A Family Record Poem Rhyme Scheme

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WOODSTOCK CONN JULY	A
	-
NOT to myself this breath of vesper song	B
Not to these patient friends this kindly throng	B
Not to this hallowed morning though it be	C
Our summer Christmas Freedom's jubilee	C
When every summit topmast steeple tower	D
That owns her empire spreads her starry flower	D
Its blood streaked leaves in heaven's benignant dew	E
Washed clean from every crimson stain they knew	E
No not to these the passing thrills belong	B
That steal my breath to hush themselves with song	B
These moments all are memory's I have come	F
To speak with lips that rather should be dumb	F
For what are words At every step I tread	G
The dust that wore the footprints of the dead	G
But for whose life my life had never known	H
This faded vesture which it calls its own	H
Here sleeps my father's sire and they who gave	I
That earlier life here found their peaceful grave	I
In days gone by I sought the hallowed ground	J
Climbed yon long slope the sacred spot I found	J
Where all unsullied lies the winter snow	K
Where all ungathered spring's pale violets blow	K
And tracked from stone to stone the Saxon name	L
That marks the blood I need not blush to claim	L
Blood such as warmed the Pilgrim sons of toil	M
Who held from God the charter of the soil	M
I come an alien to your hills and plains	N
Yet feel your birthright tingling in my veins	N
Mine are this changing prospect's sun and shade	O
In full blown summer's bridal pomp arrayed	O
Mine these fair hillsides and the vales between	P
Mine the sweet streams that lend their brightening green	P
I breathed your air the sunlit landscape smiled	Q
I touch your soil it knows its children's child	Q
Throned in my heart your heritage is mine	R
I claim it all by memory's right divine	R
Waking I dream Before my vacant eyes	S
In long procession shadowy forms arise	S
Far through the vista of the silent years	T
I see a venturous band the pioneers	T
Who let the sunlight through the forest's gloom	U
Who bade the harvest wave the garden bloom	U
Hark loud resounds the bare armed settler's axe	V
See where the stealthy panther left his tracks	V
As fierce as stealthy creeps the skulking foe	K
With stone tipped shaft and sinew corded bow	W
Soon shall he vanish from his ancient reign	X
Leave his last cornfield to the coming train	X
Quit the green margin of the wave he drinks	Y
For haunts that hide the wild cat and the lynx	Y
	-
But who the Youth his glistening axe that swings	Z
To smite the pine that shows a hundred rings	Z
His features something in his look I find	A2
That calls the semblance of my race to mind	A2
His name my own and that which goes before	B2
The same that once the loved disciple bore	B2
Young brave discreet the father of a line	R
Whose voiceless lives have found a voice in mine	R
Thinned by unnumbered currents though they be	C
Thanks for the ruddy drops I claim from thee	C
	-
The seasons pass the roses come and go	K
Snows fall and melt the waters freeze and flow	K
The boys are men the girls grown tall and fair	C2
Have found their mates a gravestone here and there	C2
Tells where the fathers lie the silvered hair	C2
Of some bent patriarch yet recalls the time	D2
That saw his feet the northern hillside climb	D2
A pilgrim from the pilgrims far away	E2
The godly men the dwellers by the bay	E2
On many a hearthstone burns the cheerful fire	D
The schoolhouse porch the heavenward pointing spire	F2
Proclaim in letters every eye can read	G
Knowledge and Faith the new world's simple creed	G2
Hush 't is the Sabbath's silence stricken morn	H2
No feet must wander through the tasselled corn	H2
No merry children laugh around the door	B2
No idle playthings strew the sanded floor	B2
The law of Moses lays its awful ban	I2
On all that stirs here comes the tithing man	I2
At last the solemn hour of worship calls	J2
Slowly they gather in the sacred walls	J2
Man in his strength and age with knotted staff	K2
And boyhood aching for its week day laugh	K2
The toil worn mother with the child she leads	L2
The maiden lovely in her golden beads	L2
The popish symbols round her neck she wears	M2
But on them counts her lovers not her prayers	M2
Those youths in homespun suits and ribboned queues	N2
Whose hearts are beating in the high backed pews	N2
The pastor rises looks along the seats	O2
With searching eye each wonted face he meets	O2
Asks heavenly guidance finds the chapter's place	P2
That tells some tale of Israel's stubborn race	P2
Gives out the sacred song all voices join	Q2
For no quartette extorts their scanty coin	Q2
Then while both hands their black gloved palms display	E2
Lifts his gray head and murmurs 'Let us pray '	-
And pray he does as one that never fears	T
To plead unanswered by the God that hears	R2
What if he dwells on many a fact as though	K
Some things Heaven knew not which it ought to know	K
Thanks God for all his favors past and yet	S2
Tells Him there's something He must not forget	S2
Such are the prayers his people love to hear	T2
See how the Deacon slants his listening ear	T2
What look once more Nay surely there I trace	P2
The hinted outlines of a well known face	P2
Not those the lips for laughter to beguile	U2
Yet round their corners lurks an embryo smile	U2
The same on other lips my childhood knew	E
That scarce the Sabbath's mastery could subdue	E
Him too my lineage gives me leave to claim	L
The good grave man that bears the Psalmist's name	L
	-
And still in ceaseless round the seasons passed	V2
Spring piped her carol Autumn blew his blast	V2
Babes waxed to manhood manhood shrunk to age	W2
Life's worn out players tottered off the stage	W2
The few are many boys have grown to men	X2
Since Putnam dragged the wolf from Pomfret's den	X2
Our new old Woodstock is a thriving town	Y2
Brave are her children faithful to the crown	Y2
Her soldiers' steel the savage redskin knows	Z2
Their blood has crimsoned his Canadian snows	Z2
And now once more along the quiet vale	A3
Rings the dread call that turns the mothers pale	A3
Full well they know the valorous heat that runs	B3
In every pulse beat of their loyal sons	B3
Who would not bleed in good King George's cause	C3
When England's lion shows his teeth and claws	D3
With glittering firelocks on the village green	P
In proud array a martial band is seen	P
You know what names those ancient rosters hold	E3
Whose belts were buckled when the drum beat rolled	E3
But mark their Captain tell us who is he	C
On his brown face that same old look I see	C
Yes from the homestead's still retreat he came	L
Whose peaceful owner bore the Psalmist's name	L
The same his own Well Israel's glorious king	F3
Who struck the harp could also whirl the sling	F3
Breathe in his song a penitential sigh	A
And smite the sons of Amalek hip and thigh	A
These shared their task one deaconed out the psalm	G3
One slashed the scalping hell hounds of calm	H3
The praying father's pious work is done	I3
Now sword in hand steps forth the fighting son	I3
On many a field he fought in wilds afar	J3
See on his swarthy cheek the bullet's scar	J3
There hangs a murderous tomahawk beneath	K3
Without its blade a knife's embroidered sheath	K3
Save for the stroke his trusty weapon dealt	L3
His scalp had dangled at their owner's belt	L3
But not for him such fate he lived to see	C
The bloodier strife that made our nation free	C
To serve with willing toil with skilful hand	M3
The war worn saviors of the bleeding land	M3
His wasting life to others' needs he gave	I
Sought rest in home and found it in the grave	I
See where the stones life's brief memorials keep	N3
The tablet telling where he 'fell on sleep '	-
Watched by a winged cherub's rayless eye	A
A scroll above that says we all must die	A
Those saddening lines beneath the 'Night Thoughts' lent	O3
So stands the Soldier's Surgeon's monument	P3
Ah at a glance my filial eye divines	C
The scholar son in those remembered lines	C
	-
The Scholar Son His hand my footsteps led	G
No more the dim unreal past I tread	G
O thou whose breathing form was once so dear	Q3
Whose cheering voice was music to my ear	T2
Art thou not with me as my feet pursue	C
The village paths so well thy boyhood knew	C
Along the tangled margin of the stream	R3
Whose murmurs blended with thine infant dream	R3
Or climb the hill or thread the wooded vale	A3

Oliver Wendell Holmes

A Family Record Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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