make history, the progress of society, the will of the people expressed in action. To these records we must often refer in sketching the growth of Providence.

Roger Williams and Narragansett Indians

Roger Williams and Narragansett Indians

It was in June, 1636, that Roger Williams, with five companions crossed the Seekonk to Slate Rock, where he was welcomed by the friendly Indians, and pursuing his way around the headland of Tockwotton, sailed up the Moshassuck, then a broad stream, skirted by a dense forest on either shore.

Attracted by a natural spring on the eastern bank he landed near what is now the cove, and began the settlement which in gratitude, to his Supreme Deliverer he called Providence. He had already purchased a large tract of land from the natives which was at first divided with twelve others “and such as the major part of us shall admit into the same fellowship of vote with us,” thus constituting thirteen original proprietors of Providence. (4). The first division of land was made in 1638, in which fifty-four names appear as the owners of “home lots” extending from Main to Hope streets, besides which each person had a six acre lot assigned him in other parts of the purchase. The granters could not sell their land to any but an inhabitant without consent of the town, and a penalty was imposed upon those who did not improve their lands. The government established by these primitive settlers was an anomaly in history. It was a pure democracy, which, for the first time guarded jealously the rights of conscience. The inhabitants, “masters of families” incorporated themselves into a town and made an order that no man should be molested for his conscience. The people met monthly in town meeting and chose a clerk and treasurer at each meeting. The earliest written compact that has been preserved is without date but probably was adopted in 1637. It is signed by thirteen persons (5.) We have not time to draw a picture of these primitive meetings held beneath the shade of some spreading tree where the fathers of Providence, discussed and decided the most delicate and difficult problems of practical politics, and reconciled the requirements of life with principles then unknown in popular legislation. The records are lost and here and there only a fragment has been preserved by unfriendly hands to give a hint of those often stormy assemblies where there were no precedents to guide, and only untried principles to be established by the dictates of common sense. Of these the case of “Verm, reported by Winthrop, is well known wherein liberty of conscience and the rights of woman were both involved with a most delicate question of family discipline. It is curious enough that one form of the subject now known under the general name of women’s rights, destined more than two centuries later to become a theme of popular agitation, should here be foreshadowed so early in Rhode Island, the source of so many novel ideas and the starting point of so many important movement*

Roger Williams was an English Protestant theologian who was an early proponent of religious freedom, he started the Baptist church in America.

Roger Williams was an English Protestant theologian who was an early proponent of religious freedom, he started the Baptist church in America.

Religious services had no doubt been held from the earliest settlement, but the first organized church was formed in 1638, the first Baptist church in America.

From the earliest days of the colony to the close of the recent civil strife, the war record of the State has been a brilliant one. As early as 1655, in the Dutch war she did more than the New England Confederacy, from which she had been basely excluded. Her exposed condition, by reason of the Indians, fostered this feeling in the first instance, and long habit cultivated the martial spirit of the people till it became a second nature. Her maritime advantages favored commercial enterprise, and the two combined prepared her for those naval exploits which in after years shed so much glory on the State. The three Indian wars, the three wars with Holland (1652-8, 1667, 1672-4), and the two with France (1667, 1690), in the seventeenth century, the three Spanish(1702-13, 1739-48, 1762-3), and the three French wars (1702-13, 1744-8, 1754-63) of the eighteenth, had trained the American colonies to conflict, and prepared them for the greater struggle about to come. At the outbreak of the fourth inter-colonial war, known as the “old French war,” this colony with less than forty thousand inhabitants and eighty-three hundred fighting men, sent fifteen hundred of these upon various naval expeditions, besides a regiment of eleven companies of infantry, seven hundred and fifty men under Col. Christopher Harris, who marched to the siege of Crown Point. Thus more than one-quarter of the effective force of the colony was at one time, on sea and laud, in privateers, in the royal fleets and in the camp, learning that stern lesson which was soon to redeem a continent. Is it surprising then that when the ordeal came the conduct of Rhode Island was prompt and decisive? It is said that small States are always plucky ones, and Rhode Island confirmed the historic truth.

The passage of the stamp act (Feb. 27, 1765), roused the spirit of resistance through America to fever heat. But amid all the acts of Assemblies, and the resolutions of town meetings, none went so far or spoke so boldly the intentions of the people as those passed in Providence at a special town meeting (August 7,1765), and adopted unanimously by the General Assembly (Sept 16). They pointed directly to an absolution of allegiance to the British crown, unless the grievances were removed. The day before the fatal one on which the act was to take effect, the Governors of all the Colonies, but one, took the oath to sustain it. Samuel Ward, “the Governor of Rhode Island stood alone in his patriotic refusal,” says Bancroft. Nor was it the last as it was not the first time that Rhode Island stood alone in the van of progress. Non-importation arguments were everywhere made. The repeal of the odious act (Feb. 22, 1766) came too late, coupled as it was with a declaratory act asserting the right of Parliament “to bind the Colonies in all cases.” Then came a new development of patriotic fervor instituted by the women of Providence. Eighteen young ladies of leading families of the town met at the house of Dr. Ephraim Bowen (March 4, 1766), and from sunrise till night, employed the time in spinning flax. These “Daughters of Liberty,” as they were called, resolved to use no more British goods, and to be consistent they omitted tea from the evening meal. So rapid was the growth of the association that their next meeting was held at the Court House. The “Sons of Liberty” were associations formed at this time in all the Colonies to resist oppression, but to Providence belongs the exclusive honor of this union of her daughters for the same exalted purpose. This is the second time we have had occasion to notice that women has come conspicuously to the front in the annals of Providence, when great principles were at stake. But we claim nothing more for our women than the same spirit of self-denial and lofty devotion that the sex has everywhere shown in the great crises of history. The first at the cross and the first at the sepulcher, the spirit and the blessing of the Son of God have ever rested in the heart of woman.

Side by side with the struggle for freedom grew the effort for a wider system of education. It was proposed to establish four free public schools. This was voted down by the poorer class of people who would be most benefited by the movement. Still the measure was partially carried out, and a two story brick building was erected in (1768). The upper story was occupied by a private school, the lower, as a free school. Whipple Hall, which afterwards became the first district school, was at this time chartered as a private school in the north part of the town, and all the schools were placed in charge of a committee of nine, of whom the Town Council formed a part the next year a great stimulus was given to the educational movement in the town. Two years had passed since Rhode Island College was established at Warren, and the first class oi seven students was about to graduate. Commencement day gave rise to the earliest legal holiday in our history. A rivalry among the chief towns of the Colony for the permanent location of what is now Brown University, resulted in its removal two years later (1774) to Providence. This now venerable institution, whose foundation was a protest against sectarianism in education, has become the honored head of a system of public and private schools, which for completeness of design, for perfection of detail, and for thoroughness of work, may safely challenge comparison with any other organized educational system in the world.

There are some significant facts connected with The Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, which serve to show the relative importance of this city in the industrial summary of the country. One is that in the three principal buildings Providence occupies the centre and most conspicuous place. We all know the man who commands Presidents and Emperors, and they obey him—who says to Don Pedro “come,” and he cometh, and to President Grant “Do this,” and he doeth it, and we have seen the mighty engine that from the centre of Machinery Hall, moves fourteen acres of the world’s most cunning industry. The Corliss engine proudly sustains the supremacy of Providence amid the marvels of both hemispheres. Facing the central area of the main exhibition building, the Gorham Manufacturing Company have their splendid show of silver ware around the most superb specimens of the craftsman’s art that has ever adorned any Exposition in modern times. Under the central dome of Agricultural Hall the Rumford Chemical Works present an elaborate and attractive display of their varied and important products, arresting the eye as a prominent object among the exhibits of all the world. And when we visit the Women’s Pavilion we shall see that of all the rich embroidery there displayed none surpasses that shown by the Providence Employment Society, and shall learn that little Rhode Island ranks as the fifth State in the amount of its contributions to the funds of this department, being surpassed only by New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio and Massachusetts. A city which occupies these positions in the greatest Exposition of the century has no cause to shun comparison between its past and its present.

But by far the greatest event of its bearing upon the prosperity of Providence was the introduction of water which, after being four times defeated by popular vote, was finally adopted in 1869. The work commenced the next year, and the water was first introduced from the Pawtuxet river in November, 1871. The question, whether Providence was to become a metropolis of trade and manufactures or to continue as a secondary city, was thus settled in favor of progress. The stimulus given in the right direction was immediate and immense. The overflow of population soon required the city limits to be extended, and the annexation of the Ninth and Tenth Wards caused an increase of forty-six per cent, from the census of 1870 to that of 1875, a showing which no other city in the country can equal.

That the city of Providence has its future in its own hands is apparent. With the vast wealth and accumulated industries of a century at its disposal; with the result which this latest measures of improvement has produced as an encouragement; and with the experience of other less favored seaports as a guide, there would seem to be the ability and the inducement to take the one remaining step necessary to secure the supremacy which nature indicates for the head waters of Narragansett bay. While our northern and western railroad connections are already very large and are rapidly reaching their requisite extension there remains only the improvement of the harbor and adjacent waters of the bay, which can be made at comparatively small expense, to make Providence the commercial emporium of New England. There is no mere fancy in this idea. It is an absolute fact, attested by the history of Glasgow, and foreshadowed by the opinions of those who have thought long and carefully upon the subject. It is a simple question of engineering and of enterprise, and it will be accomplished. When Providence had twelve thousand inhabitants, as it had within the life time of many of us who do not yet count ourselves as old, had some seer foretold that the centennial of the nation would see the quiet town transformed into the growing city starting upon its second hundred thousand of population, it would have seemed a far more startling statement than this with which we now close the Centennial Address—that the child is already born who will see more than half a million of people within our city, which will then be the commercial metropolis of New England.

See also: The Consequence of Bad Legal Precedent in American Legislation
Wide Spread And Growing Corruption In The Public Service Of The States And Nation
Founders & forefathers pledged their Sacred Honor, what did they mean?
THE POWER OF HISTORY by Horatio Seymour (1810–1886)
WHAT HISTORY TEACHES US ABOUT AMERICAN DIPLOMACY Addressed in 1876
THE COST OF POPULAR LIBERTY by Brooks Adams July 4th 1876
THE TRIUMPHS OF THE REPUBLIC! by Hon. Theodore Bacon, New York 1876
AMERICA OUR SUCCESS OUR FUTURE! by John P. Gulliver July 4th 1876 NYC
THE SOURCE AND SECURITY OF AMERICAN FREEDOM AND PROGRESS by Courtlandt Parker 1876
BENEFITS OF THE REPUBLICAN EXPERIMENT IN AMERICA by Thomas G. Alvord 1810- 1897
NEW HAVEN CT, ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO by Leonard Bacon July 4, 1876
Celtic Prayer of the Lorica or Breastplate prayer
Founders on the 2nd Amendment
The Story of Paul Revere

A PETITION TO TIME: A Poem by Bryan Waller Procter 1787-1874

Bryan_Waller_ProcterTouch Us gently, Time.
Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently, as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream.
Humble voyagers are we:
Husband, wife, and children three
(One is lost, — an angel, fled
To the azure overhead).

Touch us gently, Time.
We’ve not proud or soaring wings;
Our ambition, our content,
Lies in simple things.
Humble voyagers are we,
O’er life’s dim, unsounded sea,
Seeking only some calm clime:
Touch us gently, gentle Time.

Bryan Waller Procter (Barry Cornwall)

GOODNESS AND GREATNESS.

Goodness is the greatest of all the virtues and dignities of the mind, being the character of the Deity.

Greatness is gained by a winding stair, and the power to do good is the true and lawful end of aspiring.

Lord Francis Bacon.

THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY by Oliver Wendell Holmes 1841-1935

patriotism

What flower is this that greets the morn,
Its hues from Heaven so freshly born?
With burning star and flaming brand
It kindles all the sunset land.
Oh, tell us what its name may be!
Is this the Flower of Liberty?

It is the Banner of the Free,
The starry flower of Liberty!

In savage Nature’s fair abode,
Its tender seed our fathers sowed;
The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud,
Its opening leaves were streaked with blood;
Till lo! earth’s tyrants shook to see

The full-blown Flower of Liberty!
Then hail the Banner of the Free,

The starry Flower of Liberty!
Behold Its streaming rays unite,
One mingling flood of braided light:
The red that fires the Southern rose,
With spotless white from Northern snows,
And, spangled o’er its azure, see,
The sister stars of Liberty.

Then hail the Banner of the Free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

The blades of heroes fence it round;
Where’er it springs is holy ground;
From tower and dome its glories spread;
It waves where lonely sentries tread;
It makes the land, as ocean, free;
And plants an empire on the sea!

Then hail the Banner of the Free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom’s flower,
Shall ever float on dome arid tower,
To all their heavenly colors true,
In blackening frost, or crimson dew;
And God love us as we love thee,
Thrice holy Flower of Liberty!

Then hail the Banner of the Free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

AMERICA! FAIREST OF FREEDOM’S DAUGHTERS by Jeremiah E. Rankin 1828-1903

FAIREST OF FREEDOM’S DAUGHTERS

Lady-LibertyRead at the dedication of the Bartholdi Statue (i.e. Statue of Liberty), New York Harbor, October 28, 1888.

Night’s diadem around the head,
The world upon thee gazing,
Beneath the eye of heroes dead
Thy queenly form up-raising,
Lift up, lift up thy torch on high,
Fairest of Freedom’s daughters!
Flash it against thine own blue sky,
Flash it across the waters!

Stretch up to thine own woman’s height,
Thine eye lit with truth’s lustre,
As though from God, Himself a-light,
Earth’s hopes around thee cluster.
The stars touch with thy forehead fair;
At them thy torch was lighted.
They grope to find where truth’s ways are,
The nations long benighted.

Back-To-Basics

Thou hast the van in earth’s proud march,
To thee all nations turning;
Thy torch against thine own blue arch,
In answer to their yearning!
Show them the pathway thou hast trod,
The chains which thou hast broken;
Teach them thy trust in man and God,
The watchwords thou hast spoken.

freedom

Not here is heard the Alp-herd’s horn,
The mountain stillness breaking;
Nor do we catch the roseate morn,
The Alpine summits waking.
Is Neckar’s vale no longer fair,
That German hearts are leaving?
Ah! German hearts from hearthstones tear,
In thy proud star believing.
Has Rhineland lost her grape’s perfume,
Her waters green and golden?
And do her castles no more bloom
With legends rare and olden?
Why leave, strong men, the Fatherland?
Why cross the cold blue ocean?
Truth’s torch in thine uplifted hand,
Ha! kindles their devotion.

God, home, and country be thy care,
Thou queen of all the ages!
Belting the earth is this one prayer:
Unspotted be thy pages!
Lift up, lift up thy torch on high,
Fairest of Freedom’s daughters!
Flash it against thine own blue sky.
Flash it across the waters!

See also:
A REPUBLIC! A LIVING BREATHING CONSTITUTION DEFINED! by Alphonse De Lamartine 1790-1869
The Wisdom and Love of God as Shown by His Creation by Noah Webster
Advice to Young People from Noah Webster Father of American Education
Divine Heredity

AMERICA! A Poem by Bayard Taylor, July 4, 1876

AMERICA! July 4, 1876 The American Centennial

American Centennial Exposition 1876

American Centennial Exposition 1876

Foreseen in the vision of sages,
Foretold when martyrs bled,
She was born of the longing of ages,
By the truth of the noble dead
And the faith of the living fed!
No blood in her lightest veins
Frets at remembered chains,
Nor shame of bondage has bowed her head.
In her form and features still
The unblenching Puritan will,
Cavalier honor, Huguenot grace,
The Quaker truth and sweetness,
And the strength of the danger-girdled race
Of Holland, blend in a proud completeness.

From the homes of all, where her being began,
She took what she gave to Man;
Justice, that knew no station,
Belief, as soul decreed,
Free air for aspiration,
Free force for independent deed!
She takes, but to give again,
As the sea returns the rivers in rain;
And gathers the chosen of her seed
From the hunted of every crown and creed.

American Centennial Flag 1876

Her Germany dwells by a gentler Rhine;
Her Ireland sees the old sunburst shine;
Her France pursues some dream divine;
Her Norway keeps his mountain pine;
Her Italy waits by the western brine;
And, broad-based under all,
Is planted England’s oaken-hearted mood,
As rich in fortitude
As e’er went worldward from the island-wall!
Fused in her candid light,
To one strong race all races here unite;
Tongues melt in hers, hereditary foemen
Forget their sword and slogan, kith and clan.
‘Twas glory, once to be a Roman:
She makes it glory, now, to be a man!

See also: 
THE AMERICAN FLAG! A Poem By Joseph Rodman Drake May 29, 1819
SONG OF THE SOLDIERS! A Poem By Charles G. Halpine 1861-1865
THE OATH! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872 
THE RISING, 1776! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872 
The Doctrine of Fascism, Fascism Defined by Benito Mussolini
Resistance to Tyrants is Obedience to God
The Wisdom and Love of God as Shown by His Creation by Noah Webster
Constitution of the United States and it’s Governmental Operations (In Plain English)
 

 

THE RISING, 1776! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872

TheRising1776

THE RISING, 1776! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872

Out of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.
And there was tumult in the air,

The fife’s shrill note, the drum’s loud beat,
And through the wide land everywhere

The answering tread of hurrying feet;
While the first oath of Freedom’s gun,
Came on the blast from Lexington;
And Concord, roused, no longer tame,
Forgot her old baptismal name,
Made bare her patriot arm of power, –
And swelled the discord of the hour.

Within its shade of elm and oak
The church of Berkeley Manor stood;

There Sunday found the rural folk,
And some esteemed of gentle blood.
In vain their feet with loitering tread
Passed ‘mid the graves where rank is naught;
All could not read the lesson taught
In that republic of the dead.

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk,
The vale with peace and sunshine full
Where all the happy people walk,
Decked in their homespun flax and wool!
Where youth’s gay hats with blossoms bloom;
And every maid with simple art,
Wears on her breast, like her own heart,
A bud whose depths are all perfume;
While every garment’s gentle stir
Is breathing rose and lavender.

The pastor came; his snowy locks
Hallowed his brow of thought and care;
And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer.
The pastor rose; the prayer was strong;
The psalm was warrior David’s song;
The text, a few short words of might—
“The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!”

He spoke of wrongs too long endured,
Of sacred rights to be secured;
Then from his patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for Freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake
Compelled the heart to glow or quake,
And, rising on his theme’s broad wing,
And grasping in his nervous hand
The imaginary battle brand,
In face of death he dared to fling
Defiance to a tyrant king.

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed
In eloquence of attitude,
Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher;
Then swept his kindling glance of fire
From startled pew to breathless choir;
When suddenly his mantle wide
His hands impatient flung aside,
And, lo! he met their wondering eyes
Complete in all a warrior’s guise.

A moment there was awful pause—
When Berkeley cried, “Cease, traitor! cease!
God’s temple i? the house of peace!”
The other shouted, “Nay, not so,
When God is with our righteous cause;
His holiest places then are ours,
His temples are our forts and towers,
That frown upon the tyrant foe;
In this, the dawn of Freedom’s day,
There is a time to fight and pray!”

And now before the open door—
The warrior priest had ordered so—
The enlisting trumpet’s sudden roar
Rang through the chapel, o’er and o’er,
Its long reverberating blow,
So loud and clear, it seemed the ear
Of dusty death must wake and hear.
And there the startling drum and fife
Fired the living with fiercer life;
While overhead, with wild increase,
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace,

The great bell swung as ne’er before;
It seemed as it would never cease;
And every word its ardor flung
From off its jubilant iron tongue
Was, “War! War! War!”
“Who dares ?”—this was the patriot’s cry,
As striding from the desk he came—
“Come out with me, in Freedom’s name,
For her to live, for her to die?”
A hundred hands flung up reply,
A hundred voices answered, “I!”

See also:
THE AMERICAN FLAG! A Poem By Joseph Rodman Drake May 29, 1819
SONG OF THE SOLDIERS! A Poem By Charles G. Halpine 1861-1865
THE OATH! By Thomas Buchanan Read 1822-1872

The Love Light

The Love Light


The Love Light Always Beams,
From The Lord Above,
Through Endless Ages It Still Streams
And Falls Into Our Hearts, With The Gentleness Of A Dove.
How Sweet And Glorious To Know,
That Jesus Christ Is Real,
Heaven Sent From God Above,
That God’s Love ,We Could Always Feel.
So We Who Were Lost In Sin,
Could Find The Light That Comes From The Love,
And Feel The Love That Comes Only When,
God’s Own Son Graces Our Hearts Within,
A Savior To The World.
One Who Understands Us All,
As No One Ever Could,
Who Understands The Things We Feel,
And Lifts Us When We Fall.
Who Promised In His Word,
With Us He’d Always Be,
Till The End Of Time,
Someday His Blessed Face To See.
His Sweet Holy Spirit Inside Of You And Me,
To Be Both Yours And Mine,
To Have His Glorious Fellowship,
So Holy And So Sweet,
To Feel His Presence In Our Hearts,
That Fellowship Divine.
How Comforting To Know,
We Will Someday Also Meet,
In Heaven With Him, Those We Love Before Us Gone,
With The Guidance Of His Light,
The Light Of The World His Son,
The Precious Lamb Of God.
And By His Spirit Feel The Love,
That Wondrous And Glorious Love Of God,
Brought Here To Us From Above,
For In His Word It Is Written Of Him,
That God Is Love,
And From That Love,
Light Beams Always,
Forever On And On.
Brought To Me This Night, March 27, 1995,
From The Father’s Love, And Jesus’ Light You See,
That Beams Always, From God The Lord Above.

Copyright, R. Davis 1995