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TRANSCRIPT
PAUL’S
PONDERINGS
Poems and Prose
by
Paul W. Swardstrom
& Family
Edited by:
Paul D. Swardstrom
Paul’s Ponderings
ii
Paul’s Ponderings
iii
Forward
For many years there has been a desire to reproduce the
prose of my father into a more modern vehicle. Most of the
material was typed several years ago and copies made. Since
that time new members of the family have been born or
gotten older, and there is a desire to provide copies for these
new family members and others.
Most of the material in this booklet comes from the copies
with reference to the copies hand written in wire bound
notebooks by my father.
In addition to the Poems and Prose of my father, I have
elected to include some additional material. The notebooks
also included a couple of poems by others in our family and I
have a couple of poems written by my mother that I felt
should be included. I also have included a short biography of
dad based on his obituary and one of mother.
Paul’s Ponderings
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Contents Philosophy & Romance .......................................................... 1
Hope ................................................................................... 2
Don’t Want to ..................................................................... 7
Who Wants to be King? ...................................................... 8
A Missed Kiss .................................................................... 10
To My Sweetheart ............................................................ 11
A letter to Mary ................................................................ 12
O Darling, My Darling ....................................................... 14
A Young Farmers Vacation ............................................... 16
A Letter at Thanksgiving ................................................... 18
Stretching Love – A Letter to Mary .................................. 20
Christmas Gift ................................................................... 22
Story of a December Evening ........................................... 24
She’s Just a Painted Doll ................................................... 28
A Postum Drinkers Creed ................................................. 29
Is it Worth it? .................................................................... 30
My Home – A Hospital Room ........................................... 31
Prayer, Praise, & Worship.................................................... 33
Analogies of the Resurrection .......................................... 34
My Picture of Easter ......................................................... 35
Thy Will Be Done .............................................................. 36
It Is Enough ....................................................................... 37
Jesus Wept ........................................................................ 38
By Grace............................................................................ 39
The Secret of the Tree ...................................................... 40
Paul’s Ponderings
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At Jesus’ Feet .................................................................... 41
The City of The Dead ........................................................ 42
A Broken Vessel ................................................................ 44
O Death, Where is Thy Sting? ........................................... 46
The Nobler Plan ................................................................ 47
Where Dwellest Thou? ..................................................... 48
Follow Him ........................................................................ 50
Awake, My Soul ................................................................ 52
New Years Prayer ............................................................. 54
His Star.............................................................................. 55
Three Christmas Messages ............................................... 56
This is the Day that the Lord Hath Made ......................... 57
The Dear Loving Saviour has Found Me ........................... 58
Simon of Cyrene ............................................................... 59
Thanksgiving Prayer.......................................................... 60
Answer to the Challenge of the Age ................................. 62
The Road Ahead ............................................................... 64
We Cannot Know .............................................................. 64
It is But Vanity .................................................................. 65
Politics And Satire ................................................................. 69
The Little Pig ..................................................................... 70
It Isn’t as Bad as it Sounds ................................................ 72
Polecat Politics ................................................................. 74
Imitating my Rooster. ....................................................... 74
Repubs and Dems ............................................................. 75
Paul’s Ponderings
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I Hate to Farm for the Gambler ........................................ 76
The Township Election ..................................................... 77
Dr. Sam Prescribes for the Farmer ................................... 79
Memorials And Fun Stuff ...................................................... 81
Auf Wiedersehen! ............................................................ 82
Departed Saint .................................................................. 83
“Winnie” ........................................................................... 84
We Salute ......................................................................... 85
Another Bugle Call ............................................................ 86
Epitaphs ............................................................................ 88
Telephone Exchange Operator ..................................... 88
The Barber .................................................................... 88
Shaeffer ........................................................................ 88
To a Neighbor ................................................................... 88
Heavy Rhythm .................................................................. 88
The Laryngitis Germ.......................................................... 89
Church Worker from Cush ................................................ 89
Ode to a School Teacher .................................................. 89
To a School Boy ................................................................ 89
An Ode to the Old Stage Curtain ...................................... 90
The Day After Christmas ................................................... 92
New Years Day is Past ....................................................... 93
Together We Build ............................................................ 94
Writings By Family & Friends................................................ 97
Grief .................................................................................. 98
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The Girl in the Mirror ....................................................... 99
I Can’t Write a Poem ...................................................... 100
Passing Thru This World ................................................. 100
The Pony ......................................................................... 100
Family Information ............................................................. 101
Paul & Mary Swardstrom – A short Bio. ......................... 102
Swardstrom Family – A Few Notes. ................................ 104
Paul’s Ponderings
1
Philosophy &
Romance
Paul and Mary in 1928
Paul’s Ponderings
2
Hope
I’ve heard a lot Of people say
That we are young But once, and give
This as excuse For squandering
Not only every cent They earn, but also
Waste their youthful Health and strength
And talents which God gave to them.
For things which some Call pleasures, but
Which never could Give any lasting
Joy or gain: As candy, movies,
Gasoline, Expensive cars,
Dates, cigarettes.
Not that the youth The boys and girls
Should have no fun But that they should
Not waste their whole Of youth, or even
Half of it For fleeting things
As these.
Paul’s Ponderings
3
For after all It seems to me
That this our Earthly life below
Is mostly trials Pain and woe.
And disappointment Meets us
Everywhere we go; And were it not
For hope, the dream Of better days
To come, the vision Of a distant
Glowing goal, Which heals
The pain of labor, And the scars of care
This earthly life Would prove to be
A burden greater Than most human
Folks could bear.
Some folks might say “That being so,
T’were better that We while away
Our earthly time In idleness
And sleep. “But that Is not for me
For rest and sleep Is death, and while
I live, I want To be alive.
Paul’s Ponderings
4
Let fate take from Me all I own
Of wealth, and health Of treasured friends,
Of joy, and peace, But leave me hope
And I would not Be seen to weep,
Nor pine, nor mope.
But give me all That I could spend
Of earthly wealth And I would weep
And waste away If I had lost
That greatest gift God gave to man;
The gift of Hope.
Hope that we might Some day possess
A cozy home That we can call
Our very own. Hope that we might
Earn just a little More each day
Than we may need To fill the common needs.
To save that little bit To use in case
A “rainy day” Should visit us:
And for the day When age will force
Us from the ranks Of working folks.
Paul’s Ponderings
5
Hope that the clouds, Which marred the blue
Of all the yesterdays Might fade away
And that the dawn Might show a fairer day.
Hope of the hopes, The great immortal hope
Which sees A perfect dawn
Beyond the darkest Night of life,
Which other folks Call death.
We all must Travel down,
Or rather up The road of life.
But, “there’s a way
That seemeth good To man”. A way
That seems Much easier to go;
Soft carpeted With verdure
Bright with blooms, A detour from
The thorny Rocky road, or so
It seems to us.
Paul’s Ponderings
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But it just leads Us round about;
In circling ways; No certain course;
No hope, no aim; Except, that waiting
At the end Is death.
The other road Exacts of us
A huge, tremendous Toll of effort,
Labor, pain.
But straight ahead There lies a certain
Treasured goal That I may reach
Or I may not; And, up above,
To light the way And cheer me on;
Is Hope, bright shining Like some precious
Glowing gem.
And so I’ll save And sacrifice
From day to day And year to year;
And at the end I’ll lay it down
All I have saved All that I own
Before the bright Bejeweled throne
Of Hope. (Written 1928 or 1929)
Paul’s Ponderings
7
Don’t Want to
I suppose in every household There is work for everyone So shouldn’t you be helping With the work that must be done? And if the job is not the one That just appeals to you Will the attitude “Don’t want to” Make it easier to do? Not even kings and princesses Do exactly as they please For this world is not a theater Where all is fun and ease. Fate leads to paths unpleasant But it leaves it understood That to say that we “don’t want to” Never does us any good. If there is a task a waiting For two little hands to do And everyone is busy That is, everyone but you, If you can do it nicely And your Mother says you should And you say that you “don’t want to” Will it do you any good? If Daddy has a errand Which two little feet could run And if you were right willing It could be so quickly done. You may start to find excuses And finally to refuse By saying you “don’t want to” But really, what’s the use? (1940 something)
Paul’s Ponderings
8
Who Wants to be King?
If some kind and able fairy Should present me with the chance To be like the fourteenth Louis That once reigned as king of France; And to have his pomp and glory, And his horde of golden pelf, I would tell that foolish fairy “You can have the job yourself!” I am told the former Kaiser Has been known to sigh and sob And lament it very greatly That he lost his kingly job. If they’d offer him the kingdom Back again he’d surely go; But if I should have the offer I would answer, “Thank you---No!” I have heard of one small country Where a hasty minded prince Spurned his rights as heir apparent And has rued his action since. Now he wants them to return him To his rights as legal heir; But were I in his position I should neither fret nor care. Rulers live in swellest mansions Servants wait on either hand Yet I think the kingly business Is the poorest in the land. I would rather be a flyer And attempt to span the sea For the Monarch’s occupation Seems more dangerous to me!
Paul’s Ponderings
9
But since I have been to Fessen Den, and in that city seen The very stately Nineteen Twenty eight alfalfa queen, - I’ve amended my opinions And I wish some spritely thing Would enthrone me as a Monarch With the crown “Alfalfa King!”
(1928)
Paul’s Ponderings
10
A Missed Kiss
Thou sweet vivacious thing---I love you so And soon you come to say “Good-bye;” and oh My Dear! My Dear! How can I let you go Without you first should give me only this. One little kiss. For many happy years I’ve played with you And been your friend and comrade ever true With twinkling eyes, you said you loved me too. Yet, never gave me cause to know the bliss Of one small kiss. Throughout these years, you’ve tried your level best To put me through the most exacting test With winning smiles; nor guessed How I have often wondered if a flirt could miss A stolen kiss. Some time ago you said with certain tone You’d give me one, when we were all alone And oh, the gnawing longing I have known Longing for the time you’d give me this Long promised kiss. And now we’re here where no one else can see Shall you make good that promise made to me? Thou sweet capricious thing---so blithe and free Is this the payment of your debt? Gee whiz---I guess it is! With joy would I caress your lovely cheeks Of sweetest lips, I dare not even speak Yet, when their greatest gift I dared to seek You led me on, and then you gave me this A Candy Kiss! (1924) *Alternate titles: “The Candy Kiss” or “A Misses Kiss”+
Paul’s Ponderings
11
To My Sweetheart
By a rapid, meandering river Which flows thru a land of the west, Is a spot I will cherish forever With joy locked secure in my breast. No event of the coming to-morrow No deep stinging trial or care, Can ever take from me, or borrow, The hope that was born to me there. For there, on that spot by the river, Encompassed almost by the stream, She gave me to cherish forever The thrill and joy of a dream. O, I know it is only a vision, A hope, but a hope so divine, And the thrill of loves first recognition And sweetest of lips touching mine. Then continue your course, blessed river, Flow on, ever on to the sea; But dear heart, let me hold now and ever The love you have given to me. (1928)
Paul’s Ponderings
12
A letter to Mary
Dear Mary, Last week I managed to contrive to quit my work
one day at five. T’was not because I thot it best to give my
horse a needed rest, for while I keep him fat and trim and
filled with oil up to the brim, I need not sympathize with
him! But we had planned to motor down to visit Harvey’s
bustling town, for we received a word from “Kate”, “Next
Thursday I will graduate from High-school,” so we hied us
thence, to watch her starting to commence!
Before the doings I goes down into the business part
of town to ask my Uncle Sam to take a letter to a girl in
Drake, and while I’m walking down the street, a couple of
girls I chance to meet, as pretty girls as you could see, but
strangers both of them to me, and one of them stares at me
so, then sweetly smiles and says, “Hello!” I can’t image why I
did not breeze at her, “Hello ole kid! I don’t recall when we
have met, I do not know your name, and yet when I behold
the light which lies but faintly hid in twinkling eyes, I feel my
sweet petite amour, that we have surely met before.”
Instead, I acted like a bum, I was completely overcome! I
couldn’t find a word to speak in English, Swedish, French, or
Greek. Perhaps I ought to sail next week for far Arabia, and
seek some erudition from a Sheik!
A little later when we are just sitting waiting in the
car, another little lady fair, who chanced along the
thoroughfare, looked up at me so nice and sweet and when
her eyes I chanced to meet, altho she was a stranger too, she
spoke and said, “How-do-you-do?” But, sister was with me
and so I mumbled just a faint “Hello.” And then a little later
on while I was sitting there, anon, a group of girls came
walking by and one young lady caught my eye; she was just
about to speak but I made haste to turn my head just then
Paul’s Ponderings
13
nor dared to look her way again, but put my hand across my
chin to hide my “captivating” grin!
There’s surely something strange amiss; I wish you’d
tell me why it is that ladies whom I do not know will have the
heart to treat me so! If things get worse it will be hard for I
won’t dare to leave the yard without a hired body-guard!
Perhaps they took one look at me and thot I needed
company! And in my fancy I can hear that first one say as I
drew near, “Why Myrtle, for the love of Mike, that fellow
looks so lonesome like. I’ll bet his sweet ma-ma has left, he
looks so mournful and bereft.”
Or maybe from a homely sight, some power changed
me over nite and made me such a handsome sheik, that they
just couldn’t help but speak! It would be fun if that was so;
but it just couldn’t be, you know, and since these things
could not be true, I’m much afraid, and so are you, that from
the goofy way I looked, it’s probable they had me booked as
one who needed someone to take care of him.
I thank you, Paul (1929-30)
Paul’s Ponderings
14
O Darling, My Darling
O darling, my darling, come and sit with me. Come up atop this knotted rail, Once hewn from off a tree; Now do be careful, dearest one, You’re sitting rather high, If you should slip and tumble down You’ll make your lover cry. O Heart, heart, heart, O the bleeding drops of red You’ll be a corpse upon the ground
Fallen, cold, and dead! O darling, my darling, sit closer by my side You are so beautiful and sweet, come soon
And be my bride; But see these knots, how sharp they are.
If you should slip and fall, You’d scratch and rip yourself to shreds
And that would not be all, O Heart, heart, heart, O the bleeding drops of red You’ll be a corpse upon the ground
Fallen, cold, and dead! O darling, my darling, you are so sweet and brave I pledge myself henceforth to be
Your true devoted slave; Come hug me tighter, dearest one,
Cling to me hard and strong For if you loose your hold and fall
The time would not be long. O Heart, heart, heart, O the horrid drops of red, Before you’ll be a bleeding corpse
Lying cold and dead!
Paul’s Ponderings
15
O darling, my darling, lets scramble to the ground Let’s strive to reach the earth again
And reach it safe and sound; Be careful lest your garments catch
Upon some splintered stick; Be careful, lest you reach the ground
Perhaps a trifle quick! O Dear, dear, dear, O your dress is
Just a shred! And on the ground my darling flounders
Blushing crimson red!
(1928)
Paul’s Ponderings
16
A Young Farmers Vacation
Since I started raising the bread of the nation I rarely, if ever could take a vacation.
But, this year, I vow, I shall take one, and how!
So take it from me, I shall take one! I rented more land, for I thot it was clever And now have more acres to drill in than ever.
But sure as I live If my work doesn’t give
Me the chance which I need, I shall make one! For I had word, from a sweet little maiden Who owes me a debt that she never has paid’n!
She now has agreed To pay up, yes indeed,
If I do but come down and collect it! Of course I could not have the least hesitation To write and accept the dear girls’ invitation;
If you had a kiss Coming from some sweet miss,
Wouldn’t you be a chump to reject it? I also will state, if you keep it between us, Another young thing, who is pretty as Venus.
Has promised in faith She would co-operate
With my friend, to pay her obligations! As soon as the season of seeding is over I’ll lock up my cows in their pasture of clover
Then crank up my car And go traveling far
On account of these maids’ invitations!
Paul’s Ponderings
17
But wouldn’t it make me feel awfully silly If I should traverse over roads rough and hilly
And finally come down To that far away town
Feeling perfectly, eagerly happy And then should discover, with breath fairly choking That my pretty friend’s pretty friend had been joking
And she should object When I start to collect
And should shamefully, painfully slap me!! (1928)
Paul’s Ponderings
18
A Letter at Thanksgiving
Dear Mary, This
Is Thanksgiving day And Mrs. Quist Is here to roast A turkey, and To bake some pies, ‘n everything. So, after all It really looks As if we’ll have A dinner, fit For any man’s Thanksgiving Day. So that is something Which we might Be thankful for The weather, too Is just suburb; And that is quite A something too. And I just thot I’d write to you And let you know So you would waste No sympathy On me.
Paul’s Ponderings
19
And anyway, I’ve often read Such junk as this, And maybe worse Penned by a man Who signs himself Just “K.C.B.” And I just thot That I would try To see if I Could write like that; And if you think I’ve done as well As K.C.B. Or better; then, You could write to me And tell me so. I thank you.
Paul Swardstrom (Nov. 29, 1928)
Paul’s Ponderings
20
Stretching Love – A Letter to Mary
Dear Mary, I played with you And held you on My knees, and loved You, years ago. When you were Just a teeny tot, About the height Of the left, hind knee Of a grasshopper. And then you left, And stayed away. And years later When you were ten And grown lots bigger You came back And stayed three years; And in that time I found that I Was still in love With you, and then You left again. And three years later When you were Sixteen, and grown Lots bigger, I Saw you again And found that I Still loved you more Than ever, but:
Paul’s Ponderings
21
If you eat a lot As you said you would If I didn’t come And take it away From you; And get Just awful fat, Or grow much more. Then, I’m afraid You’ll get so big So that my love Can’t cover you; And anyway, It seems to me Impossible That it could be Elastic enough To stand such awful Stretching. I thank you, P.W.S.
Paul’s Ponderings
22
Christmas Gift
Christmas time is drawing near, so I would like to toss A little subtle hint or two to dear old Santa Claus. I have no doubt that he is planning some nice gift for me, But, maybe finds it difficult to choose what it should be! Now, I don’t need a collar, and I hardly need a tie And I’ve been supplied with garters since my birthday in July! (Well, my birthday is in August, but who cares about the time:) (And if a poet stuck to facts, how could he make a rhyme?) I do not need a pair of shoes, nor handkerchiefs, nor socks Nor would I care to have a ring adorned with precious rocks! Perhaps I’m too particular, but really it is true That there is just one thing I want, and nothing else will do! And Mary, if you wish to know, I’ll whisper it to you! “O do you wish for gold or wealth, or precious stones?” Not I Nor do I wish for anything which gold or gems could buy! And neither is it health, nor strength! What am I thinking of? O no, it isn’t happiness, it isn’t even love! But that it is a part of these could never be denied, - It’s happiness and love, and more in one personified! Well, I’m afraid it is too much to ask of Santa Claus And anyway I couldn’t tell him what it is because I can’t remember ever hearing what his address is! But, Mary dear, if you should know, please will you forward this? You say I’m hard to satisfy? I will admit it’s true For really that is all I want and nothing else will do! Then snuggle closer Mary while I whisper it to you! Now I can buy some bakers bread, and open up a can And maybe cook as good a meal, as any other man! And I can wash and sew and mend, and even iron clothes And keep the house in order, but no mortal being knows How much I hate to have to do, the things I have to do. When I must be my cook and maid and washerwoman too! But still, I am not asking for some “Robot” cook and maid. For that is hardly what I want, I really am afraid!
Paul’s Ponderings
23
O yes, I know just what I want, just what and when and how! And as I know just what I want I know I want it now! I’m hard to satisfy? The accusation isn’t new, But there is just one thing I want and nothing else will do. O sweetheart you have guessed it
For the gift I want is you! (1929) Dad got his Christmas gift. Wedding day – June 12, 1930:
Ethel, Mary, Paul, and Johnny
Paul’s Ponderings
24
Story of a December Evening
One day in December, myself and a comrade Decided to go to a basketball game To cheer while our Arthur, and Charlie, and Conrad, And Jessie, and Mike, tried to smash Heatons’ fame. “But”, said my dear pal, “If we want to be happy, A couple of sweet ladies we must take along:” And suggested we up and move right quick and snappy To get the dear things or find out what was wrong! And you may believe that we made our selection Regarding the maids we should honor that night, With a great deal of judgment and much circumspection, And made us a choice that was perfect, oh quite! We carefully weighed, like a jurist on duty, All the items of charm of the girls whom we knew: Vivaciousness, grace, personality, beauty, Hair, eyes, and complexions, and measurements too! All feminine charms, so illusive and mystic Were fathomed and held to our beck and call; And thus we did choose of the girls in the district The fairest, and sweetest, and dearest of all! And were they some beauties? Well, don’t you forget it! And since you will know let me humbly admit it, The best of the two was the choice for myself! Her hair had the color of shimmering satin; Her eyes such a glorious deep twinkling blue: O, I wish I knew phrases in English or Latin Effective enough to describe her to you! So lovely she was and far sweeter than honey; I wonder to think that she gave me a date And oh how I wished that I had enough money To trade the old Ford for a Cunningham eight!
Paul’s Ponderings
25
One thing tho all else I shall fail to remember Never shall cease with my mind abide--- ‘Tis the thought of that evening in early December On which my beloved one crawled in by my side! In behind us I seated my pal and his beauty, As pretty a girl as a model of wax, And he told me he found it a difficult duty Compelling his arm nearest her to relax! From Hurdsfield to Heaton is some little distance For one who is trav’ling a fliver alone; Especially when, with no little insistence Jack Frost tries to nip one clear thru to the bone; But we took the distance in less than a twinkle--- At least so it seems to the writer of this--- As if I were playing a dozing Van Winkle, Or “Lizzie” had changed from the thing which it is! Why scarce had I time to subdue for a minute My awe at my fair one’s proud beauty and grace, When out of the darkness and fog which was in it The lights of old Heaton shown twinkling in space. You’ve heard oft repeated the heart rending story Of how our boys were defeated that night; Yet how they went down in a halo of glory They showed such spirit of gameness and fight. Would I could tell on of the game and its playing, It’s wonderful thrilling events to relate, Yet strict to my narrative I must be staying And that is apart from the boys or their fate. Now after the game, ‘tis our genial Kearney Addressing his pupils when meeting by chance, “You must start right away on your home-going journey, I want none of you to remain for the dance.” Our own little ladies of course were affected By this most severe, unrelenting decree.
Paul’s Ponderings
26
“The Prof. has no business,” my Rosie objected “To dictate in lordly fashion to me, Let’s stay just the same and forget his objections, I came for the dance more than anything else; I’d stay even tho I was sure of detection Yet that is remote as Calcutta’s hotels!” We really were in the proverbial “pickle” It is to myself and my pal I refer We felt very little inclined to be fickle The genial Prof’s righteous wrath to incur. Nor cared we to leave our fair ones behind us, Surrendering them to the Heaton young men. To treacherous compacts no woman could bind us; We must return home; so I answered her then; Oh beautiful Rose of the wild boundless prairie, Sweet and untamed as the fields where you grow--- With ever a grace that would rival a fairy, And cheeks like rosettes set on glittering snow, My sweet prairie rose, I may bother and grieve you And rob you of happiness much as a thief--- But we must return home and I know if I leave you Behind, I shall never get over my grief! I threatened and begged and beseeched and cajoled her, But seemingly with not the slightest avail, For she seemed as unmoved as a million ton bolder, As hard to approach as a burglar in jail! “Well how did you solve this perplexing dilemma?” You ask, but dear reader your question is bold, For you surely must know that there are-well-a-hem a Few things that are better left hid and untold! Then suffice it to say in a hasty conclusion--- As much as a delicate theme could advise--- There is one little thing always forcing intrusion Into all the fancies my brain can devise; Yes, a longing there is which consistently lingers, And much like a tumor continually grows, We miss most of all that which slips thru the fingers--- O how we have missed you, you sweet Prairie Rose!!!!
Paul’s Ponderings
27
(“Story of a December Evening“ likely was written before Paul and Mary were married and sent as part of letter to Mary. The following was attached as a note on a handwritten copy: “Dear Mary, I copied over this poem which I wrote a few years ago. Thought you might enjoy reading it. The two girls mentioned are Bertha and Rose Becker. The “Comrade” was Fred Buchwitz. Bertha returned home with us but Rose didn’t! If she had there would have been no poem. Paul”)
Paul’s Ponderings
28
She’s Just a Painted Doll
It seems so sad to me That every girl I see, Has rouged herself till she
Looks like a plaster doll. “The skin you love to touch” Is only rouge and such She paints herself so much
She’s just a gilded doll. Between her knees and toes Are only pumps and hose And almost less than those
Between her knees and shoulders. Oh how I long to meet On country lane or street A girl who can be sweet
Yet not a plaster doll. One day I came and scared A girl; and how I stared I caught her unprepared!
My sweet unpainted doll. Her face was all bereft Of paint, and just a deft Swift touch of powder left
Upon my former doll. I fell in love I guess But since she went to dress She looks no more, nor less
Than like a plaster model. Loves thrill is not for me; I live in memory; She, who so sweet could be,
Is just a painted doll!
Paul’s Ponderings
29
A Postum Drinkers Creed
Thou hydra-headed monster of the night, At last you’re viewed in the truth’s revealing light! How often, while in darkness, weak and blind You’ve struck at me, in ambush from behind: Beside my bed, you would your presence keep, To tease and vex me when I feign would sleep; And should my eyelids close despite your screams You’d visit me with nitemares in my dreams! O wretched destroyer of the sleep of men, Dos’t think that I would dine with you again? To think I’ve laid serenely in your arms And known the peaceful sweetness of your charms, Yet, never felt the sting of prickly barb, Or knew the tiger in her scented garb! To think that I have lived with you so long And only now discovered something wrong! That you, who were my queen---O I could weep Was also that dread monster of my sleep. Let fools observe their rendezvous with thee But let another fill the cup for me. Henceforth, I go the rosy road to health, No more shall coffee get inside my belt. *Alternate title: “To Mr./Mrs. Coffee Nerves”+ (1928/earlier) {Note: Before decaffeinated coffee was widely available from the major brands, Postum was providing it. I understand that it did not taste as good as regular coffee}
Paul’s Ponderings
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Is it Worth it?
Is it worth all the effort my friend This struggle for freedom and truth? Is it worth what is paid in the sacrifice made And the blood of the lives of our youth? Is the cause which you bear to the battle Worth as much as the price you must pay? Will your faith hold fast while the trials last? Is your courage as great as the day? And the Emblem of freedom so proudly carried By freemen around the wide world? Does it still bring the start of a thrill to your heart As you watch as its folds are unfurled? Is freedom more precious than silver or gold More precious than loved one or life? Can you measure its worth while the bruises hurt And you are wearied to death with the strife? The Answer My friend can’t be found in a book No matter how hard you may try The answer must rest down deep in your breast If it doesn’t, the Freedom will die.
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My Home – A Hospital Room
My home is but a tiny room with windows, and a door Which opens up to some mysterious place; and o’er It’s surface, like a T.V. screen, I watch to flow Of phantom figures flitting to and fro. My home contains some simple furnishings; I spy A dresser, table, chairs, the bed on which I lie. Some drawers too, which hold my simple needs, While nurse and doctor ministers and feeds. My thinning frame recalls to memory The line, “I see my bones, they stand and stare at me.” The tyrant, “Time” no longer steals my day, But grudgingly accepts the hours I toss away. But in my little home there are yet other doors Through which my spirit in it’s fancy soars To other worlds; Unbound by time or space I find myself transported anyplace There is a door which only I can open wide Through which God’s Spirit come to bless and to abide. And there are doors from which the outside world can flow Through printed page, and telephone, and radio. And so my cubicle, though strait from wall to wall, Is really not so tiny after all! (1963)
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Paul and Mary – 1963
Paul and Mary – December 1969
Prayer,
Praise, &
Worship
Dad became a Christian early in his life and much of his writings reflect this fact. This section incorporates material which reflects
his desire to serve the Lord.
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Analogies of the Resurrection
Not exactly like the flagrant flower Newly bursting forth in beauteous bloom Which only days ago lay dormant In a tiny hard shelled tomb.
(Had they not known; who could have guessed This earthly speck could hear the call of God. In sun and rain; that it should issue forth With shoot and stem and flower from the sod?)
Not quite like that, the resurrection morn When human bones will rise to be reborn! Not quite like the same, as when the butterfly Completes his destined changes, and soon With outspread, untried wing he leaves The confines of his old cocoon.
Who would have guessed, that when the insect spun That silken prison round his ugly shape He made himself a dressing room, where God Would with a fairer cloak, his body drape?
Not quite like that, and yet, perhaps there is For human souls, some Heavenly Chrysalis! Nor yet the same as when in days of spring The grass, long buried underneath the snow With roots as crisp and cold as threads of ice, Thaw out and spring to life and grow.
Who would have guessed, that on the barren wood Like sticks of kindling, crisp and brown and sere, The leaves which fell with autumns chilling blast Would someday, somehow re-appear?
Not quite like this when heavens spring comes’ round Shall human bodies issue from the ground.
(Feb. 1945)
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My Picture of Easter
My Easter scene would show an open tomb- Empty. Flowers bursting in bloom A morning sun, beginning to arise With rosy splendor in the eastern skies. A picture of morning and of springtime-yes A picture of promise and of deathlessness. But, in the background there would have to be In somber shadows; a Gethsemane. And in the quickly dissipating gloom A cross, between the garden and the tomb Then paint in distant skies, a vast Forbidding cloud, to show a storm has passed Confirmed by rainbow hues, the storm has ceased God’s judgment over and his wrath appeased. In short, my picture of Easter needs would be A blend of Triumph and of Calvary!
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Thy Will Be Done
And now, O God, I see Thy way is best And centered in Thy will, my only rest. There, at the Cross, which pierced the sky above Flowed out to me Thine all enfolding love. I now perceive Thy perfect will for me Conceives the best that I can do, and be. In cloud by day, and pillar of fire by night Show me the way, that I may go al-right. My self-willed course, I dare no longer run In me, through me, O Lord, thy will be done. And yet, I would draw even closer still Into the center of Thy holy will. Show me again, for I must oft be shown How close our aims and purposes have grown. As Father-son our interests entwine My all is yours---your work and kingdom mine. Then, if the path grows strange or even when The flesh cries “No” my soul shall say “Amen”. So be it Lord; my will and yours are one--- Most truly now I pray---Thy will be done.
(Dec 1949)
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It Is Enough
It is enough when storms of trouble sweep Across my way; when doubt and fear And waves of sorrow ever nearer creep. It is enough to feel my Shepherd near! By quiet waters should I ask to be? It is enough to know
He leadeth me! The mountain peak would seem too hard to scale, The course ahead too wearisome to run Alone, my strength would falter soon, and fail Exhausted, fall before the prize is won. But lo! My Shepherd’s beckoning hand I see. It is enough to know
He leadeth me! Alone, I could not hope to find the way; The narrow path is faint, the light is dim. Alone, my faltering steps would go astray. But now, in faith, I need but follow Him. The road ahead I do not need to see. It is enough to know
He leadeth me!
(1942)
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Jesus Wept
O, were those bitter tears for us Or were they just for him who slept As, by the tomb of Lazarus The Christ, the Son of Glory, wept? The common lot of doubts and fears In Jesus heart, could find no room; No need was there for grieving tears Upon that peaceful, silent tomb! It needed but the soft command From Him, who was the very God. To stir the still corrupting hand And recreate the crumbling clod. Then why, oh why did Jesus weep? Eternal, throbbing mystery That as for His astraying sheep My Saviour wept and died for me! He came to show His loving care To take my load of sin and loss Their burden---all that he could bear And crushed His body to the cross. But, He emerged victorious Triumphant over all his foes, No reigns on high, O glorious! The gospel message. Christ Arose! And now the Shepherd of the sheep Calls out to all who are oppressed. Come unto me, all ye who weep And mourn, and I will give you rest!
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By Grace
By grace are ye saved thru faith Said God, in His word, long ago. How oft must the word be repeated Before we believe it is so? No, not by our works to earn it Nor yet by our works to hold This wonderful gift which is ours While eons of ages unfold! This mode of salvation is perfect To fit such a case as is mine For no beauty or worth I could ever possess Could merit such mercy divine. But what a stupendous idea is this My soul, from its depths of despair to lift; That God offers pardon and life for believing; A free unconditional gift! Enlarge your faith my friend to receive it Loose your soul from its prisoned hall By grace are ye saved, thru believing in Jesus And not by your works------------Not at all!
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The Secret of the Tree
There stands a tree by the riverside When our parents were yet unborn. It set its roots on the rocky ledge And now, tho battered and torn By the floods and storms of countless years It still stands, firm and tall. Grown stronger, indeed by the storms which made Its’ companions, yield and fall. The winters have come with their heavy snows And their winds, with its killing blast And the tree looked naked against the sky When the barren days had passed. But the buds of leaves and of flowers formed In the warmth of the spring time sun And it yielded its fruit in its season To bring cheer to some weary one. Then what is the secret of the tree Which stands so stanch and strong, Through winters storm and springtime flood And the drought of the summer long? This is the answer---it planted itself Where a living stream flows by And deep by the river its roots have found A fountain which never runs dry. We too, dear friends can be like the tree Which firm and unmoved doth stand. If we anchor our lives in the cleft of the Rock And not in the shifting sand; If our roots go down to where God’s supply Lies abundant, though yet concealed, No heat of summer, nor flood, nor drought Can hinder the fruitage yield.
(1950)
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At Jesus’ Feet
Not only for the widow Or for the widow’s son; Or to provide necessities To help some needy one. For in our own communities And in the foreign lands The poor are always with us Always pressing their demands.
Even though each deed of kindness Which we ever do to them Jesus tells us is a service Which somehow we do to Him!
But take a precious minute When minutes are so few Just to sit in Jesus’ presence Much like Mary loved to do And like Mary, take the silver Which to serve the poor was meet And buy some gift most precious Just to lay at Jesus’ feet.
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The City of The Dead
There is a certain city Whose bounds were never set, In there, with pleas of fullness No stranger will be met. Your common town grows crowded With dwelling, street and tomb. But here is always welcome And here is always room. It’s size is growing daily As thousands, small and great Leave friends and home and loved ones To pass inside it’s gate. A wall surrounds the city Which excludes all earthly din. Its massive gates are heavy And the gates swing only in. You leave your gold behind you Your robe of fame you shed As naked born, you naked go To the City of The Dead. It streets are paved with hero’s blood Its fountains fed with tears In there is heard no laughter, No plaudits there, no cheers. The rich, the king, the master, The artisan, the slave All meet as perfect equals In the city of the grave.
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Inside it rest the farmer The workman takes his ease Within is sleep and quiet Within is perfect peace. Without is strife and tumult Without is fear and dread Within, no fret or worry In the City of The Dead. We all shall journey thither To rest beneath the clay. It may be years, it may be months, It may be in a day. But Lord, we care not greatly Tho we be weak or strong For the road at best is weary And the journey home seems long But may this thought encourage us Tho we thru deserts roam. A loving shepherd guides us And will lead us safely home. Then on the Resurrection morn Those whom of Christ were led Will be found no longer dwelling In the City of The Dead.
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A Broken Vessel
A broken vessel once was I Estranged from God, and doomed to die With no assurance but to face Eternal vengeance and disgrace. Aware that nothing I could do Could mould my broken soul anew I come to Jesus to confess My utter state of helplessness And praise His holy name, right then The Lord made me again! A broken vessel once was I Unfit for mansions in the sky. For only vessels, clean and whole Can hope to reach that precious goal The flesh is enmity with God He finds no pleasure in the clod. But my Redeemers’ voice I heard And by the waters of His word He finally softened me, and then He moulded me again. Broken vessels once all lay Good only to be cast away Discarded potsherds everyone, Rejected, broken, and undone! But some may think that they are fair “Well, just a fracture here or there”. But God replies, “One thing you lack”. Good works? Thin paint won’t hide the crack Ask Him, who was despised of men To sculpture you again.
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A broken vessel once was I But Jesus heard my pleading cry I came to Him as plastic clay I said, “Lord Jesus have Thy way” And yielded to the Lords’ commands. He took me in His willing hands Took me, a sin stained stubborn clod And fit me as a son of God. It matters not what I have been Since He made me again.
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O Death, Where is Thy Sting?
O Death, where is thy sting? The sting of death is sin! To face alone the heavenly Judge Who knows the heart within. The God who reads our thots afar Nor fails to see the secret deed Who knows us as we really are; What then, what answer shall we plead? The sting of death is sin! To die, and pay the awful cost Of those departing unprepared, Estranged from God, and lost! But thanks be unto God, our God Who gives to us the victory Thru Him who paid the sinners debt In full on Calvary! O Death, where is thy sting? Where has thy power gone? Beyond the shadows we foresee A brighter fairer dawn. No more shall we, as others grieve When loved ones bid adieu Nor fear thy chilling depths ourselves With Jesus near, to guide us thru!
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The Nobler Plan
Back in the days of Noah, God looked down Into the hearts of men, whom He had made. Then passed across His brow a fearful frown For deep in sin His whole creation laid And it repented Him that He had formed That stubborn creature, self-willed, selfish man, Who, in his sins, cared not to be conformed To God’s much better and much nobler plan. All the imaginations of his heart Were only thots of evil, day and night. Then God discovered Noah, all apart, A man who walked the ways of truth and light And thus, throughout the ages, God has found A tiny remnant to proclaim His word. Some nobler men, who, from the filthy ground Can raise, in faith, their faces heavenward. The hearts of men change little thru the years And though today the Light of Gods’ own Son Should dissipate the gloom of doubts and fears; Yet, men persist, as they have always done. They go about their tasks from day to day Providing for their earthly happiness No other goal in either work or play, Their very charity but selfishness. Oh, lift your eyes to God, thou carnal man, And feel the spirit stirring in the clod. There is for you a greater, nobler plan To be the sons, the very heirs of God.
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Where Dwellest Thou?
I looked to find a palace Fit for the King of Kings,
Where He would reign in splendor Midst earth’s most precious things.
A place where walks were paved with gold Which in the sunlight glowed
And wound thru flowered gardens, where The sweetest fountains flowed.
Where rubies, diamonds, sapphires gleamed From all its marbled walls
And mirrored from a thousand rooms And from a thousand halls.
As from the jeweled chandeliers Ten thousand candles cast
A glow which left no shadowed spot In all the palace so vast.
Where servants waited, everywhere Clad in the purest white
Where music sweet, flowed ceaselessly Throughout the day and night.
I looked for some such wondrous place To house the King of Kings
A place of metal, stone and wood And other earthly things.
Where dwellest Thou? I would commune with Thee.
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So graciously the Master smiles and answers “Come and See.”
And as I humbly follow Him I seem to hear Him say;
“I have no dwelling place, unless I dwell with thee today.
You looked to find some mansion With gilded templed doom,
Your life shall be my temple Your heart shall be my home.
You looked to find a place with walks Of gold; walk by my side.
Your ways, like gold, shall be refined And in the furnace tried.
From scented gardens of your heart Shall Godly graces raise.
Like sweetest incense, to the skies Their prayers of joyous praise.
The inner fountains shall be cleansed, A sweet unceasing stream.
From hidden chambers of the soul shall Righteousness, like jewels, gleam
And like the servants robed in white, Each nerve and sinew be
Obedient to the Fathers will And washed at Calvary.”
You were looking for a palace Fit for the King of Kings?
Do thou prepare the proper place Which laud and honor brings.
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Follow Him
There are gods of silver and gods of gold Gods of pleasure, Oh gods untold. One man’s god is a hoard of wealth Another’s god is his strength and health But the Lord of Lords, and the King of Kings Dwells not in the frame of man made things, But in heaven with angels and cherubims. How long will you wait? Ere it be too late?
If the Lord be God Then follow Him.
Idols of every sort there be To whom man worships and bends the knee. Gods of beauty and gods of grace Yes, numberless gods, but scarcely place, Except in the word of an oath or curse, For Him, who created the universe! How long will you taunt the capricious whine Of the angel of death? While He gives you breath,
If the Lord be God Then follow Him.
Choose you this moment whom you will serve Then hold to your course and never swerve! If pleasure or wealth is the god you choose There isn’t a moment you dare to loose. For moment by moment life’s little day Like a breath of wind swiftly flees away. How long do you halt between the two? Choose you this day who you will obey,
If the Lord be God Then give Him His due.
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How long have you heard the gospel call, For years? And shall it forever fall In vain on ears that are deaf thru sin? Oh let the word of the Lord come in To lead and guide you wherever it will At home or abroad, thru valley oe’r hill. If the light of faith, tho suppressed and dim, Shines within your heart, let it not depart,
If the Lord be God Then follow Him.
How long do you halt by the parting ways As swift to its close draws the day of grace? The line of choice is distinctly drawn And days of service will soon be gone. No middle pathway is yours to trod; You serve either Baal or the Lord your God. The summer wanes and the days grow dim And then at the last your chance is past,
If the Lord be God To follow Him!
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Awake, My Soul
O hark my soul, if there should be A God, and immortality Then in that near eternity
What will you do? You care not for the pleas of men But would you have an answer when You meet your God? I ask, “What then
Should that be true”? What would you say in self defense If you should meet a Master, whence You too must go for recompense?
What would you say? Coulds’t plea that you did not receive The proofs by which you could believe And hope by that to gain reprieve?
O foolish clay! For better could you thrust aside All fears and doubts, all pomp and pride; What tho the last engulfing tide
Should prove you wrong? O soul, you do not stir within You notice not this noisy din Why do you wait to purge your sin
So awful long? Because you hear not what is said? You don’t reply, but are instead So calm and still. O are you dead
Or just asleep? But if alive, O’ere you’ve crossed
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The vale, awake and count the cost If you should sleep ‘tell in a lost
Eternity! Our father’s God, oh if thou art A real God, then read my heart And to this dozing soul impart
Vitality. Make it to feel your living force To see it’s doomed, destructive course. To you, who art the End and Source
To you we pray. Give to my soul the knowledge of Your gracious, just, forgiving love. Send down your voice from realms above
Right now, today! Oh soul! The carnal mind which steers Your mortal ship thro joy or tears Has tried to reach your deafened ears
Ere life is gone. So now awaken! O my soul, Make certain of your future goal! The waves toss high, the tempests roll
And you sleep on?
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New Years Prayer
Lord our redeemer, Thou who sought us While enslaved in sin and fear To the threshold thou has brought us Of another fateful year! Some new Canaan lies before us Give us faith to enter in And may we with Thy Spirit o’er us Now the conquering life begin. The past defeats may we assess them To the past, where they belong And all Thy borders to possess them March with courage firm and strong Then with the present conflict ended And at last the battle won May we find ourselves commended Hear the Captain say, “Well done”. (1952)
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His Star
{Verse 1} We have seen His star, the glorious star
Which leads us to our King We to Bethlehem come to worship Him
And our gifts of praise we bring. {Refrain} O glorious star which directs our way
To where the Babe in a manger lay. To Him, of whom all the angels sing
Our Savior, Lord, and King. {Verse 2} O Spirit of God, which in ages past
The gospel to us insured. By the martyred blood of those who stood
Ever true to Thy Holy Word. {Verse 3} Spirit of God, our guiding star
Shine forth to us clear and bright. That none might say that they lost their way
Thru the darkness of the night. (The copy in the notebook has note markings for verse 1 and the refrain. Not completely certain what all the notes are since some are not very legible. I will ask someone to check this out and, if I figure out how to add the song to this book, I will add it.)
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Three Christmas Messages
First Child
The message which tonight I want to bring Is one which long ago men heard the angels sing As gladly heralding the Savior’s birth. They sang of God’s great love to men on earth Redeeming grace in all its glory shone On that first Christmas night, from heaven’s throne. So, join the chorus as we sing again The song of “Peace on Earth, Good Will To Men”! Second Child
My message is the one which mortals see As shepherds come to Christ on bended knee Unquestioning faith, believing in God’s word Obedient to the call which they had heard. They come, and coming to a lowly stable bed They find the one to whom the star had led. Oh may we too, in faith, believing find God’s Greatest Gift, the Savior of Mankind. Third Child
My message is the one which wise men speak As driven by some inward urge, they seek. The promised King, whose coming was, behold By prophet, priest, and poet, long foretold And finding Him, they worship and confer Their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh. Then may we tool, this Christmas season bring These treasured gifts to give our Lord and King. Incense for worship, and the gold of kings, And myrrh to share His death and sufferings.
(1951)
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This is the Day that the Lord Hath Made
This is the day which the Lord hath made A wonderful, beautiful day.
The sun is so bright And everything right
And everything going my way! It is well to rejoice on a beautiful day It is easy to sing and be glad.
It is joy just to live And be able to give
The Lord thanks for the blessings we’ve had. Now this is the dawn of a different day A day that is gloomy and gray.
And whatever we do Seems to go all askew
And the trials are long as the day. But this day also the Lord hath made We’ll rejoice and be glad as we should.
For the purpose Divine Is in rain or in shine
And designed for our ultimate good So let us remember, whatever the day And whatever its’ weal or its woe.
Be it golden or gray T’is a glorious day
For the Lord hath created it so! (Sep. 14, 1953)
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The Dear Loving Saviour has Found Me
The dear loving Saviour has found me And shattered the fetters that bound me; Tho all was confusion around me He came and spoke peace to my soul. The blessed Redeemer that bought me In tenderness, constantly sought me The way of Salvation He taught me, And made my heart perfectly whole. He sought me so long ‘ere I knew Him, But finally, winning me to Him. I yielded my all to pursue Him And asked to be filled with His grace. Although a vile sinner before Him, Thru faith I was led to implore Him And now I rejoice and adore Him Restored to His loving embrace. I never, no never will leave Him Grow weary of service and grieve Him. I’ll constantly trust and believe Him; Remain in His presence divine; Abiding in love ever flowing; In knowledge and grace ever growing. Confiding implicitly, knowing That Jesus the Saviour is mine. (The copy in the notebook has note markings for verse 1. Not completely certain what all the notes are since some are not very legible. I will ask someone to check this out and, if I figure out how to add the song to this book, I will add it.)
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Simon of Cyrene
O blessed art thou of men, thou Simon of Cyrene. When Angels bring Their choruses of praise to God This anthem you can sing. While trudging up that awful road Which led the Lord to Calvary., The burden of the heavy cross Was eased from Him and put on me. O day of gladness when they placed On me the symbol of His cause As when He went to die for all They had me bear the Master’s cross. T’was not a heavy burden then And now, what e’re its’ pain or loss Is turned to gladness as I know I helped to bear the Saviour’s Cross. (Paul – at Congregational Church in Harvey) (Two different handwritten versions, this is the later version.)
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Thanksgiving Prayer
“In everything give thanks” – 1 Thes. 1:18, Eph. 5:20) We thank you Lord for daily bread For sunshine, and the clouds which spread Their living waters o’er the plain. We thank you Lord, for growing grain, We thank you for the hand which tills The brooding earth-for strength and skills; For cattle on a thousand hills. We thank you for each flower and tree, For towering mountain, rolling sea,
For all the gifts your blessings bring We thank you Lord, for everything.
We thank you Lord for that, which long Has kept our nation great and strong; For Freedoms rights, through which the hand That marks the ballot, rules the land! For Justice mixed with Mercy’s balm, For Battle’s storm, and Peaceful calm, For each man’s right and liberty To reach his highest destiny.
To Thee, O God our praises ring We thank you now, for everything.
We thank you for the passing years For all their struggles, joys and tears. We thank you for a father’s care; For mother’s love, and mother’s prayer. For children’s laughter in their play For friends who help us on the way. For summer’s warmth, and autumn’s hues Nor winter’s frosty breath refuse.
For soon the chill must yield to spring- We thank you Lord, for everything.
We thank you, for your saving grace
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Our help and strength thru out the days. We thank you for your boundless love Which sent the Saviour from above. Lord save us from ingratitude And may no selfish thoughts intrude To mar this solemn interlude. And if, like martyred saints of old Our faith is tried like precious gold,
May we, like Paul and Silas, sing And thank you Lord for everything.
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Answer to the Challenge of the Age
No soul or spirit--- Is this your affirmation? All matter living or inanimate A mere conglomeration Of molecules and atoms Which in myriad forms arrange Until there is evolved, Thru countless years, a strange Atomic species Which dreams of abstract things And writes a thesis? Religion---Merely superstitious acts Of those bereft of scientific facts And love or hate or other deep emotion Ties of friendship---or the great devotion To a cause---The mere attraction Of genes and chromosomes, or Chemical reaction? What matters then Mans unremitted scheming His ceaseless struggle Or his lofty dreaming? His reaching for the stars The moon, Jupiter or Mars? “Dust thou art, to dust shalt thou return” A plot of ground, or ashes in an urn! Perhaps a monument to mark the spot Or just a name plate and for-get me not! “Foot prints (roughening) the sands of time” Erased so quickly by the ceaseless rhyme Of wind and tide, until in Heaven’s doom A wasted universe becomes mans’ Ageless tomb.
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Nay---blessed the man Whose faith inspired spirit Tunes to the voice of God And listening---can hear it! (1958 or 1959)
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The Road Ahead
Is the road ahead uncertain, Is the light obscured and dim? Why not leave it all to Jesus And just cast yourself on Him. Does your burden seem too heavy, Is it more than you can bear? Why not take it to the Savior In a quiet word of prayer? Do the daily cares of living Bend your head in dark despair? Jesus fills with hope eternal Those who come to Him in prayer. Yes, the Master now is calling Softly now He calls anew. For within His bosom waiting Is a place of rest for you. (Comments indicate that this could be sung to the tune of: “Leave It There”.)
We Cannot Know
We cannot know what lies before us Nor discern the road ahead We only know God’s love is o’re us And by Him we shall be led.
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It is But Vanity
I looked into my heart, and then said I, Myself and all my friends are doomed to die. All men, however great, however small, There’s one event that happens to them all. And so said I, I’ll live while yet I can. I’ll taste of all the riches known to man, What ever thing I craved, I made it mine. I placed about me women, song, and wine. I stooped to pleasures which would shame the walls Of gambling dens, and vilest dancing halls. All pleasures known to men, each one I tried And found my sprit far from satisfied. I tried the finer joys in works of art And found no pleasure there to warm my heart. I piled my table high with every sweet And found my system craved for bread and meat. And then said I---Where is the goal I set? All earthly sweets are mine, what lacked I yet? There are such things which man can seek and find But pleasures are just fancies of the mind, Vexation of the sprit, vanity Perplexion of the mind, insanity! For when I go, there shall the fickle breeze Waft forth the spirit of my memories? What shall there be for me, when I shall die? O vanities of vanities, said I It is but vanity!
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I looked into my heart and then said I As flowers, so do pleasures fade and die. You pick the blossom and the bloom is shed And so is pleasure, something plucked and dead. Or like an airy bubble, fair as dawn You reach to grasp it, and behold its gone! And so said I, while I have means and ways I’ll build with permanence for future days. I’ll build to riches, then when I am gone My spirit, thru my money, will live on. I went into the world of high finance And staked my all upon one lucky chance; And won, and tried again, and yet again I won; and was the richest man of men. My goal of wealth achieved, and then behold My heart cared nothing for the filthy gold! I built a mansion that was rich and grand And then went touring in a foreign land. I did not have to fight the pauper’s wolf, But worked like honest labor, playing golf! I bought a wealth of gems, a foolish waste, For those I dared to wear were made of paste. And then said I, where is my recompense? What more have I except my proud pretense? What is my wealth, if not inanity? The love of admiration; Vanity. And when they’ve viewed me in my last parade Where shall it go, this wealth which I have made? To whom shall go these riches, bye and bye? O vanity of vanities, said I It is but vanity!
Paul’s Ponderings
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I looked into my heart and I perceived That those who strive for wealth are self deceived. For when they lay their bodies in the grave The rich man is no richer than his slave. And so I shall, before my days are spent Erect a more enduring monument. I’ll plant my spirit in the hearts of men, Thus will my memory continue then. So I went forth to seek the road to fame. To seek for glory and an honored name. I looked about and saw the hungry mobs Of idle men who lacked the needed jobs And so said I, I’ll bring prosperity To those who now must live on charity I’ll make a job for every idle man, And woman too, who wants to work, and can. I’ll lay my plans both carefully and bold And so buy fame and honor with my gold. I looked about and saw the keen distress Of factories, which stood in idleness. And so, I sent out agents, bright, alert, Who bought or leased the plants as cheap as dirt. We set the wheels to turning night and day And gave to thousands, jobs with honest pay. We marked the prices of the products down So that the farmer, and the man from town, Could buy not only bare necessities But comforts too, and even luxuries. Prosperity was seen on every hand, The fame of it spread far thru out the land. My name was found in all the latest news, I had to act my life as in a play. Reporters hounded me for interviews Nor gave me peace by either night or day. The public never once left me alone; I could no longer call my live my own. And so said I, what value is my fame? What is it after all but just a name?
Paul’s Ponderings
68
Imagination of the soul---I---anity The love of adoration---vanity. For when I go, where shall my spirit be That it can see my name in history? Shall it look down from somewhere in the sky? O vanity of vanities said I It is but vanity! I looked into my heart and understood That earthly things are stubble, chaff and wood. And when the purging flames shall be their lot They are consumed and they endureth not. One thing alone can make this life worthwhile And that is hope---naught else can reconcile. The aching spirit to its fierce travail, And hold us firm when doubts and fears assail. A hope which sees beyond the present gray The dawning of a better, brighter day. But hope is futile---hope if it can see No further than the present vanity That hope, no anchor to the restless soul Which has a tombstone as the final goal. For when we stand beside a loved one’s bier What hope is there to dry the grieving tear? Or what can drive the trembling fears away When threatening ills disturb our little day? So we must let our dreams go soaring far A goal no nearer than the furtherest star! A faith which sees beyond the transient scope Of earthly things—a vast eternal Hope! (The first two verses were written before 1930. The third verse during the depression of the 30’s. Paul finished at last around 1960).
Politics
And
Satire
Most of the material in this section is satire which is related
to farm policies/politics or politics in general.
Paul’s Ponderings
70
The Little Pig
Listen, my children, and you shall hear A porcine story, fantastic and queer. In the drought ravaged summer of ‘34 When bacon and pork chops and lard galore Had flooded the country from shore to shore And millions of piggies, just newly born Were facing starvation from lack of corn. When noble and peasant were tearing their hair And sobbing for succor, in helpless despair. Then the dictator King of the land of Moo Took the matter in hand, as all tyrants do. “I will make an edict, I shall sign a decree To kill every pig in the land”, said he. “Now hear ye people, every pig you’ve got Must either be poisoned, or hung, or shot. By tomorrow’s morn, ere the clock strikes five, Not a pig in the land shall be left alive.” But the “Little old woman, who lived in a shoe” Defied the command of the King of Moo. A single, dear little pig she had And the mere thought of parting nigh drove her mad. “If anyone harms a hair of his hide, Twill be over my lifeless form”, she cried. Then, under a stack of alfalfa hay She hid the pig, but there came a day When the King in his chariot, passing by With a corps of his henchman, chanced to spy From under the hay stack a porky nose. Then “Halt!” he cried, while his passion rose, “What is this I see? Can it be true That a pig still lives in the land of Moo? T’is many a meal has passed me by Since my nostrils have savored a porcine fry! But, tonite shall I, and my soldiers true Have a scrumptious feast, in the palace of Moo.”
Paul’s Ponderings
71
Then pointing his hand at the artless snout He bade his men, “Get ready; Shoot.” But ere the men could direct their aim The little old woman shouted, “Shame, Why the pig now weighs but a hundred pounds Scarce fit the meat for your ugly hounds. Shoot, if you must this old grey head But spare the poor little pig!” she said. The flush of passion and longing look The hungry face of the King forsook. “Who spears a spare rib from yonder shoot Dies like a hog---March on”! he quote. And so it was, that little pig Grew up to be round and fat and big. And with port chops juicy, one day was able To cheer the King at the royal table! (This was written sometime during the depression after the US Government decided that there were too many pigs since the farmers were getting virtually nothing for a pig. So they issued a proclamation to kill many of the pigs.) (This is also the poem I always loved the best and even memorized part of it. David)
Paul’s Ponderings
72
It Isn’t as Bad as it Sounds
Oft in church I have sat while some preacher Quite unmindful of virtuous deeds For eternity, damns some poor creature Who doesn’t subscribe to his creeds. Saying, “all of life’s best he will sever And with withering torturing shame Spend all of the years of forever In an ocean of tormenting flame.” But when from the rear of his pulpit The preacher, such dogma expounds I would say, with my heart, with the culprit
It isn’t as bad as it sounds! The party in power, in country In nation, in city, or state Aver that there should be a bounty For the men on the opposite slate. Calumny loud, unrelenting Is hurled at the ballot-box foe. “They are murderers, thieves, unrelenting As the imps in the regions below!” But I’ll say without fear of retraction They are going a bit out of bounds And the folks in the opposite faction
Aren’t really as bad as it sounds!
Paul’s Ponderings
73
Then the party which isn’t in power The “outs” who so long to be “ins” From the platform hold forth by the hour While they keep us on needles and pins; As they tell us of crime and corruption Which every ones’ record doeth blot And from which we can make the deduction No honest man there in the lot. “If these men”, we are told, “are re-elected This country will go to the hounds.” But dear reader you’ve often suspected
That it isn’t as bad as it sounds. Nearly all of us live in the morrow Forgetting the joys of today As, with dread in our spirits, we borrow The future’s despair and dismay. We endeavor, with fear and foreboding, To unloose what the future has found Then learn, by its’ own sure decoding
Things aren’t as bad as they sound! Now this poem, if such you would call it Must come to some logical end But if the waste-basket befall it The writer you’d surely offend For I know that the rhythm is rotten And with metrical errors abound But I hope that you haven’t forgotten
Things aren’t as bad as they sound! (1928 or earlier) (Original copy lost – The copy this is from is a reconstruction)
Paul’s Ponderings
74
Polecat Politics
Br’er Weasel called on Brother Skunk To pass the time of day. Said he, “You’re looking rather glum What troubles you, I pray?” At first Br’er Skunk stood silently And then at last he said, “For me life’s not worth living Now---I could as well be dead For I’ve lost my reputation And I feel disgraced to think A skunk like me can’t raise a scent Since Mink made such a stink.” I think that this refers to some historical event in North Dakota Politics. It is either about someone named Mink or refers to someone who gave someone else a Mink when he shouldn’t have.
Imitating my Rooster.
Each time I feed my chickens The rooster knows who did it. He clucks and struts to call the hens And they give him the credit. So, when my congressman attempts To be some project’s booster, It seems to me that what he does Is imitate my rooster.
Paul’s Ponderings
75
Repubs and Dems
You can’t change the spots of a leopard, We find ourselves frequently told, When some neighbor or friend, Whom we’d trust to the end, Hypocritically strays from the fold. Nor can you, they further would tell us, Take a wolf from his murderous pack, And some day be able To truthfully label The creature: a sheep, white or black. Yet we know that the masters of science Explain very plain, when they wish How a man, and his dog And a reptile and frog Have a common ancestor, the fish. But I wonder what manner of magic was used When man was produced from a monkey. I could use some such plan When I would, once again Turn an “elephant” into a “donkey.” (1936)
Paul’s Ponderings
76
I Hate to Farm for the Gambler
I met a Farmers Union neighbor just the other day, I says to him, “what value is this union, anyway? You look as poor as when you joined As far I can see! “I sold my crop at less than cost”, My neighbor answered me. O how I hate to farm for the gambler, O how a profit appeals to me; But there never comes a fall Except we hear the gambler’s call “You’re producing too much, you’re producing
Too much, you’re producing too much this harvest.” Someday we’re going to throttle the gambler Someday he’s going to cease to be We’ll grab the trader’s blunderbuss That shoots the homes from under us And march onward to victory. I wonder what becomes of all this Surplus we produce; Perhaps it goes to feed some hogs That roll in fat profuse! We’ll make’em pay for what we raise From corn to pollywogs Or keep the surplus on the farm And use to slop the hogs.
Paul’s Ponderings
77
O how I hate to farm for the gambler O how a profit appeals to me; But there never comes a fall Except we hear the gambler’s call “You’re producing too much, you’re producing Too much, you’re producing too much this harvest.” O boy when the Farmers Union is stronger Boy, when we have the majority We’ll grab the “hogs” of “yapolis” Right where their adams apple is And march onward to victory. (1920 or so)
The Township Election
This is the township primeval; We’re having a Township election, The annual Township election. We’re choosing a new supervisor; The culprit, whose term has expired, Has lost his desire for office; So now we must choose his successor, His crooked, dishonest successor. At one, at the regular caucus The candidates are nominated Midst terrible cussing and wrangling And shaking of fists between neighbors; Between the most friendly of neighbors, Destroying all semblance of friendship. Up front, loudly tapping for silence We see the immoveable chairman, The bullheaded moose of a chairman, The chairman of Township Bull-Moose. He has just finished reading the law To the ignorant, foolish assemblage. The silly assembly of voters.
Paul’s Ponderings
78
Some felt that the road supervisors, The chair being one of the members, Could not be serenely entrusted To hire a capable road-boss; Proposing some names be selected And placed on the regular ballot. But, quickly the chairman objected. Maintaining this act was illegal, Erasing the names from the black board, Reserving the job for appointment. So onward proceeds the election; The crooked deceitful election; Midst terrible cussing and wrangling And locking of horns between neighbors; Between the Bull-Moose of the township, For this is the township election; And this is the township’s prime evil. (1923 perhaps)
Paul’s Ponderings
79
Dr. Sam Prescribes for the Farmer
Rueben MacHaystack was doing right nicely He managed his business; both neatly and wisely. Up bright and early, he hustled and hurried, Soon cattle were cared for---the iron horse curried--- Then out in the field ‘ere the sun started peeping On neighboring towns, where the folks were still sleeping. Yes, Rueben MacHaystack was one among many The neighbors averred he would prosper, if any! But, there came a day when they saw he was ailing--- No question about it---his health---it was failing! Said they, “this affair can continue no longer, We must get a doctor to help him grow stronger! We’ll call in an expert, a noted physician To diagnose quickly and treat his condition.” So Ruben MacHaystack was sent to a clinic--- (Tho I will confess there was many a cynic Who said, “There is nothing the matter I’m sure That a few weeks of rest in the spring wouldn’t cure!”) Doctor Sam was the specialist called on the case, You should see how he probed---the concern on his face! Samples and blood tests and x-rays were taken No tests known to science forgot or forsaken! Then after a thorough, complete diagnosis The doctor came forth with this learned prognosis; “MacHaystack, I’m sure I’ve discovered the cause-o-ya Violent headaches and sickening nausea;--- In Latin your ailment is termed “Tomuchites” Which acts very much like the dread “Growmortites” And t’will, unless treatment is prompt and effective Grow steadily worse, ‘till there is no corrective. I’ll give you some pills and t’will do you no harm To have the nurse give you a shot in the arm.” So, good Doctor Sam, with a friendly like tweek In the ribs of MacHaystack said, “See you next week.”
Paul’s Ponderings
80
Thus Rueben went home with his ills and affliction While faithfully taking the doctor’s prescription And sure, ‘twas’nt long ‘for the neighbors could see a Big diff’rence in Mac from the Doc’s panacea--- Thru regular use of the shots and the tablets MacHaystack returned to his hard-working habits--- Which was a mistake:---because rest is the essence Of any good treatment, for quick convalescence His friends, much concerned, cautioned Mac, “what you need Is to work shorter hours and lessen your speed!” But the shots and the drugs so effected his glands That he had to keep working with body and hands! And, like a narcotic, it caused an addiction; He craved more and more of the doctor’s prescription The harder he worked the more treatments he craved And the more pills he swallowed the harder he slaved! ‘Twas a hopeless dilemma, and awful condition--- He should have slept longer---perhaps have gone fishen? But the merchant in town, the dispenser of pills, Whose profits depends upon other men’s ills With all other factors and feelings forgetting Was very well pleased with the trade he was getting. And poor Doctor Sam, when he finally discerned The effect of his treatment, was deeply concerned! He met with his colleagues in long consultation: And hours were spent in profound cogitation--- The prescriptions he gave were both changed and revised; New methods of therapy planned and devised. But the neighbors, disgusted, were heard to intone “’Twere better for Mac if you’d let him alone! So why don’t you frankly admit that you lack Proper medical skill, and confess you’re a quack!”
Memorials
And
Fun Stuff
This material is grouped together because some of it is both “In Memorial” and “In Fun”.
Paul’s Ponderings
82
Auf Wiedersehen!
(until we meet again) It seems but yesterday we met.
Yet in my heart You carved yourself a place Which now that you depart Will be an empty space.
The yesterdays are gone, their joys
And sorrows past. So should this present pain, and grief Of parting last Until we meet again?
For this is not the end
Tho you have gone, --- Soon, now unseeing eyes, will greet The resurrection dawn, When we again shall meet.
And so dear one farewell, ---
We shall not say goodbye; Wir warden morgen gehen (we will tomorrow go) To somewhere in the sky So, till we meet, “Auf Wiedersehen.”
(Apr 10, 1965 – For John Kleinsasser Memorial Service) (Also used at Jn. Kumfert service: 8/30/66 in T.L.)
Paul’s Ponderings
83
Departed Saint
Why should we let our hearts respond To grieving thought and tear Because someone has passed beyond Whom we had loved so dear? Where life can be so nobly spent And rest so richly won We too, in God, can rest content And say, “Thy Will Be Done”. The rest, oh weary laborer The torch you held so high Still shines to guide some wanderer The stormy waters by. Thy task is done, Oh faithful one; Thy journey now is o’er Your bark has landed safely on That distant golden shore. May we whom thou hast left behind Rejoice with you this day That God can make His grace to shine Like this, on mortal clay. And while we leave for those to mourn Who have no trust in God We’ll share the cross that thou hast borne The pathways you have trod.
(1942)
Paul’s Ponderings
84
“Winnie”
And now a place is empty, Which once was filled so well;
And of the loss and grief we feel Words fail us now to tell
The good we do lives on after us
So an ancient proverb reads; Then “Winnie” should have a vault
Somewhere, brimful of golden deeds. Perhaps stored up in Heaven,
Or at least receipted there, Or kept secure in hearts of those
Who knew his loving care. And left to gather interest
Collected now and then, In charity and brotherhood
Amongst his fellowmen! (In memory of Winnie Fallenbee, Dec 1945)
Paul’s Ponderings
85
We Salute
Our country’s flag we salute today The dear red, white, and blue. The emblem of the land we love We pledge allegiance true. God grant you might to uphold the right And keep your purpose high Till Christ the King, his Kingdom brings In that wondrous bye and bye. Our Saviors’ flag we salute today, The colors proudly bear The emblem of our Savior’s love, And a kingdom pure and fair. Oh may we faithful subjects be With lives both pure and true And of our king with others sing, Winning others to Him too. The word of God we salute today, The Bible tried and true. To God’s own book we will ever look, For the light our fathers knew. Oh may we faithfully read and pray, That like Thee we may grow And bring others too, to Christ the King That they too his grace may know. (Written for a bible school session, at Turtle Lake 4C Church, 1976)
Paul’s Ponderings
86
Another Bugle Call
Memorial Day, in memory of those Who gave themselves against their country’s foes Whatever tongue, whatever race or creed, They heard the bugle of their country’s need. Beneath the banner of this freedoms land, They took their stalwart and determined stand
Now cold and still they lie No tear, no groan, nor sigh So peacefully they sleep As in their hearts they keep
An answer for the day, when there shall fall On sleeping ears another bugle call! They heard the dreaded trumpet blast of war Sound out its somber notes from shore to shore. They heard the bugle, and the tramp, tramp, tramp, Of marching comrades in the training camp. Across the seas and to the shores of France, They rode the heaving, sweeping, waves of chance.
Now cold and still they lie No tear, no groan, nor sigh So peacefully they sleep As in their hearts they keep
A hidden spark to kindle from the ground In answer to another bugle sound!
Paul’s Ponderings
87
No stalwart heart could fail, no spirit lag, As to the front they bore their cherished flag. Down in the trenches midst the shot and shell They felt the meaning of wars’ awful hell. With eyes unflinching, met with gasping breath The cold clear ringing bugle call of death
Now cold and still they lie No tear, no groan, nor sigh So peacefully they sleep As in their hearts they keep
An answer waiting for that all in all Waiting for another “Bugle Call”. Alternate Title: “The Bugle Call”.
Paul’s Ponderings
88
Epitaphs
For school corny “Tombstones”
Telephone Exchange Operator
Here lies Guy Crothers in peaceful slumber He gave the wrong guy the wrong number.
The Barber
St. Peter needed a shave Benshoof was chosen and here is his grave.
Shaeffer
Born a little Shaeffer Died a big Shaeffer!
To a Neighbor
Peter, Peter, Waterloo Could find no water in the slough Now what will Mrs. Peter do When there’s no water in the slough!
Heavy Rhythm
A buxom young lass from the kentry When asked her age, replied “I am twenty. But my weight I won’t tell For you know very well What I weigh is one hundred and plenty!” (1952)
Paul’s Ponderings
89
The Laryngitis Germ
To the laryngitis germ And unwilling host In frustration, Godfery Gave up the ghost. (1948-49) (an alternate 3rd line, written to “hide the real person”: “Frustrated---Mrs.Gabby”)
Church Worker from Cush
A lady church worker from Cush With the preacher got stuck in the slush Then said he, in dismay “Shall we sing now or pray?” Said she, “neither---but get out and push.”
Ode to a School Teacher
An unfortunate woman named Clopper Filled her bath tub clear to the top, her Face filled with amazement When she flooded the basement By suddenly pulling the stopper. (Dec 1959) (Not the greatest plumbing in the house)
To a School Boy
A shivering student name Schuh Had shloushed thru the schlush in the schlough When he shniffled and shneezed a-a---chew--- Said his teacher, dishmayed, “I am really afraid That the feet were made wet by the Schuh!” (March 1960)
Paul’s Ponderings
90
An Ode to the Old Stage Curtain
Yes, take the ancient relic down This symbol of the past The new must ere replace the old, And dust claims all at Last. Long has it hung above the stage To guard each changing scene As actors played to eager eyes Then hid behind it’s screen. Then at its figurative designs We oft have sat and stared While shielded by it’s broad expanse The stagings were prepared. And when upon it’s painted lines Our-outward eyes would gaze The inner eye would turn upon The scenes of other days. How oft a child, with trembling knee Has waited for his cue, Perhaps that child was one of yours Perhaps that child was you. While out in front, with bated breath The parents and the rest Sat waiting for, and praying for That child to do his best. What drama has it looked upon Thru out these passing years The children’s laughter in their games Their hopes, their dreams, their fears. If it could write its history What pages there would be Narrating thrilling episodes Of their community.
Paul’s Ponderings
91
Sometimes it seems that life itself From childhood to old age Is just a sort of theater With all the world a stage. And if we play a major role Or minor---who can tell The point is not the part we play But that we play it well. Old Father Time will call the tune And will not be delayed We’d better be right on our toes No act can be re-played. So set the stage---arrange the act The yesterdays are done Forget the old, and hail the new And let the show go on.
Paul’s Ponderings
92
The Day After Christmas
T’was the day after Christmas, when all thru the house Could be heard the loud snores of myself and my spouse; As, spent and exhausted from holiday zest We relax in our chairs for a moment of rest. The three older children (their dear hearts be blessed) Had contributed much to the peaceful occasion By going, thru help of parental persuasion
And struggle with snow-suits and boots, out to play With their shiny new skates and their last winter’s sleigh. And the youngest, while rocked in his mother’s soft lap Had a last settled down for his afternoon nap.
The room where the stockings were hung with such care Looked more like a storm than St. Nick had been there. The trinkets and toys which had once been a token Of friendship and love, lay abandoned and broken. While over the floors in the rooms and the hall The litter was scattered like leaves in the fall. The remains of a meal, which had been most delicious Was still on the table---leftovers and dishes--- And there by the window, amidst the debris Stood the fading remains of a proud Christmas tree.
Paul’s Ponderings
93
Then out on the driveway arose such a clatter We jumped to our feet to see what was the matter! Amidst the loud clamor, and rising crescendo We drew back the curtains and looked out the window And there on the driveway we saw such a sight--- For a moment we stood as if frozen with fright! For the mess we were in - t’was a turn most appalling - Some friends and their half dozen children were calling!
“Hurry now”, said my wife, “grab a basket and broom And get some of this litter swept up from the room.” Then she ran to the table---and quick as a wink She had stashed the soiled dishes away in the sink.
And just as we heard the loud knock at the door We picked up the last bit of the trash from the floor--- And managed a smile, as we said with good cheer “Merry Christmas to all and a Happy New Year!” (1961)
New Years Day is Past
New Years Day is only a blur A smudge of ink on a calendar A man made mark in the rhythmic rhyme Of star and planet in cosmic time. Never-the-less as the time revolves We take occasion for new resolves. The past, like a cloak outworn, is shed. New goals are set for the days ahead; A time for accounting of books and deeds Of taking stock of our faiths and creeds And lest for a moment we might relax Some friend always mentions the income tax. (1952)
Paul’s Ponderings
94
Together We Build
On Main Street of a humble little town it stands- A fitting tribute to the willing hearts and hands Of those who gave of treasure, time and long Hard hours of work, with skillful hands and strong. Yes, here it stands, symbolic of what people can create When differences are buried, and they cooperate. Before the work began there were a few Who had a dream, and made that dream come true. They visualized a center where the folks in town And neighboring countryside could gather ‘round To watch the kids play basketball, or meet In other gatherings which help make life complete. Ambitious was the plan these dreamers had- As usual there were those of us who said, “It can’t be done-the cost is too great For this community to bear; the time too late; The town is dying, why not let it die?” But others said, “Let’s give this thing a try”. And pledges for support kept coming in Until there was enough to have the work begin Titles to the land were cleared; Farmers brought to town Their huge machines to level off the ground; Then came those monstrous beasts, their bellies filled with grayish stuff They belched upon the base, until the boss said, “that’s enough.” Then underneath a clear, hot summer sun The actual work of building was begun. Farmers, merchants, tradesmen, answered to the call; “Jacks of all trades” and master of them all! Time off for harvest, then later in the fall They came again to make the work complete.
Paul’s Ponderings
95
And so today, within these walls we meet; Yet not so much to dedicate this place, But rather that we dedicate ourselves to face The burden still remaining to be shared By all of us who’ve shown that we really cared; And that we pledge ourselves to keep alive That spirit, which alone can make a people thrive; And that we keep this rule before us while we live: Ask not what we receive, but ask what we can give.” We meet today, a friendly, loving crowd Of people, who have reason to be proud Of an accomplished deed, a job well done. We placed no tax, nor forced our will on anyone; But all of you who shared in anyway You did it cheerfully and voluntarily. This building, now, is literally a part of you, Part of your life, your time and efforts too; Support it and enjoy it; a cherished dream come true. (This poem was written for the dedication of the community building in Hurdsfield. Paul was one of the leaders in the effort to build it and spent many hours helping to construct the building. This was his last poem as he developed Hodgkin's lymphoma and died when the cancer could not be eradicated. Paul’s funeral was held in the community center.)
Writings By
Family &
Friends
The material in this section is not by Paul W. Swardstrom. It
is mainly from other family members and a poem by a friend
which Dad saved in his books of poems.
Paul’s Ponderings
98
Grief
I climbed a mountain today. It was so tall, so stark, so lonely, Not softened by the meadow’s green Or mirrored lakes of azure blue. I climbed a mountain today. Grief was my mountain tall. It brewed so many storms So fierce, so wild, so isolating and alone. But one was with me all the way As I climbed my mountain steep. Christ went by my side And helped me over rough and rocky slopes I never could have climbed it by myself. (Mary Swardstrom, 1977) (Orig: Has “Christ” crossed out and replaced with “He”)
Paul’s Ponderings
99
The Girl in the Mirror
She looked into her mirrored eyes And saw the girl She used to be So carefree, bright, shining Young, happy. Gay As a lovely summer day. Questioning – what was waiting her What shape her days and years to come---? A husband and babies, home and Tasks, friends, troubles, trials, Filling the long hours --- Days and nights. Perhaps a bit of travel – Wonder about other lands And other shores – and lives – But mostly – Some way to lift The heavy load of loneliness That was her lot each day. Then she smiled to her reflection – Whatever came this day Would be as good - As she would make it – so – Please God – Oh to live life as it comes. Blessings and trials But not alone!
By Mary Swardstrom (July, 2002 for her 90th birthday celebration)
Paul’s Ponderings
100
I Can’t Write a Poem
Teacher, I can’t write a poem And the reasons are---you know’em I can’t find two words that rhyme Day or nite or anytime. I can’t make the meter flow Like Lowell, Whittier, or Poe. So teacher, if you’ll please excuse To write a poem, I refuse! If this poem is not so bad Give part credit to my dad (John W. Swardstrom) (1951 - John wanted a poem for High School – He and dad worked this out-while at chores.)
Passing Thru This World
I shall pass through this world but once. Any good thing (therefore) that I can do Or any kindness that I can show any Human being let me do it now. Let me not defer nor neglect it For I shall not pass this way again. (Wm J. Monk) (Dad saved this in the wire bound notebooks)
The Pony
The pony that my daddy bought Does not behave the way he ought. I rode him into town one day He bucked me off and ran away. (Sandra’s 8th grade effort – with a bit of help from Dad)
Family
Information
This section contains family information such as a short
biography of Paul and of Mary.
Paul W. Swardstrom was a successful farmer.
At times you could say:
He was outstanding in his field.
Paul’s Ponderings
102
Paul & Mary Swardstrom – A short Bio.
Paul William Swardstrom was born August 9, 1901 in Glen
Flora, WI. His parents, John and Charlotte Swardstrom, who
had recently migrated from Sweden, moved to a homestead
near Hurdsfield in 1903 with Paul and his sister Jenny. Paul
attended the local schools, graduating in the second class to
graduate from Hurdsfield High School. Paul took over much
of the farming responsibilities as a young man.
Mary Ruth Moe Swardstrom was born July 30, 1912 at the
Stone House west of Hurdsfield, ND, the daughter of Emma
Elizabeth Bergren Moe and Lewis Moe. Mary grew up in
North Dakota, Minnesota, and South Dakota. Her high school
years were spent at Lemmon SD.
Paul and Mary were united in marriage on June 12, 1930 at
Lemmon, SD. They made their home at the Swardstrom farm
at Hurdsfield, ND where they generally enjoyed a successful
farming operation. Paul, Mary, and their two oldest children
spent two years in California during the later part of the
depression because of the difficult farming conditions in
North Dakota, returning just as the Second World War was
beginning in Europe. They continued to operate the farm
near Hurdsfield until 1965.
Early in life Paul gave his heart to God. Paul was active as a
lay minister since about 1940 serving in many churches
including in Hurdsfield, Heaton, Bowdon, Harvey, and
Cathay. Mary helped with these duties, which included
visiting someone most Sundays, including members of the
current church affiliation, members of former church
affiliations, and other friends.
Paul’s Ponderings
103
In the late 50's, the Chaseley Mennonite Church asked them
to serve in an official position, and, in 1960, Paul was
ordained as a minister in the Mennonite Church. After semi-
retirement from the farm, Paul and Mary continued to work
with churches in Turtle Lake, ND, and in Mobridge, SD, until
1976 with short breaks back on the farm.
In addition to the work on the farm and the lay ministerial
work, Paul was active in the community. He was a member
of the school board for many years, participated in the PTA,
attended basketball games, and other community events.
Mary was active with church work, the Homemakers Club,
the PTA, the community choir, senior citizen activities, and
many other community events. Mary always had a large
garden, loved being a helpmate to her husband and was an
excellent seamstress, sewing bridal and bridesmaid dresses
for several weddings.
Paul and Mary enjoyed traveling, however, prior to semi-
retirement, farm work and other activities did not allow
them to do much traveling. Following semi-retirement, Paul
and Mary traveled more extensively, visiting the families of
their children in their various locales in the United States.
Together, they managed to visit much of the United States.
After Paul passed away, Mary found opportunities to
continue traveling and had the privilege of visiting Australia,
Hawaii, Sweden, Norway, and England.
After Paul passed away July, 1977, Mary found a ministry
caring for others and continued to live on the farm between
jobs until 1984. She then moved to Spearfish, SD, and
currently resides at the Garden Hills Assisted Living center in
Spearfish, SD.
Paul’s Ponderings
104
Swardstrom Family – A Few Notes.
Paul and Mary Swardstrom had six children.
Daughter Arlene, married Wesley Hansen (deceased), resides
in Quilcene, WA.
Son John, resides in Georgetown, TX with his wife, Barbara.
Daughter Wanda Joyce, John’s twin, died soon after birth.
Sandra, resides in Yuma, AZ.
Paul David, resides in Naperville, IL with his wife, Eileene.
Merrilee, resides in Spearfish, SD with her husband, Bill
Foote.
In addition, Paul and Mary have: sixteen grandchildren,
twenty+ great grandchildren, and at least two great, great
grandchildren.