The following poem, written by Adelaide Helen Burnham many years ago, was supplied
by Mr. and Mrs. Earl Ward. It is estimated that the poem was written about 1952.
It should be read left to right, top to bottom.
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The day had been long and dreary But the night had come at last, And I sought my couch so weary, With thoughts of the present and past |
Of Sutton, the town I was born in And lived the most of my life, And I mourned for the little progress She had made in this world of strife. |
For twenty five years I looked backward And I saw the same buildings then, That today are standing unaltered Though now owned by other men. |
| And the village called Sutton Corner Has it forward or backward gone? Has there been a change for the better? As these years of time have rolled on? |
The same old scenes are around me, The store courts still convene The same old brick church-schoolhouse And the same white church on the green. |
And my heart grew sick with sadness, And deeper the shadows came Till I cried aloud in my sorrow Will it ever be the same? |
| Is there no better future for Sutton? Is there nothing better than this? Must we die as others before us? Without seeing Sutton progress? |
Then I held my breath in silence For a Presence was in my room, And light came through the darkness Dispelling the deepening gloom. |
And a voice that was more than human Whispered close to my ear: "Mortal, look forward, not backward; And tell me now if you fear |
| For the future of Sutton your birthplace One-fourth of a century hence?" And the Presence pointed onward; And I looked away from thence; |
And I saw a magnificent city Where Sutton Corner once stood; And mansions of stone, brick, and mortar Had replaced those houses of wood. |
And the streets were all paved and crowded It was rattle and hurry and push For business of all kinds was booming And everyone joined in the rush. |
| A sub-railway had entered the city Where Frank Whipple's grain store had been A department store towered high above it And was run by Frank Holmes and his men. |
To the left was a colossal building, With letters engraved on the stone, And I scarce could believe my senses As I read "Switser's Hippodrome." |
And I asked if the Switser was William Whom all of us knew so well And the answer came slowly and sadly "It was he! but Alas! Poor Bill! |
| He grew weary of swapping horses, And bottoming Holme's chairs But little thought when he started this circus He should climb the "Golden Stairs." |
One day when the crowd was greatest, And called for a "Star" to ride, Bill mounted a milk-white courser And dashed round the ring on his side; |
And then, when they cheered him wildly He tried to stand on his head But lost his balance entirely And fell from the horse and was dead. |
| And these are the words on his tombstone "We miss him, and mourn his hard luck But Alas! Poor Bill was too heavy To ride a horse wrong end up." |
Just then through the air came flying A man with a pen in his hand And he held a book open before him While he spoke of a better land. |
And as he approached me nearer I saw it was H. A. Blake And I asked if he, too, was an angel But the answer was: "No, not yet;" |
| He is clerk of the town and the city, But, in the new order of things His feet were too slow for the business And so they equipped him with wings." |
Whiz! Whir! an airship comes sailing With its canvas unfurled in space And Herman Chapman is steering With a beautiful smile on his face. |
And the ship is loaded with cream cans And headed toward the south But disappears in the distance As if shot from a cannon's mouth. |
| Next I saw, that for education A structure nine stories high One the site of the old brick schoolhouse Rose towering toward the sky. |
Way up near a ninth grade window Miss Sadie Blake did stand She was teaching the higher reading And held a book in her hand. |
And I heard her say quite plainly To the class that was by her side "We will read for our lesson tomorrow From these poems by Freeman Hyde." |
| By one of the third grade windows Was Fanny Hasting's face She was toiling as hard as ever To instruct the rising race |
By all the latest methods Their lessons to attain And her many years of teaching I knew had not been in vain. |
On a ground floor in a doorway Madge Burnham's form was seen While all her little charges Were sporting on the green. |
| Till a sweet toned gong recalled them Back through the open door While wee voices kept repeating That two and two make four. |
As I turned my gaze from the children Something darkened the light A monstrous moving object Obscuring much else from sight. |
What is it? Whence comes it> And wherefore This creature that moveth in air Belongs it to Earth or to Heaven And what is its business here? |
| Great wings are above and around it, Propeling it toward the town Can it be that the winged horse, "Pegasus, Has come from mythology down? |
Behold! It has entered the city The people with joy, do it hail, For lo! On all sides of the monster Is written "United States Mail." |
And Charlie Joy sits in the center His face is all drawn as in pain From distributing tons of mail matter And handling that great Aeroplane. |
| With a noise like the rushing of waters A great crowd went hurrying by They were entering the Sutton Temple And I asked the reason why. |
And was told that a famous speaker Had just returned from abroad And was to speak there that evening To the eager, waiting crowd. |
So I hurried in with the others, While the strains of an organ grand Filled all the place with music From the touch of a master hand. |
| "Twas the hand of Miss Ethel Chapman That was moving over the keys And drew from the heart of the organ Those strains of joy and peace. |
But hush! The speaker approaches And all is silent as death. 'Tis he! "Tis Herbert A. Burnham! and the audience hished its breath. |
Till he stepped to the front and bowing To loud cheers that the silence broke Then smiled his appreciation And thes were the words he spoke: |
| "Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard To get her poor dog a bone But when she got there the cupboard was bare And so the poor dog he had none." |
The applause to this was deafening And hats and bouquets were thrown, Again he bowed to thank them And then in a hat, sat down. |
Soon again the voice of the organ Sweetly and softly rang As Ruth and Abbie Chapman Stepped to the front and sang |
| A duet of such thrilling sweetness That the people all sat speelbound Till the minister rose in his pulpit Though he uttered not a sound. |
Yet his face was strangely familiar And although it was shaven clean I knew that the face in the pulpit Was the face of Johnny Dean. |
And I saw many other faces That I knew in the days of yore And other scenes were passing But I cannot tell you more, | For the vision is fading! fading! And dim is growing the light The Presence no longer is with me It has vanished into the night. |
Must I wake when the morn approaches? No! No! The waking is pain! Let me sleep forever and ever Or behold that vision again. |