How sweet to be at Breezy in the springtime of the year,
With the lilacs all abloom at the gate,
And everything so new, so jubilant, so dear,
And every little bird is a-looking for his mate.
There, don't you dare laugh! Perhaps another time I may swing into
the exact rhythm.
The Rev. William Rankin Duryea, late Professor at Rutgers College, New
Brunswick, was before that appointment a clergyman in Jersey City. His
wife told me that he once wrote some verses hoping to win a prize of
several hundred dollars offered for the best poem on "Home." He dashed
off one at a sitting, read it over, tore it up, and flung it in the
waste basket. Then he proceeded to write something far more serious
and impressive. This he sent to the committee of judges who were to
choose the winner. It was never heard of. But his wife, who liked the
rhythm of the despised jingle, took it from the waste basket, pieced
it together, copied it, and sent it to the committee. It took the
prize. And he showed me in his library, books he had long wanted to
own, which he had purchased with this "prize money," writing in each
"Bought for a Song."
1
Dark is the night, and fitful and drearily
Rushes the wind like the waves of the sea,
Little care I as here I sing cheerily,
Wife at my side and my baby on knee;
King, King, crown me the King!
Home is the Kingdom, and Love is the King.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218