busy town.
Where mansions’ do each mount top crown.
Come, witness the great tug-of-war,
And the great hammer thrown afar,
See running, jumping, highland fling,
At concert hear the sky lark sing.
And the bagpipes will send thrills
Like echoes from the distant hills,
And the bold sound of the pibroch
Which does resound o’er Scottish loch.
Young men and maids, and fine old dames
Will gather on the banks of Thames,
And though we have a tug-of-war
’Twill leave no wound or deadly scar.
’Twas on a pleasant eve in May.
Just as the sun shed its last ray,
The bell it rang, citizens to warn,
For lo! a fire appears in barn.
An ancient barn near hotel stood,
The joining buildings all were wood;
This barn a relic of the past,
There farmers’ horses were made fast.
Our once fair town is now in woe,
And we have had our Chicago;
But soon a nobler town will rise,
For Ingersoll’s all enterprise.
For water far town need not seek,
As there is river and the creek
Just find the means it to apply
And then all fires must quickly die.
Our youth and beauty here arranged,
In honor of the Fire Brigade;
And now every man is ready
To obey the bugle of Brady.
And always willing for to ralley
At the trumpet sound of Walley,
To the fire they rush at once,
Led on by gallant Captain Vance.
The firemen, now, their only strife,
It seems to be a race for life,
Which engine first shall reach the fire
And cause the wild flames to expire.
Oddfellows once they had to trudge
O’er rough stage road to the Grand Lodge,
But now they town of metal seek
And find it on the Kettle Creek.
For industry it here prevails
As it was built by the steel rails,
And here the wide expanded bridges
Do connect the distant ridges.
No more need to stay at home as
There’s lots of railroads to St. Thomas,
You pluckily did boldly venture,
Now you are great railroad centre.
Your city now it hath high hopes
From its great railway workshops,
And higher yet it still will rise,
This seat of so much enterprise.
When young man wants a wedded mate
He seeks Alma girl graduate,
And he loves her Alma mater
For the sake of her charming daughter.
Craft of King Hiram and St. John,
They figurative work on stone,
King Hiram he is the old sire
And he was famous King of Tyre.
But great as King upon a throne
Is the good, kind, true St. John,
Cathedrals did craftsmen raise,
Fills all our minds now with amaze.
No modern chisel has the power
To trace such leaf, and bud, and flower,
But though our structures now are rude
Let us all make the mortar good.
And this injunction never spare,
To have the work both plumb and square,
And it must have no crack nor flaw,
So masters will lay down the law.
Of all our work this is the chief,
To give the needy ones relief,
And with truth and brotherly love
We sublime structure raise above.
The greatest honor has been won
By that great builder Solomon,
And craftsmen o’er the world do sing
The praises of that mighty King.
Oxford Cheese Ode
As cheesemaking in Canada first began in this county, and it has already become one of the chief industries of several counties, it is no insignificant theme. Mr. E. Casswell has just received this morning from Messrs. Millar, Mount Elgin, scale boards for thirty two thousand cheese; each of those cheese which they are intended to protect will weigh about 65 lbs. each, or over; about three million lbs. in all.—June 14th, 1884.
The ancient poets ne’er did dream
That Canada was land of cream,
They ne’er imagined it could flow
In this cold land of ice and snow,
Where everything did solid freeze,
They ne’er hoped or looked for cheese.
A few years since our Oxford farms
Were nearly robbed of all their charms,
O’er cropped the weary land grew poor
And nearly barren as a moor,
But now their owners live at ease
Rejoicing in their crop of cheese.
And since they justly treat the soil,
Are well rewarded for their toil,
The land enriched by goodly cows
Yields plenty now to fill their mows,
Both wheat and barley, oats and peas,
But still their greatest boast is cheese.
Cow, you must treat her as a Queen,
When grass is dry cut her feed green;
8he will repay you for your toiling
For there’s profit in the soiling,
Its benefits one daily sees
Who takes an interest in the cheese.
And you must careful fill your mows
With good provender for your cows,
And in the winter keep them warm,
Protect them safe all time from harm,
For cows do dearly love their ease,
Which doth insure best grade of cheese.
To us it is a glorious theme
To sing of milk and curds and cream,
Were it collected it could float
On its bosom, small steam boat,
Cows numerous as swarm of bees
Are milked in Oxford to make cheese.
To prove the wealth that here abounds,
One cheese weighed eight thousand pounds,
Had it been hung in air at noon
Folks would have thought it was the moon,
It sailed with triumph o’er the seas,
’Twas hailed with welcome, queen of cheese.
Lines on a Fountain
We love cold water as it flows from the fountain,
Which nature hath brewed alone in the mountain;
In the wild woods and in the rocky dell,
Where man hath not been but the deer loves to dwell;
And away across the sea in far distant lands,
In Asia’s gloomy jungles and Africa’s drifting sands;
Where to the thirsty traveller a charming spot of green
Is by far the rarest gem his eyes have ever seen;
And when he has quenched his thirst at the cooling spring,
With many grateful songs he makes the air to ring;
For many nights he dreams of this scene of bliss,
And when he thinks of Heaven it is of such as this.
