Comstock Township (part 2 of 2)

The Bi.Izzard Court House Corner Stone

In 1912, when the corner-stone of the present Custer county court house was laid, by a public ceremony held on the court-house lawn, Mrs. Dewey contributed the following poem to the program. The poem is descriptive of the building, the county, and the occasion, and brings into the rhyme and lines every precinct in the county.

Corner-Stone Poem

house Of God to build." The old recorder notes. Grandly it rose on Alount Moriah's height, A statelv pile without, of costly stone ; Fragrant with cedar carved and o'erlaid with gold. Within altar and Cherubim in beauty shone, Yet not in beauty did that temple old Excel the ancient shrines of Pagan skill. But in the great truth it shone, avowed. One God, Jehovah ! Israel's message still. Unity of mankind, oneness of God ! Proclaimed that ancient shrine to every land ;

History Of Custer Couxty. Nebraska

And thus began the upward trend to light, Peace, progress, liberty, on every hand. To-day we lay upon the blackened site Of what was once our pride and honest boast. Foundation of the new^ that shall proclaim Once more our oneness and the gathered host From Hayes to Elk Creek, Sargent clear to

W'ayne ! Repeat in unison we meet again Foundation here to lay of this our house Of civic progress, justice, liberty. United stands our empire, that this house In size and beauty shall show fittingly. In wealth and standing, Custer, gracious queen Of mid-state counties ; may no ruthless hand Dissect one member from thy body fair. But whole in strength and oneness may we plum. Thy tables la\' in wide unbroken sweep. Thy busy towns with vim and progress hum. West Union. Lillian, and \'ictoria hold Upon the north our farthest border line : Grant, Loup, Elk Creek, Wood River, W'ayne L'pon our south in constellation shine. Hayes, Arnold, Elim, mark our farthest west. Douglas Grove, Myrtle, and fair Algernon .\s eastward rolls the planet are the first To greet the golden arrows of the sun. Cliff. Kilfoil. Triumph. Custer. Broken Bow. Lillian, and Garfield, smiling W'esterville. Delight and Custer, Ansley and Berwyn, too. The glorious roll call of our precincts fill. And as our fathers on this natal day Proclaimed their purpose and confederacy. And the foundation laid of unity : So in like hope and loyalty may we. Long may this edifice, whose corner-stone W'e lay, stand record to our hopes and aim. Temple of justice, pride of our commonwealth, L'nbroken be our boundaries and fame.

TiJin H. lUirlin. or Tommy Burlin. as he was known to the people of Merna. where he spent the last days of his life, was a real Custer county poet. He w-as the son of Mr. and Mrs. Bradford Rurlin. Unfortunately some disease that rendered him helpless fastened itself upon him in early life, so that for years he was not only confined to his room but to his bed as well. Thus he lay. year after vear. with ossification of his joints slowly creeping on, so that he had l)ut little use of his limbs.

Without complaint or murmur, he lay upon his couch and communed with the Muses. He was the author of several very popular songs, which received merited recognition and wide sale.

Perhaps the most popular of his songs w'as the "Little Bohemian Girl." which was published by a St. Louis house and had a very popular run. W'e also reproduce here a poem written by "Tommy," descriptive of early days in Custer county, which was produced for a special occasion and made a decided hit when read at the old settlers" picnic, at which it was the feature of the program.

Sol. J. Cook

The following poem was written, in Merna, some time in the year 1903, by Sol. J. Cook, who was probably an intimate friend of Tommy Burlin's. No one seems tt> remember the writer, but his work possesses merit, and we submit it because this especial verse was dedicated to his friend, the late Tommy Burlin, of Alerna.

The Poet

Remote from mercenary tlirongs. In childlike faith and love absorb'd. .V s]5irit wash'd of social wrongs, And eyes profound with wonder orb'd,

Close-clinging to dear Nature's breast. Whose lullaby soothes thy repose ; What dreams fold thine enchanted rest? What mysteries to thee disclose ?

Aye ! The world richer grows, when sings The bard ; and tamer grows the beast. As from his lyre music springs. All things assume a golden cast.

The Blue Book of Nebraska women, edited and compiled by Winona Evans Reeves in 1916, contained the following biographical sketch of .Mrs. Martha A. Hunter:

"Martha Angeline I'eck Hunter was born on a farm near Walshville, Illinois, in 1858. She is the daughter of Aloses and Emily Caroline ( Barlow ) Beck. Her parents were both of a high type of Cbristian character. Of Mr. Beck, his pastor said. "He as fully meets God's description of a good man (Isaiah 33:15-17), as any one I ever knew," Her mother was the daughter of a pioneer Presbyterian minister. In this Christian home, where the Bhie Laws of the Presbyterian church were indeed law. -Mrs. Hunter grew to womanhood. In 1877 she was married to Roljert A. Hunter, and two daughters were born to them, \"ioIet Pearl (Mrs. O. H. X'enner, of University Place), and Ivy Maud (Mrs. Thad Farnsworth. of (Jrand Island). In 1889 the family moved to Custer county, to a homestead which is now a part of the Hunter ranch. Sunny Dell Cattle Ranch, near Broken Bow. The family lived here until 1894, when they became residents of Broken Bow. Mrs. Hunter is a member of the Presbyterian church and is an exemplary church woman. For many years she has taught a young men's Bible class in the Sunday school. She was the first president of Custer County Woman's Christian Temperance Union, and has spoken at many jniblic meetings in behalf of temperance. She was a charter member of Chapter S, P. E. O., and has served as vicepresident of the Nebraska Grand Chapter. She was a member of the woman's board of the Trans-Mississippi exposition, held in Omaha in 1898. For a number of years she taught in the grammar school. In 1915 she published 'The Story of the Four Gospels, for Boys and Girls,' and a temperance drama, 'Weighed in the Balance.' She is a woman of the greatest sincerity and wishes only to serve her day and generation and to merit the 'well done'."

Mrs. A. H. Stuckey, of Broken Bow. is one of the most talented women in the ci unity. Her literary work dates from her girlhood days, when she was a student contriljutur to the Cincinnati. ( )hio. Enquirer and Cazcltc. .-\t the time General Grant died, she entered a contest in which a prize was olTered for the best poem-tribute to the military hero. Over 250 poems were submitted, but the effort of Mrs. Stuckey was awarded first place. She is a native of Ohio, where she spent her early life and passed through the public schools, graduated from the high school, and later she took a finishing course in the Ursuline College.

county in 1881, and ever since she has had a prominent part in the public life of Broken Bow and vicinity. She has been a social leader, and tireless worker in educational circles. Her local song compositions have won much favor. The poems that follow are from the pen of Mrs. Stuckey.

The first poem. "The Lark's Returning," is taken from Donahoc's Magazine, a Boston ]uiblication. "The Goldenrod," the poem that follows next, has been extensivelv published throughout Nebraska, in which state the goldenrod is in high favor. The "Service Flag." or the last of the three poems submitted here, is a product of the war and has been immensely popular because of its local adaption to any community in the commonwealth.

O velvet throated bird ! You sit and sing, And call your playmate, to come echoing Your lay, alluring her, where'er you lead, Across the daisied mead.

No silvery notes, that swell thy siren strain. Can tempt her forth to round thy full refrain ; Or follow thee, on tiptoe o'er the grass, ^^'ith arms outstretched. Alas !

How often I have watched her eager play. And heard the wild, sweet laughter die away. When all her pretty arts had proven vain To coax \-our song again.

One evening, when your vesper song begun. And she, the mellow cadences had run In measure true, an angel passing near Heard the notes so ringing clear.

Then up he sped across the Milky Way To tell the Seraphim. In envv. thev P.esought. why earth should know this magic rune. Their chords could not attune.

She nestled in my arms, the \'esper done. And prattled of the shadows where the sun Was playing hide and seek between the hills; Too tired, to mock your trills;

And ever as you call before the door, I see thy playmate hasten as of yore ; The golden curls unbonneted, untwined. The harp strings of the wind.

My arms reach out to gather her again To their embrace. Hush'd is the melting strain. I fold them slowly o'er my hungry breast ; Song bird, you know - the rest.

Thk C.Uldknrod

Hail noble flower ! Thy peerless golden glory Is now emblazoned on Nebraska's crest, - Fit herald to proclaim lier wondrous story. And like her, monarch of the mighty West.

In vain, Aeolus and his wind god revel And scatter devastation through each bower, The violets wither, roses proud dishevel ; Thy scepter still defies his blighting power,

The pioneer beheld thy pristine beauty. Where for his dwelling thou bedecked the sod, Thy very life went out in love and duty Upon Penates' altar - Golden Rod.

pulsation Grows feebler, as the dying year grows old. Last of all thy race! O'er all the desolation, Shines out undimmed thy diadem of gold.

The Service Flag

'Twas twenty centuries ago. Against the whiteness of the dawn. There blaz'd a star of meteor glow. In splendor over Bethlehem's khan. The service banner of The Lord In heaven's window was unfurl'd,

Then, tyrants trembled for their might. Then, idols tottered to their doom. As through the deep of slavery's night That service flag first pierced the gloom. The shackles from men's souls were riv'n Where'er in majestv' it shone. And freedom unto faith was giv'n. The world's democracy begun.

And proven ; when, on Calvary's height. Where gleamed the wondrous Hag outspread. Was woven round its field of white, Golgotha's broidery of red. No greater love than this hath man, That, for his friend, his life he give, -And in the rear guard, or the van. He dies : that truth and freedom live.

The pilgrims brought them o'er the sea; The patriot wore them in his heart ; And when the arm of tyranny Was raised to wield the crushing dart. Old Glory to the world was born ; The red and white, her glist'ning bars, And blue, from heaven's dome was torn. To hold forever fixed, her stars.

God ! how it pulsates to the breeze ! This flag infused with a soul. Its song rings over farthest seas. And echoes back from pole to pole. It shouts, it calls, it thrills and swells With tidings of great joy, it gives; Like pealing of ten thousand bells. ( )ld Glory! O! it lives! it lives!

For two score and one hundred years. It waves above a nation free, .Vnd, in its sacred covenant, clears The way to earth's democracy. When mad with lust of jjride and pow'r, .\ tyrant hurls war's ruthless sway, .And nations cry in that dark hour America! America!

Old Glory answers to her need. From East and West : from South and North, Where'er her glitt'ring stars shall lead. Her loyal sons spring bravely forth.

They kiss the hem of that dear flag, As kneeling, did of old, each sire; And vow no despot's hands shall drag Its honor thru dishonor's mire.

Then from each window, streaming bright. "Xeath lowly eave, and palace grille. Shines out a banner thru the night. Like beacon fires upon each hill. The flag that points the tyrant's shame : Its white, that scorns the coward's dross, The holocaustal red, its frame ; Its star, enhallowed by the cross.

Hats ofl:'! and lift it to the skies. This banner of the heart and home ; This pledge of service that our boys Swear by Old Glory's halidom, "That flat; shall strh'c for the opprcst. Uiilil all peoples shall be free. Until all nations call her blest." Old Glory ! God be praised for thee !

Mrs. Sabina Penrod

Airs. Sabina Penrod will be remembered as being a delightful, cultured woman. She and her husband cast their lots in the Yucahill district of western Custer county, shortly after the opening of the country under the Kinkaid Act, and there they lived for several years. She was a writer of unusual ability, and sold many poems to eastern magazines. Some of her most famous ones were "Xature" and "Life's Pathway." We submit here a poem inspired by the beginning of a "Perfect Day" in the Sand Hills.

W. L. Gaston, the author of the lines below, in no way poses as a poet. He began his career in the field of journalism and won his first honors over the noin de plume of "Billv Ripton." He has done a good deal of commerical writing and a year or so ago engaged in storv w riting for a journal in the eastern part of the state, over the nom de plume of "Frank French." He is the author of "Cheliers Ales- siah," "The Window in Tom," and "California Jubilee History.'" He has been ten years in Custer county. In the winter of 1915 he removed with his family to Wayne, where he lived for one year. On his return to Custer county he wrote the following poem, entitled "Home in Broken Bow." Several of his rhymes have been set to music and published in several of the modern song-books. One is reproduced here, for padding out the column.

Home In Broken Bow

I've stood beneath the domes of state. On carpets of the rich and great ; I've walked with prophets, sat with kings. And heard the song the siren sings, Where zealots pray and sinners sin. But give me common folks and kin And let me have, while here below, A home-like home in Broken Bow.

I know the far-famed mines that hold The thrice rich hoards of yellow gold. I've seen the corn, like magic, grow. In deep soil'd vales where rivers flow. I've plucked the fruits and sipp'd the wines Of fine old trees and older vines. It matters little where I go, I claim mv home in Broken Bow.

I love the dells and hill-land slopes, Where lazy sunshine lags and mopes : The alder-shaded homes and lawns. Where hustle breeds and plenty spawns. Men sing the songs of war or trade, Yet only home-like homes are made. It matters little where I go, My heart goes back to Broken Bow.