[Doctor Holland's poem, in] The Chapin gathering Proceedings at the meeting of the Chapin Family, in Springfield, Mass., September 17, 1862 |
 |
 | [Doctor Holland's poem, in] The Chapin gathering |  |
59
[Life has a simple constitution]
Life has a simple constitution:
We pay, or are paid, for all our deeds.
The “nub” of all things is retribution:
That is the way my Bible reads.
A bad cigar costs—a postage stamp;
We swallow a drink, and sink a dime;
We sow our bread where the land is damp,
And gather a harvest—after a time.
And when the land which we sow is clay—
Moist with too many a potable drop—
The operation is certain to pay,
And yield a remarkable bountiful crop.
We take, and it costs; we give, and it pays
Measure for measure and pound for pound;
It is compensation that fills the days,
And makes the grand old world go round.
Good has its price to the weak and the strong,
To farmer and artisan, priest and scribe,
And I am compelled to sing you a song
For marrying into the Chapin tribe.
We pay, or are paid, for all our deeds.
The “nub” of all things is retribution:
That is the way my Bible reads.
A bad cigar costs—a postage stamp;
We swallow a drink, and sink a dime;
We sow our bread where the land is damp,
And gather a harvest—after a time.
And when the land which we sow is clay—
Moist with too many a potable drop—
The operation is certain to pay,
And yield a remarkable bountiful crop.
We take, and it costs; we give, and it pays
Measure for measure and pound for pound;
It is compensation that fills the days,
And makes the grand old world go round.
Good has its price to the weak and the strong,
To farmer and artisan, priest and scribe,
And I am compelled to sing you a song
For marrying into the Chapin tribe.
And what shall the song be? So it be brief,
It matters but little in any way;
We have read the grave side of the family leaf,
So, just for a change, let us turn to the gay.
It matters but little in any way;
We have read the grave side of the family leaf,
So, just for a change, let us turn to the gay.
Did it ever occur to any of you
That this old Deacon Chapin, of whom we read,
And about whom we raise such a hullabaloo,
Was a very remarkable person indeed?
'Tis a philosophical axiom, I'm told,
As solid as gold and very old—
As old almost as the mountains—
That streams, no matter how large they may be,
In all their beautiful paths to the sea
Never rise above their fountains.
Well, look at this river of family life:—
Thousands of hearts pumping blood by the cask—
And when you are satisfied, let me ask
What you think of the source—and the source's wife.
No matter how high the particular shelves
On which we see fit to exhibit ourselves,
No matter how many we reckon,
There is nothing (short of a water-ram)
That can put us above old Deacon Sam
And the woman who fried his bacon.
That this old Deacon Chapin, of whom we read,
And about whom we raise such a hullabaloo,
Was a very remarkable person indeed?
60
As solid as gold and very old—
As old almost as the mountains—
That streams, no matter how large they may be,
In all their beautiful paths to the sea
Never rise above their fountains.
Well, look at this river of family life:—
Thousands of hearts pumping blood by the cask—
And when you are satisfied, let me ask
What you think of the source—and the source's wife.
No matter how high the particular shelves
On which we see fit to exhibit ourselves,
No matter how many we reckon,
There is nothing (short of a water-ram)
That can put us above old Deacon Sam
And the woman who fried his bacon.
Why, when the old town was settled at first,
They were all afraid that its bounds would burst.
The men were so broad in the back and so tall,
That they did'nt want neighbors within a mile;
And their fruitful wives, neither short nor small,
Multiplied wondrously all the while.
So they fixed, as you know, at a couple of score
The number of families; then they swore
In the Puritan way, with a “snum” and a “snore,”
That the broad old town would'nt hold any more,—
Proving beyond any question that then,
The valley was peopled by rather large men.
They were all afraid that its bounds would burst.
The men were so broad in the back and so tall,
That they did'nt want neighbors within a mile;
And their fruitful wives, neither short nor small,
Multiplied wondrously all the while.
So they fixed, as you know, at a couple of score
The number of families; then they swore
In the Puritan way, with a “snum” and a “snore,”
That the broad old town would'nt hold any more,—
Proving beyond any question that then,
The valley was peopled by rather large men.
Why, I have no doubt that our Deacon Sam
Could have walked from Springfield to Wilbraham
In fifteen minutes; or brought in from Skipmuck,
With as little fatigue as I could a chipmuck,
A buck or a bear so uncommonly thrifty
As to weigh by the steelyards five hundred and fifty.
And we know that though timber was plenty and cheap
And the river in places decidedly deep,
Not a bridge was put up till the old people faded,
And I take it for granted that all of them waded.
I fancy I see them step forth from their houses,
Rolling up in their progress the legs of their “trowses,”
With their shoes in one hand and their wives in the other,
(They hadn't on any long dresses to bother)
And somehow get over the charming Connecticut
Without scaring a woman, or dipping a petticoat.
Could have walked from Springfield to Wilbraham
In fifteen minutes; or brought in from Skipmuck,
With as little fatigue as I could a chipmuck,
A buck or a bear so uncommonly thrifty
As to weigh by the steelyards five hundred and fifty.
And we know that though timber was plenty and cheap
And the river in places decidedly deep,
Not a bridge was put up till the old people faded,
And I take it for granted that all of them waded.
I fancy I see them step forth from their houses,
Rolling up in their progress the legs of their “trowses,”
With their shoes in one hand and their wives in the other,
(They hadn't on any long dresses to bother)
And somehow get over the charming Connecticut
Without scaring a woman, or dipping a petticoat.
Now if streams send no ripple above their source,
(And they never do as a matter of course,)
Suppose you endeavor to tell me whether
This great-great-grand—this immensely grand father
Didn't know more than all of us put together.
What have we—what are we—in body or soul
That is not from the Deacon, in part or in whole?
You know that the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher
Is considered a very remarkable preacher
And, in many respects, quite a marvelous creature.
You have heard him within his own pulpit on Sunday,
And lecturing somewhere or other on Monday,
And been puzzled, perhaps, with tormenting conjecture,
As to which was the sermon and which was the lecture;
But sermon and lecture have set you aflame
With the fire of an eloquence always the same.
Week in and week out, and year following year,
You have heard his great voice ringing roundly and clear,
Proclaiming the right and denouncing the wrong,
And defending the weak in their strife with the strong;
Yet gentle and playful and dainty and airy,
As the flight of a fawn or the foot of a fairy,
His fancy has danced evermore with the Hours,
To the tune of the birds and the time of the flowers.
And you have looked on but to wonder and wonder
Where this eloquent son of an old son of thunder
Obtained the rare gifts that have crowned him the chief
Of the men who proclaim the old fashioned belief.
You have thought it was genius, or something still higher,
That filled him so full of electrical fire.
You have thought that the gods had descended, perchance,
And massing their forces had made an advance,
Driving in Nature's pickets, or shooting them dead,
And taking position on Beecher's broad head.
You are widely mistaken; the gods do not aid him;
He is just what the blood of the Chapins has made him.
(And they never do as a matter of course,)
61
This great-great-grand—this immensely grand father
Didn't know more than all of us put together.
What have we—what are we—in body or soul
That is not from the Deacon, in part or in whole?
You know that the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher
Is considered a very remarkable preacher
And, in many respects, quite a marvelous creature.
You have heard him within his own pulpit on Sunday,
And lecturing somewhere or other on Monday,
And been puzzled, perhaps, with tormenting conjecture,
As to which was the sermon and which was the lecture;
But sermon and lecture have set you aflame
With the fire of an eloquence always the same.
Week in and week out, and year following year,
You have heard his great voice ringing roundly and clear,
Proclaiming the right and denouncing the wrong,
And defending the weak in their strife with the strong;
Yet gentle and playful and dainty and airy,
As the flight of a fawn or the foot of a fairy,
His fancy has danced evermore with the Hours,
To the tune of the birds and the time of the flowers.
And you have looked on but to wonder and wonder
Where this eloquent son of an old son of thunder
Obtained the rare gifts that have crowned him the chief
Of the men who proclaim the old fashioned belief.
You have thought it was genius, or something still higher,
That filled him so full of electrical fire.
You have thought that the gods had descended, perchance,
And massing their forces had made an advance,
Driving in Nature's pickets, or shooting them dead,
And taking position on Beecher's broad head.
You are widely mistaken; the gods do not aid him;
He is just what the blood of the Chapins has made him.
There is Hitchcock, a great theological doctor,
A preacher of power and a notable proctor;
With genius unquestioned, a name above scandal,
And doctrines all orthodox “up to the handle;”
Who never has dreamed, I may venture to say,
That he came by his creed in the natural way,
And that all that he carries of power and persuasion
Is old Deacon Chapin, and not inspiration.
A preacher of power and a notable proctor;
With genius unquestioned, a name above scandal,
And doctrines all orthodox “up to the handle;”
Who never has dreamed, I may venture to say,
That he came by his creed in the natural way,
And that all that he carries of power and persuasion
Is old Deacon Chapin, and not inspiration.
There is Chapin, the preacher, whose avoirdupois
Will equal the best of the old Chapin boys;
With a heart so immense and a form so abounding,
A brain so astute and a voice so astounding,
That he drops in his creed the old-fashioned rehearsal,
And spreads into schemes that are quite universal.
You're aware, I presume, that he's not in this quarter,
But is gone from the country far over the water;
And gone for his health (so the editors say,)
Which is delicate, quite in the clerical way;—
A way, as they tell me, which comes from endeavors
To raise heavy weights with incompetent levers,
Or from fruitless and feverish strife to command
A very good game with a very bad hand,
Or—to leave in illustrative figures no gap at all—
From doing large business on very small capital.
Now the doctor has brains enough, every one knows,
But they're regular Orthodox brains, I suppose.
They came from the Deacon, whose scheme of salvation
Was yoked with a parallel scheme of damnation.
So our friend in proclaiming his easier creed,
Though with muscle and mind quite enough for his need,
Simply went against nature—the family blood—
Which has always been Orthodox back to the flood;
And in preaching the worlds absolute absolution
Broke the Chapin all down in a strong constitution.
Ah, sad is the Doctor, and sorry are we
That he comes not to-day to the family tree;
But we send him our greeting far over the sea,
And we breath our desire, which we lift into prayer,
That the God of his father may be with him there.
Will equal the best of the old Chapin boys;
With a heart so immense and a form so abounding,
A brain so astute and a voice so astounding,
62
And spreads into schemes that are quite universal.
You're aware, I presume, that he's not in this quarter,
But is gone from the country far over the water;
And gone for his health (so the editors say,)
Which is delicate, quite in the clerical way;—
A way, as they tell me, which comes from endeavors
To raise heavy weights with incompetent levers,
Or from fruitless and feverish strife to command
A very good game with a very bad hand,
Or—to leave in illustrative figures no gap at all—
From doing large business on very small capital.
Now the doctor has brains enough, every one knows,
But they're regular Orthodox brains, I suppose.
They came from the Deacon, whose scheme of salvation
Was yoked with a parallel scheme of damnation.
So our friend in proclaiming his easier creed,
Though with muscle and mind quite enough for his need,
Simply went against nature—the family blood—
Which has always been Orthodox back to the flood;
And in preaching the worlds absolute absolution
Broke the Chapin all down in a strong constitution.
Ah, sad is the Doctor, and sorry are we
That he comes not to-day to the family tree;
But we send him our greeting far over the sea,
And we breath our desire, which we lift into prayer,
That the God of his father may be with him there.
But the blood hasn't all run to Davids and Daniels,
Or followed alone theological channels.
It flourishes everywhere—favors all classes,
And thrives in those aggregates known as the “masses.”
The Shakers and Quakers and photograph-takers,
The butchers and bakers and candlestick-makers,
Will furnish you Chapins by acres and acres.
It presides o'er a college in distant Beloit,
And feeds half the world at the old Massasoit.
Its decisions in probate are Equity's pride,
Though doubtless they lean to Humanity's side;—
That is, although just, they are apt to consider
The orphans, and lean to the side of “the widder.”
Of these matters of probate in Worcester, I know not,
And therefore of matters in Worcester, I blow not;
But in Hampden, I know how these things were decided,
When the old court existed and Morris precided.
It carries the mail over half of the mail-roads,
It manages stages and steamers and railroads;
It is engineer, financier, captain, constructor;
It is president, treasurer, clerk and conductor;
In short, without further expansion to trouble you,
It is just what we find in our own “Chester W.”
Though it occupies not the state minister's chair,
It sleeps in his bed and partakes of his fare,
And bears him his boys, as you're doubtless aware;
And the Foote of the family, you may remember,
Is the head of the national Senate chamber.
Or followed alone theological channels.
It flourishes everywhere—favors all classes,
And thrives in those aggregates known as the “masses.”
The Shakers and Quakers and photograph-takers,
The butchers and bakers and candlestick-makers,
Will furnish you Chapins by acres and acres.
It presides o'er a college in distant Beloit,
And feeds half the world at the old Massasoit.
Its decisions in probate are Equity's pride,
Though doubtless they lean to Humanity's side;—
That is, although just, they are apt to consider
The orphans, and lean to the side of “the widder.”
Of these matters of probate in Worcester, I know not,
And therefore of matters in Worcester, I blow not;
But in Hampden, I know how these things were decided,
When the old court existed and Morris precided.
It carries the mail over half of the mail-roads,
It manages stages and steamers and railroads;
It is engineer, financier, captain, constructor;
It is president, treasurer, clerk and conductor;
63
It is just what we find in our own “Chester W.”
Though it occupies not the state minister's chair,
It sleeps in his bed and partakes of his fare,
And bears him his boys, as you're doubtless aware;
And the Foote of the family, you may remember,
Is the head of the national Senate chamber.
But enough. I have told you sufficient to prove
That the family runs in a very broad groove,
And that when we come down to the matter of blood,
It is “thicker than water,” and—thinner than mud.
That the family runs in a very broad groove,
And that when we come down to the matter of blood,
It is “thicker than water,” and—thinner than mud.
The name is an old one, and dates from the ark
When Ararat's summit was high-water mark;
When all the distinctions of caste lay between
The chap that was out and the chap that was in.
The chap out was drowned in the great inundation,
And the Chap in was saved for the new generation.
Our Chapin was Japhet, a name that we find
Has been much in the family, time out of mind;
The identical man, as you doubtless discover,
Who was “one of three brothers,” that left and “came over.”
When Ararat's summit was high-water mark;
When all the distinctions of caste lay between
The chap that was out and the chap that was in.
The chap out was drowned in the great inundation,
And the Chap in was saved for the new generation.
Our Chapin was Japhet, a name that we find
Has been much in the family, time out of mind;
The identical man, as you doubtless discover,
Who was “one of three brothers,” that left and “came over.”
But enough in this key; let us change to a sweeter
And close in a much more particular meter.
And close in a much more particular meter.
I have a fancy that the forms of some we do not see
Are gathered with us as we throng around the household tree;
They fill the windows and the doors, the galleries and aisles,
Silent in dignified delight, and radiant with smiles.
Are gathered with us as we throng around the household tree;
They fill the windows and the doors, the galleries and aisles,
Silent in dignified delight, and radiant with smiles.
Brave William Pynchon comes to-day (whom men and ghosts revere,)
With Major John, “the Worshipful,” and stands beside me here;
And old John Woodcock, free at last, and wearing not a scar
Of the old chains, bows reverently, and worships from afar.
With Major John, “the Worshipful,” and stands beside me here;
And old John Woodcock, free at last, and wearing not a scar
Of the old chains, bows reverently, and worships from afar.
Oh up and down these pleasant aisles, on Holyoke's manly arm—
The woman to an angel grown—still crowned by woman's charm—
Fair Mary Pynchon walks unseen, the maid, the peerless wife,
The beauty and the glory of the old plantation life.
The woman to an angel grown—still crowned by woman's charm—
Fair Mary Pynchon walks unseen, the maid, the peerless wife,
The beauty and the glory of the old plantation life.
Moxon, the pastor bends with eyes abashed before the gaze
Of those who knew and feared him in his superstitious days,
When witchcraft's ban lay on his home where Christian peace should be
Till racked by hellish fantasies he fled across the sea.
Of those who knew and feared him in his superstitious days,
When witchcraft's ban lay on his home where Christian peace should be
Till racked by hellish fantasies he fled across the sea.
All these and other forms there are that meet with us to-day,
The little ones—the nameless ones—who lived and passed away
While yet the beaver built his boom, the salmon swam the floods,
And red deer ranged unchallenged still the circling solitudes.
The little ones—the nameless ones—who lived and passed away
While yet the beaver built his boom, the salmon swam the floods,
And red deer ranged unchallenged still the circling solitudes.
64
But happier than all the throng—the central shade, indeed—
Is the benignant saint whose children listen while I read.
Lord of the festival is he, whose fruitful loins have given
Ten thousand forms to walk the earth, ten thousand souls to heaven.
Is the benignant saint whose children listen while I read.
Lord of the festival is he, whose fruitful loins have given
Ten thousand forms to walk the earth, ten thousand souls to heaven.
Then let us fancy—nay, believe—that from their golden home,
The father of our flock and all of kindred birth are come,
And realize that in the joy which thrills each kindling mind,
They bring us precious bounty from the heaven they left behind.
The father of our flock and all of kindred birth are come,
And realize that in the joy which thrills each kindling mind,
They bring us precious bounty from the heaven they left behind.
| [Doctor Holland's poem, in] The Chapin gathering | |