A Letter Home
(Written while on a trip through the Anthracite region, looking for aid for the striking miners of Dubois, Pa.)
Dear Agnes: I'm up in the mountains,
In the woods, with the sun peeping through
As I sit down to write you this letter,
About what I am trying to do.
I know you'll be glad to receive it,
Though written half prose and half rhyme,
When I tell you 'tis helping me greatly
To pass off this wearisome time.
For I'm only engaged in the evening,
With nothing to do through the day,
And giving so much among strangers
Time seems to pass slowly away.
I would like to see you and the babies,
And hear Adam'" bright boyish talk.
(1 was very near asking the question—
Are the babies beginning to walk?)
I can't tell exactly the reason,
When you tell me how lovely they grow,
Why, I scarce can believe that the babies
Were born such a short time ago.
We are still fighting on for the measures
Our men started out to defend;
But although we have justice to back us,
God only knows where it will end.
Still we pray to the God of our fathers
To strengthen a cause that is just,
And give us the power of a David
To crush this Goliath to dust.
And while we are praying to heaven
To give what assistance it can,
I am pleading the best I am able,
To get some assistance from man.
And I feel that the efforts I'm making
Are being productive of good,
For the men of the Anthracite region
Are helping our men to get food.
I did not intend when I started
To write you so lengthy a song,
So I hope you will not be angry
If I've happened to make it too long.
How long it will be ere I see you
Is more than I'm able to tell,
But I hope that this letter will find you,
Adam, Agnes and Hughey all well.