Clara Barton Speeches & Writings File Poetry UndatedBe still, Oh Soul, and forget, forget that we reap what we have sown. May the seed all have been good, and the harvest plentious A happy New Year Clara BartonPOST CARD. THE ADDRESS TO BE WRITTEN ON THIS SIDE. INLAND 1/2 D FOREIGN 1 DAddresses Ive started on a journey two hundred miles or more And bid farewell forever to my friends on Jersey shore Im bound you see to Oxford North Orford rough & wide In famous Worcester county of old Bay State the pride Ive many an earnest message to kind friends waiting there And beside a friendly greeting to B.R. Vassall bear Then pass me on in safety now longer by the way For never with good feeling could I brook a long delay To Old Massachusetts Charlton North Side I'm to bear on this message whatever betide And many my thanks when once I am there If I'm passed out to Theodore Deacon Esq Clara Barton early Poem. We break our ranks to take thee in Twine laurels for chaplets for they how Thou art ever welcome at the field And thou are welcome now.Letter AddressedThe Cottage on the Moor Twas night In twilight dust away, Had faded, in the west, The beast had sought her hiding place, The bird had wrought her nest. The swain against the coming storm Had safely shut his door And every cot was dark except The cottage o'er the. moor. Gloomy & sad the pilgrims tread Then twas a gloomy howling The good owl hooted from the tree The sky began to lower. He spied the heaven light and said Althou the cot be poor I'll try if charity has some For riches I have found have power To turn to stone the heart To shut compassion from the heart. And bid the watch depart. He knock per chance some friendly hand May deign to ope the door, And there while life shall last I'll bless The cottage o'er the moor. With a doubtful tap I sunk Trespassing on the ground A welcome in nymph exchange He caught the joyful sound.Oh what misfortune drove you here, I want this as he said with care, That in our humble cot you seek A shelter from the air That welcome to our meek abode Although it is but poor, For we against the needy wretch Have never shut the door. My father ever good and kind, And here she heaved a sigh, Has taught me to relieve the poor, And wipe the swerving eye. But alas the fate of war, She wept away a tear, And laid him so low And left us weepier there While even shall I keep in mind The mournful parting day, I uzd he wept and softly said At home my darkies stay. Then I'll return to the my child, As soon as war is o'er, [And shut the cottage door.] Then gently kissed & kindly smile Now many a year hasrol'd away. And we his loss deplore For never shall he see again The cottage o'er the moor. He shall the Soldier in he press'd His daughter to his heartr I am thy father, thou my child And we shall never part. For now the their storm of war has past The canon cease to roar And I've returned my Chit to cheery The cottage o'er the moor.------------------------------------------------------------------ An Exchange of Notes with Will Carleton On Memorial Day. and Miss Clara Barton ------------------- : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : Two Copies also Original An Exchange of Notes with Will Carleton on Memorial Day ----------------------------------------------------- : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : On the occasion of Memorial Day ,May 30 ,1895, at Arlington, Will Carleton delivered the poem. It was so fine that at it's close, I felt a great desire to reach him with some word of appreciation; and tearing a scrap from an envelope which I had, I wrote this upon it: "Thanks: Immortal thanks for immortal words. Arlington,1895. Clara Barton." Folding and addressing the scrap to Mr.Will Carleton, I passed it to the next person,who graciously passed it to the next and so on, through at least a hundred hands,until finally it was lodged with Mr. Carleton. In due course of time, another little scrap with the following words came back to me,through the same hands: "To Miss Clara Barton, "A million thanks to one, Who hath a million plaudits won For deeds of love to many millions done." (Signed) Will Carleton."To Clara Barton: A million thanks to one Who hath a million plaudits won For deeds of love to many millions done. Will Carleton [30] The death of the flowers The melancholy days are come, its saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown & sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs, the joy. And from the wood top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang & stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls out from the gloomy earth the lively ones again. The wind flower and the violet; they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade and glen,Miss Clara Barton And now, when comes the calm mild day, as like such days will come To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, tho' all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood, and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faided by my side; In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely, should have a life so brief. Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful should finish with the flowers.Copy C. Bn. COPY. The Death of the Flowers. The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and bare. Heaped in the hollows od the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit’s tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs, the joy, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. The wind flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier rose and the Orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade and glen. And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side; In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, and we wept that one so lovely, should have a life so brief. Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful should perish with the flowers. Lines to my beloved "Hail Columbia," One of the grandest natures I have ever known. -------- The world knew her as Mrs. Mohala Chaddock [Chadwick,] or Mrs. John Chaddock [Chadwick,] of Ipavia, Illinois. -------- True and brave, she toiled hard, And left us early. : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : On the shadowless plains of the teaming West, Where the tall corn and wild grass are waving, My Strong Child is building the wee birdies nest, And toiling, and striving, and saving. Through days that are weary, and nights that are long, Her patient hands tire not, nor falter; But her lips say a prayer, and her soul bursts in song, Like the faithful saint bowed at the altar. There are lives that are grand: and brave strokes are made With the sunshine of Love on the aerie; But hers is a life that is grand in the shade, This Strong Child of mine, on the Prairie. There are lives sweet and noble, and souls true and pure, That work out life's faithful endeavor; With the sweeter and nobler, the purer and truer, Ranks my Strong Child forever and ever. A prayer, Oh, Our Father! my soul for her breaths; Wilt Thou watch, as she bows with the Reapers ;-- Give her strength of thine Armor to bind up her sheaves ;-- Hold her pure in the eyes of her keeper,-- Give command to the gleaners to let some ears fall;-- With thy beautiful maidens, to gather;-- And when the night shadows shall fall over all, Let her lie at Thy feet -- Oh; Our Father! --------------------------- HOW I SPENT CHRISTMAS. ----------------------------HOW I SPENT CHRISTMAS. How I spent my Christmas, I scarcely can tell, For the day passed so quietly on, That I hardly had thought if "twas badly or well, When I woke from my dream at the evening knell, And twilight said "Christmas had gone." I had none of those wondrous old times of the past, That we read of in holiday books, When the Fays flitted over the meadows so fast, And the Oread danced to the mountain blast, And the Water Nymph sprang from the brooks. And none of these merry old times did I find, So teeming with soul stirring mirth; When the side-board with richest of gobles was lined, And the Ivy was wreathed, and the Holly was twined, And the Yule log blazed bright on the hearth. -2- And none of thesegallant old times were at hand, When the Lord to his Lady paid court; When the Noble bent low at the monarch's command, And the Knight and the Baren were lords of the land, And the Jester crowned every sport. No, none of these famous enchantments I sought, To while merry Christmas away; But the hours rolled so laden with serious thought, So richly with tender old memories fraught, That I wept while I blest the good day. In a vale far away 'mong the rock-covered hills, My wandering thoughts sought to stray, And I saw the bright streamlet leap down from the rills, And in fancy my ear caught the sound of the mills, Though I knew they were silent all day. And the Cet 'neath the hillside rose bright to my view, And the group that had gathered them there, That thought of the absent one often, I knew; Their loves were exchanging-- their hearts warm-3- and true, And I wept whilst I blessed them in prayer. And I gazed o'er the group, for her who had led, In these joys, in my childhood's hours, Alas! in the silent retreat of the dead, The sighing pine waves o'er a low narrow bed, And the marble slab reareth itself at its head; Oh! her Christmas was brighter than ours. But mem'ry was restless, and hurried me by, Through the lapse of many a year, And bid me go search for the soul beaming eye, The graceful form and the learning high, Of the sister we once held so dear, I searched, and I found;-o'er the woe that had come, A heart harder than mine might bleed; Sorrow and anguish had bowed that bright form, But Heaven had taken the stricken one home, And I wept when I blessed the kind deed. Dark septs were these--but through the deep gloom, Shone some rays of true earthly bliss, A father still gathered his children home, -4- And some still live at the call to come, And I wept as I blest God for this. C------- For the Oneida Chief.INITIATION ODE The Legion of Loyal Women. By Miss Clara Barton oOo 6 Copies and original. Initiation Ode. Dedicated to The Legion of Loyal Women. Motto. Patriotism. Friendship. Honor. We welcome you, our sisters true Unto our loyal band; The pledge you take must ever make Us one in heart and hand. The needy poor beside your door Shall peace and plenty meet; And the soldier true who wore the blue Shall rest his weary feet. May Honor e'er your guiding star, With Patriotism blend, And Friendship's light through darkness night Its holy radiance send. The sacred name that each may claim Must be your watchful care; And flee, as from the Vipers tree Ambitions' fatal snare. And what ye would, that others should That do ye unto them; And humbly pray through every day, They will be done; -- Amen.INITIATION ODE. Dedicated to The Legion of Loyal Women. Motto - Patriotism, Friendship, Honor. We welcome you, our sisters true, Unto our loyal band; The pledge you take must ever make Us one in heart and hand. The needy poor beside your door Shall peace and plenty meet; And the soldier true who wore the blue Shall rest his weary feet. May Honor e'er your guiding star, With Patriotism blend, And Friendships' light through darkest night Its holy radience send. The sacred name that each may claim, Must be your watchful care; And flee, as from the Upas tree Ambitions' fatal snare. And what ye would, that others should, That do ye unto them; And humbly pray through every day, Thy will be done; -- Amen. Iowa And Ms Homes, A little verseOnce on leaving Iowa after a delightful visit of a few weeks, I was importuned by the friends, to leave with them some word from my pen. - some token that I had been with them I penciled the following, as I left, [poem appears to be written on a separate paper and attached to the page above] Where once in its wilderness the vast prarie slumbered, and the foot of the savage erst stealthily trod, Where the passage of time, all unheeded, unnumbered, awaited I n silence the arrive of its God. To call it to life, in the swift circling ages, To bit it revolve in its mystical line, To take its proud pace in the last of the sages, To lay down its sheaves at futurities shrine, - Lo! The summons has sounded. - The silence is broken, The angel of progress has swept o'er the scene; The earth teems with verdure, each field is a token That civilized man has his firm grasp between; And cities, and culture have added their graces, And free thought, and courage life's tempters to stem; And the homes. Oh the homes, who has looked in their faces Will pray evermore God's last blessing on them. [next page] ---------------- POEM ----------------- Written by Miss Clara Barton on the train enroute to San Francisco,Cal., to G.A.R. ConventionIowa homes written by request Iowa--Pomm Comrades of the Golden slope Comrades tried and true, Who brought to us the rays of hope When hopeful days were few, Across this God wrought continent Our war tramp swells anew With a high and Holy mission, And that mission is to you. We march no more 'cross blood stained fields To die by sword or snare, No more alone through shot and shell Cross wild morass and darkling fell Our orders grim we bear. But hear ye not our bounding steeds As they thunder o'er the plains, And see ye not among the clouds Their smoke wreath flowing more manes? And mark ye not the iron brands That bind them for a girth, And the fiery nostrils snorting wrath With heads held to the earth? Our track is like the lightning, As we spurn the mountain sod, And our hearts are filled with glory, For our mission is of God. We come to bring you tidings of peace, and love, and hope That reigneth through our rescued land From east to western slope,-2- To bring a soldier's greeting and clasp your hands again, And pledge anew our loyalty With ne'er a spot or stain. A quarter of a century Hath scaled the peace we gave, And He who ruled the darkling strife Is mighty still to save. A hundred thousand messengers Their tidings bring to you, A hundred thousand comrades Clad in their army blue, Before they gate we halt and wait, We are up to the line with the countersign, And the Password is Golden Gate. But for a hundred thousand more Beside the eastern sea, A holier band with softer tones Their message brings to thee. Tearful and sad eyed mothers, And wives with souls of pain, And the broken hearted maiden here live their griefs again. They'll tell you of the little graves Wet with the evening dew, Lonely graves of martyrs filled for me and you; Great God how they fought! "Forward men, forward"; they are on with a shout; The muskets flashes lightening, the sabers are out! Hurled o'er the field where the solid shot fell -3- Sulphurous and blue with the hot breath of hell, 'Faced the cannon with bated breath, Stood fast in the ranks of the Reaper Death, Till the hurtling arrows of fate was sped, And the faithful lay in the ranks of the dead. Was it for naught? They'll tell you of the peaceful sleep Beside the sounding sea, Of the hero hearts that marched to death That a nation might be free; That the flag they saved floats over them, In their little beds of rest, And the sunset gleams athwart them, From out the golden west. The challenge came to them early, "Soldier halt, and wait!" And they promptly gave the countersign And entered the golden gate. They'll tell you "all's quiet along the Potomac" Where the stars their vigils keep O'er each little grave of your comrades brave, And the nations guards their sleep. Comrades of the sunset slope, We come to tell thee this, And bear to you the old flag That never the gound could kiss. A hundred thousand soldiers from every grand old state,-4- A hundred thousand messengers Before thy sentry wait, Then open your line to the countersign, The password is Golden Gate. THE SONG OF THE CAMP. "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, The outer trenches guarding, When the heated guns of the camps allied Grew weary of bombarding. The dark Rodan, in silent scoff, Lay, grim and threatening, under; And the tawney mount of Malakoff No longer belched its thunder. There was a pause. A guardsman said, "We storm the forts tomorrow: Sing-while we may, --another day Will bring enough of sorrow." They lay among the battery's side, Below the smoking cannon: Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde And from banks of Shannon. They sang of love and not of fame; Forgot was Britain's glory; Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang 'Annie Laurie.' Voice after voice caught up the song, Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,-- Their battle-eve confession. Dear girl, her name he dared not speak; But as the sound grew louder Something upon the soldier's cheek Washed off the stains of powder. Beyond the darkning ocean burned The bloody sunset's embers, While the Crimean valleys learned How English love remembers. And once again a fire of hell Rained on the Russian's quarters, With scream of shop, and burst of shell, And bellowing of the mortars! And Irish Nora's eyes are dim For a singer dumb and gory; And English Mary mourns for Who sang of Annie Laurie. Sleep, Soldiers! still in honored rest Your truth and valor wearing: The bravest are the tenderest,-- The loving are the daring.To Sorosis In Response to an Invitation to Breakfast at Delmonico's By Miss Clara Barton. To Sorosis in response to an invitation to Breakfast at Delmonico's. A blue-eyed lass eat by me As I opened my letters today, And glancing them ever one by one I tossed them to her in play. She fingered them light and listlessly As if they were little to show, When suddenly the blue eyes lit, And features were all aglow. "An anniversary breakfast At Delmonico's,--mercy me! So-ro-sis! How funny; Sorosis! And what is Sorosis?" said she. -2- Sorosis my child, was a pioneer When pioneers were rare Among the matrons prim and staid And the maidens shy and fair. When Paterfamilias due at his club Was never in the lurch; And the women sat demurely In vestry and in church. Sorosis, my child, was a pathfinder, And the track was oft doubtful indeed; But with forehead erect she bore on her way, And the weaker grew strong in her lead. And they gathered them in, this brave pioneer band Like the spokes of a wheel to the hub, And they made up their laws, and took on their vows, And Sorosis at length was a club. 'Twas the Ace of Clubs, and swung for the Jack, And the smaller trumps all did the same, And the queens and tens of Society Followed suit, and made the game. 'Twas the Ace of Blubs, and the third hand high She threw for her partner's cast, It took the trick, and saved the game, And the honors were easy at last. [next page] -3- 'Twas the Ace of Clubs when the cards were dealt, And the masculines uttered groan, Sorosis, undaunted, accepted the deal, Took the hand up and played it alone. By Miss Clara Barton. The American National Red Cross INCORPORATED UNDER THE LAW OF THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, OCTOBER 1, 1881. REINCORPORATED, APRIL 17, 18931. For the Relief of Suffering by War, Pestilence, Famine, Flood, Fires, and other Calamities of Sufficient Magnitude to be deemed National in Extent. The Organization acts under the Geneva Treaty, the provisions for which were made in International Convention at Geneva, Switzerland, August 22, 1864, and since signed by nearly all civilized nations, including the united States, which gave its adhesion by Act of Congress, March 1, 1882. Ratified by the Congress of Berne, June 9, 1882. Proclaimed by President Arthur, July 6, 1882. HEADQUARTERS: WASHINGTON, D.C. BOARD OF CONSULTATION: CLARA BARTON, PRESIDENT. WM. LAWRENCE, FIRST VICE-PRESIDENT. A. S. SOLOMONS, VICE-PRESIDENT. WALTER P. PHILLIPS. GENERAL SECRETARY. GEORGE KENNAN, TREASURER. DR. J. B. HUBBELL, GENERAL FIELD AGENT. To Sorosis in response to an invitation to Breakfast at Delmonicos. A blue-eyed lass sat by me As I opened my letters today, And glancing them over one by one I tossed them to her in play. She fingered them light and listlessly As if they were little to show, When suddenly the blue eyes lit; Ad the features were all aglow. "An anniversary breakfast, At Delmonico's - mercy me.! So-ro-sis: how funny;- so-ro-sis-: And what is so-ro-sos said she:" Sorosis my child was a pioneer When pioneers were rare Among the matrons prim and staid And the maidens shy and fair. 11-P To Utah friends with some bits of ribbon To the friends that are living beyond to the hearts that are tender and true To souls that are honest and royal Must one bid at last an adieu! Then to the friends this little memento every to gain your blossoming land to remind that there ever awaits you A (?) and a clasp of the hand. Adieumake copies with room for ex- at the top When Paterfamilias due at his club Was never in the lurch, And the women sat demurely In vestry and in church. Sorosis my child, was a path-finder, And the track was oft doubtful indeed But with forehead erect she bore on her way And the weaker grew strong in her lead. And they gathered them in, this brave pioneer band Like the spokes of a wheel to the hub, And they made up their laws, and took on their vows, An Sorosis at length was a club. 'Twas the ace of clubs, and swung for the Jack, And the smaller trumps all did the same; Ad the queens and tens of Society Followed suit, and made the game. "Twas the ace of clubs, and the third hand high She threw for her partners cast, It took the trick and saved the game, And the honors were easy at last. T'was the ace of clubs - when the cards were dealt And the masculines uttered a groan, Sorosis, undaunted accepted the deal Took the hand up and played it alone. THE FAIRFAX, EUROPEAN PLAN 14TH & F STREETS, Washington, D.C. ,...…………………….190Alone through gloomy that forest shades A Soldier went by night No moon beam parted that hollow glade No [beam] guideing star shead light the darkness that about him lay was filled with beading tones the[mafly boughs that acted his way from every leaf sent moans as on the vigil midnight rounds the warior clearly past unstayed by ought the mournful sounds that muttered in the blast Whose wore his thoughts that lonely hour For his face home per chance his father's, half his mother's daughters bougher. amidst the gay vines of France wandering from battles lost & won to hear and bless agane the roling of the write garrison or murmering of the ones hush. hark, did stearlings steps go by. Pams not feint whispers near No. the wildest wind hath many a sy amidsts the foaliage eere hark, yet again & from his hand what grasp hath wrenched the blade Oh. Single midts a hostile brende band young Soldiers than of are area yet, Silence, in under tones they cry morned. not a. breath the word that warns thy comrades say shal sentence the [remainder of page is crossed out but reads …] to death. [*He shouted through this rushing blood. arm. arm. at wvern tho thou stir thou tramp the bugle cold he heard the tumult glow it and sent his dying voice through all once more it and the foe Til at the bayonet point he good and strong to met the blo he shouted through the rushing blood arm, arm arovern the fo. the stir the trump the bugle call he heard the tumult glow [?] and sent his dying voice through all once more awvern the fo David David. B CLARA BARTON Correspondence with Friends of Gen. Correspondent. Paroled Prisoners, Annapolis, Md. P-11 Mrs Gage and my "heart"My hear, so rich my clara dear Is tender almost spoiling What shall I do to save it love and stop its endless toiling Hearts should be warm we all that know And pale to overflowing - But too much heart was brot awoke them and sorely worth bestowing So tell me darling what to do With your dear heart, I pray you do. Aunt Fanny. P-11 Aunt Fanny dear to your and care - I have my heart submitted There knowing that made hard & rare me pains will be remitted. Now should you deem it rather soft And recommend a bakeing You'l find a tin among my plates such as I bake my cake in - But should you wish to mince it fine (The day's too wet to ship it) I have confess I have no tray An have no knife to chef it - But should you find a Hollow green No stranger thing in this false ages Take bread & butter size & salt And stuff it like a sausage Aunt Fanny dear in your kind care My very heart lies steeping My bread and butter, flour and pans they all are in they keeping -H I came in contact Having under the auspices of our late lamented president become engaged in a search for the missing [prisoners] of our armies I [found] was brought in contact with Mr Dorence Atwater who [kept the Dea] as a union prisoner kept the Death Register of [the] Andersonville prison- and from his [learn the] description became satisfied of the possibility of identifying the graves. Having by invitation of our Honored Lady of the War formed into a party been placed upon an Expedition to Andersonville for the purpose of identifying the graves of the dead of Andersonville graves in the month of July] [last] it is perhaps not important that I make some report - of the circumstances which induced the sending of such an expedition. its work and the appearance condition and surrendering [spat hallow by old] of that interesting spot hallowed alike by the death of martyred men and the tears and prayers of the thousands who mourn them.