Saturday, March 4, 2023
Mountain State Moon
The moon may shine in Caroline
And on the Wabash too.
While many a rhyme in many a clime
Describes her glorious hue.
But transcendently bright is the queen of the nite,
Whether seen in December or June
If you view it aright where naught dims the sight
And call our Mountain State moon.
Go view her calm face from the wide open space
As she sails through the azure blue sky,
Then climb some high peak, watch her play hide and seek
With the soft clouds that go drifting by.
The valley, the river, all nature it seems
Is kissed into beauty by her soft, mellow beams.
Ah, no. West Virginia envies no other moon
For in no fairer land do fond lovers croon.
-Walter C. Harris
1876-1936
Methodist Episcopal Church, South
My dear Friend:-
A certain preacher had a good appointment and many friends,
but the spirit of the Prodigal took possession of him and one day he said to
his Elder, "Give me the transfer that falleth to me and when that kindly-dis-
posed man had answered his prayer according to his folly straightway he took
his journey into the Southland where a thousand favorite sons had covered
themselves with glory choosing "liberty or death" and in a section made fa-
mous by Bishop Hoss and the great Munsey. Here he was not long in finding
better conditions and plenty of bread; but there arose a mighty famine in
his heart and a hungering in his soul to return to his native land and grasp
again the hand of warm hearted friends of other days: and no man offered him
consolation.
And when he came to himself he realized that good appointments and good sala
ries do not satisfy the earnest longings for home and friends, and that the
praise of the multitude is as " Sounding brass and tinkling cymbal" because it
falls not upon the ears of dear friends and near relatives; and he said to
himself "Man shall not live by bread alone" , and I'd rather eat the husks in
any pig sty in the homeland than to have a square meal in Holston."
Behold then the plight of the Prodigal who wanted to return but could not,
for the fatted calf had already been killed and the veal loaf served to
others who went not South but West and returned empty handed.
And thus the prayer of the Prodigal continues. "Thou hast given me the South-
land, give me also springs of water".
Greetings to the brother who staid at home and to whom the father said: "ALL
I have is thine".
MORAL.-Never transfer.
-Walter C. Harris
October 28th, 1922
Mountain City, Tenn.
THE MODERN CHURCH
Well, wife, I've seen the modern church, they worshiped there today;
Unlike the time when Christ the Lord--washed all my sins away;
I tell you, wife, it made me sad--to think that Truth and Grace,
Had touched no heart to humble pride--or to make one solemn face.
The people did not seem to note my presence as I sat,
Behind a peck of flowers sewed upon a lady's hat.
I could not see the preacher, as I then could only stare.
Before me at a "Crew Cut" of faded soft brown hair.
The preacher's voice came to my ear, in accents mild and meek;
"We'll now be favored with a song by Miss Samantha Cheek".
I could not catch a word she said, she only sang for show,
"Mi fa, Mi re, Mi la, Mi sol, Mi fa, Sol, mi, Re do."
The people did not sing at all--the Choir had wondrous nerve,
And sang as fast as "Casey's Train", a flying 'round a curve.
Nor did the people bow and pray--they sat still in their pride,
I wondered if they ever heard that Christ was crucified.
It was a flowery sermon, wife, a masterpiece well read,
Unsuited to the sons of toil, who earn their daily bread.
His language had the ease and grace of the ocean's ebb and flow;
But side stepped sin, lest he should step, on some old deacon's toe.
The old Church Creed is solid, wife, her doctrines all are sound,
We've followed them, and oft have placed our feet on higher ground.
But if our Sainted Wesley should awaken from his trance,
He'd find church members old and young, attend the social dance.
-Walter C. Harris
New River Canyon
Vast fortunes spent to advertise,
In every land beneath the skies,
Has caused the multitude to roam
Far from rich beauties closer home.
The rich play-boys who risk their scalps,
With every trip across the Alps,
Would move with awe-inspiring tread
On heights above New River's bed.
The Colorado deep may flow,
Through mighty canyons far below;
But those who know will place their bet
On grander canyons in Fayette.
To those of you who cross the pond
To view the valley Aggalon,
Will see far more when you stand,
And view America's Switzerland.
What offers more enchanted gaze
Than looking through the purple haze?
Symmetric beauty mile on mile-
Vast mountain ranges file on file.
O roads of asphalt, smooth as glass
The wheels of traffic swiftly pass;
While through the valley far below
Is swiftly speeding C & O.
Lift now your eyes to azure blue
Through which the fiery chariot flew,
Then lower them to deep abyss
Where demons howl and serpents hiss.
Two questions now you entertain
While mind of mortal man is sane.
And answer to them none can tell,
How high is Heaven-how deep is Hell.
Words are too tame and speech too mean
To paint the grandeur of the scene.
But if you want the high and low,
New River Canyon is one grand show
-Walter C. Harris
Pax West Virginia
1935
THE CURSE OF IGNORANCE
1.
We dedicate this space in rhyme
To all the critics of our time,
Especially that rare brand of fool
Who fights the progress of our school.
A crank may imitate a saint
But truth and reason prove he "aint".
2.
The space alloted here is small,
(Why mention such low_brows at all?)
We do them honor far too great
When we engage them in debate.
By wisdom's well such mortals sleep-
Nothing to draw with, and the well is deep.
3.
Those fake reformers, -blind to truth
Would blight the pleasures of our youth,
Make every harmless sport and game
Appear to bare the mark of shame.
Ignorance, we know, can not be bliss
While carrying such a curse as this.
4.
The club, the court, the grid, the gym
And pools where men and maidens swim
They brand as sinful, low and mean,-
Likewise all pictures on the screen.
Where men such notions entertain
There can be little mind or brain.
-W.C. Harris
1876-1936
(For Prof. Bobbit, Pax, WV High School)
reconciled
reconciled
(a poem for mary,
with Love)
with grace
and faith
and patience,
am i
becomes
I AM
and
we're no longer
concerned
or
surprised
by
others'
view
of
us.
then one day
through Love
and humility
we see
that "those others"
are really "our selves"
so we embrace
and are embraced
we judge
and are judged
we attack
and are attacked
we forgive
and are forgiven
we Love
and are Loved
and all parts
of our selves
are eventually
reconciled.
-Amy K.
January 2008
Blue Ridge Mountains, Virginia