Newspaper History

Tag: Frank L. Stanton

  • The Good Old Hymns

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, January 3, 1915. By Frank L. Stanton.

    There’s a lot of music in ‘em—the hymns of long ago,
    And when some gray-haired brother sings the ones I used to know,
    I sorter want to take a hand, I think of days gone by,
    “On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand and cast a wistful eye!”

    There’s lots of music in ‘em—those dear, sweet hymns of old,
    With visions bright of lands of light and shining streets of gold;
    And I hear ‘em ringing—singing, where mem’ry, dreaming, stands,
    “From Greenland’s icy mountains to India’s coral strands.”

    They seem to sing forever of holier, sweeter days,
    When the lilies of the love of God bloomed white in all the ways;
    And I want to hear their music from the old-time meetin’s rise
    Till “I can read my title clear to mansions in the skies.”

    We never needed singin’ books in them old days—we knew
    The words, the tunes of every one—the dear old hymn book through!
    We didn’t have no trumpets then, no organs built for show,
    We only sang to praise the Lord, “from whom all blessings flow.”

    An’ so I love the good old hymns, and when my time shall come—
    Before my light has left me and my singing lips are dumb—
    If I can hear ‘em sing them then, I’ll pass without a sigh
    To “Canaan’s fair and happy land, where my possessions lie.”

  • An Old Battle Field

    From the Newark Evening Star, August 27, 1914. By Frank L. Stanton.

    The softest whisperings of the scented South,
    And rust and roses in the cannon’s mouth;
    And, where the thunders of the fight were born,
    The wind’s sweet tenor in the standing corn;
    With song of larks, low lingering in the loam,
    And blue skies bending over love and home.

    But still the thought; somewhere, upon the hills,
    Or where the vales ring with the whippoorwills,
    Sad, wistful eyes and broken hearts that beat
    For the loved sound of unreturning feet,
    And when the oaks their leafy banners wave,
    Dream of a battle and an unmarked grave.

  • The Face Immortal

    From The Birmingham Age-Herald, May 3, 1913.
 By Frank L. Stanton.
 

 Time that has left me lonely still may the shadows chase
 It has not dimmed the beauty of one immortal face
 A sweet face of Life’s springtime—a face the violets know
 God knew, high in His heaven, why I loved it so!
 
 When Evening comes, to tell me: “Life’s friends have left you lone!
 There is no voice to answer the tremblings of your own,”
 I see dear lips of crimson—cheeks where the dimples race
 And Memory is with me, and in dreams I see her face.
 
 Is not Life all dreaming? Where scythes and sabers gleam
 The heroes of Life’s battles are the captains of a Dream!
 And so, when Darkness gives us the blessing of God’s grace
 I’m holding hands with Memory and dreaming of her face.