POEM 



JReg>d before the Housatonic Agricultural Society, Great 

 Barrington, September 28, 1877, 



BY COL. S. B. SUMNER, OF BRIDGEPORT, CT, 



While coming up the road last night, 



I thought that lively Hubbell, 

 Should I arrest his Argus sight, 



Would get me into trouble. 

 So did the midnight hour disclose 



In my ancestral dtvelling, 

 A sleepless wight in mental throes, 



And agony past telling. 



I rarely sing— you ought to know. 



Who've read and heard me long, — 

 A verse that don't alike bestow 



A sermon and a song. 

 So as upon this stage I stand, 



A moment's grace beseeching. 

 The topic that my rhymes command 



Is fitter still for preaching. 



I see all through the walks of life," 



How men for prizes toil, 

 From out each busy field of strife. 



Prom out the busy soil ; 

 And so we go with earnest zeal 



And sedulous endeavor, 

 To meet our destined woe or weal, 



And play our parts forever. 



Life's prizes ; how we work and strive 



Somewhere, somehow, to gain them, 

 Yet often times, the more we thrive 



The more do we disdain them. 

 Truth is, we do not search aright. 



And once attained desire, 

 Dissatisfies maturer sight. 



And bids us still aspire. 



Now these, the prizes of to-day. 



Are signs and symbols merely 

 Of something else you bear away. 



You treasure much more dearly. 

 The glittering toy is well enough, 



The true prize is that field, 

 Theplace madesmooth erewhileso rpugh- 



The golden harvest yield '. 



The true prize is that fabric wrought 



By industry and skill. 

 The products from those acres brought, 



You spent those days to till. 

 The true prize is that thrifty home. 



Those sweet domestic bowers, 

 Where life's best pleasures ever come 



To gladden life's best hoars. 



The true prize lurks within the eye 



Of that young daughter fair, 

 Born underneath a kindly sky. 



Your worldly wealth to share. 

 It plays around the student brow 



Of that ambitious boy 

 You toil to educate, and now, 



Your pride, your hope, your joy ! 



0, as you labor, ne'er forget, 



To strive for something worth. 

 Nor your supreme afiFection set 



On sordid things of earth. 

 Walk modestly and patiently. 



But keep an aim that's high. 

 So, glad fruition you shall see 



Accost you by and by. 



Dear friends, I mention one more prize 



You gather here to find. 

 All win it, in these gladsome eyes, 



And in these greetings kind. 

 The prize the universal Judge 



Awards us from above, 

 The prize devoid of stint or grudge. 



The blessed prize of love ! 



O, as the years these scenes repeat, 



And here you congregate, 

 Let mutual benedictions sweet 



Upon your steps await. 

 And, each and all, in that vast Fair, 



Beyond the upper skies. 

 May it be ours to freely share 



In that Eternal Prize ! 



