The Modern Siloam.
How sweet the lily grows;"
Thus Heber praised, in verse, the land
Where Sharon's beauty glows.
Not of Siloam's ancient brook
I tune my song today ;
But of a stream of modern fame,
Not many leagues away.
Down in the land of Arkansaw,
Among the flinty hills,
Here crystal waters ever spring,
And run In sparkling rills.
Here come the lame, the halt, the blind,
The twisted up rheumatics;
The dropsies and dyspeptics, too,
The wheezical asthmatics.
They sit beneath the chinquapin,
Or by the sweet gum tree,
And quaff the water sparkling bright
That flows so pure and free.
The waters seem a healing balm,
Better than pill or potion ;
They stir man's inner organs up,
And put them in commotion.
They drive the refuse matter out,
And bring in living tissue;--
As banks from circulation draw
Old notes for a new Issue.
The lame man leapeth as a hart,
And throws away his splints;
And the rheumatic straightens up
And jumps round o'er the flints.
Oh, wondrous water ! healing stream
That stays the hour of dying
And cureth all of man's disease
Except, perhaps, his lying.
__J. M. Cavaness.
J. M. Cavaness
(Chanute: Tribune Pub. Co. 1913)