Description poetry by Evan R. Fraser

Lost at Sea

 

I knew him when he was just a lad,

So the news affrighted me,

This I will say, it was very sad,

Will Sutherland lost at sea.

 

For years he sailed o’er the ocean’s wave,

And sat by the wireless key,

And many ship in distress he saved,

On the mighty billowing sea.

 

Far far, he sailed from his native home,

From his dear loved native land,

And he bravely faced the angry _

In the Empire’s great command.

 

At last he heard the wireless call,

“come forth from the worlds affray,”

This message came from the Lord of all,

And ended his life’s little day.

 

Now, morn we all, for a noble son,

Of Nova Scotia’s best,

Farewell dear William, beloved one,

May thy spirit e’er be blest.

-Evan R. Fraser

 

 

 

 

The Sunday Cough

 

The _ _ the daily _,

Are making a new _

While those with nasty coughs on press,

Keep their worst hours _ for _.

 

And why on week days at the play,

If folks there cough near fame

 _ _ _ on _ _ _,

They cannot do the same.

 

Small need, me thinks,

To seek the “whys” and “wherefores” of the case,

The answer to the problem _,

Quite obvious on its face.

 

When folks you interest or amuse,

They will not cough, for fear

Lost by so doing, they may lose

What’s worth their while to hear.

 

_ just as artists on the _

Must _ their _ to _,

You _ _ _ _ _

A muse of even more.

 

Yes, sir your people _ choice,

With _ in every word,

And then the Sunday cougher voice

No longer will be heard.

 

_ your _ past deed,

They will be _ to _,

Then _ they _ _ _,

_ _ _ _ _.

-Evan R. Fraser

 

 

 

 

It Rust

 

In memory of the late Miss Elizabeth MacKenzie of Eureka.

Rust, adventure, beyond the bounds of time,

Safe in the arms of heavenly love divine,

No _ to this life of ceaseless care, but blessed light which radiates up there.

 

_ can dismiss that thrilling hope,

For there dwells fullest glory; we too may have a share,

When from the confines of this _ life,

We go, to live where endless peace is _.

Dear beloved one we morn for thee;

For sadness fills our burdened hearts that we,

Do not shed bitter tears of sad regret,

Nor one with deep remorse with sorrow fret.

 

Nay, we are glad because of her release from sin and suffering;

And peace sweet peace was her abiding thought;

From day to day she trusted in God, he was her strength and _.

 

She longed to be with him, and prayed that she might rest in Jesus arms;

Then she would see him in his fullness,

and with glad surprise,

 Would know the gentleness of his sacrifice.

 

Through many years she suffered oh so much,

And none like Christ with his strong gentle touch

Could enter into sympathy,

With her pain and temptation did his own soul stir.

 

With spirit noble and calm fortitude,

She bore the ills of life, because she stood,

Upon the solid rock - yes Jesus Christ

Was very real to her - her daily trys.

 

 She faced the eternal world with hope and joy,

And nothing could that _ hope destroy,

Her parting word, _ _ comfort _,

_ _ _ _ _ _.

-Evan R. Fraser

 

 

 

 

The Mary, Murphy Mine

 

My mind reverts to the distant past,

To the days of eighty nine,

For I live again with my thoughts recast

At the Mary Murphy Mine.

 

And where, you ask might this place be,

 That weighs on my mind tonight,

And why should these musings come to me,

As I trouble myself to write.

 

The scene is laid in the mighty hills,

Not far from the great divide

In Colorado the land of thrills,

Where prospectors roamed with pride.

 

On a mountain range with a western slope,

Very close to timber line,

Many men sought wealth ‘twixt fear and hope,

At the Mary Murphy Mine.

 

Many came form foreign land afar,

There lured by the thought of gold,

Their eyes and minds on the golden star,

That promised them wealth untold.

 

Outwardly they seemed so rough and wild

As each one acted his part,

But still possessed with a spirit mild

That showed such a kindly heart.

 

But one who hailed from the Emerald Isle,

And fired by ambition’s flame,

His face aglow with a beaming smile,

Jack O’Hagen was his name.

 

He thought of the time when he’d return,

To his native health again,

And live in ease on what he would earn,

In his western land of fame.

 

But fate had another end in store,

For his miner strong and brave,

Tho’ he labored hard for the precious _,

Every dollar he wished to save.

 

One night as he set up his machine,

With his partner Patty O’Shane,

The wall gave ‘way, they were buried unseen

And that was the end of their game.

 

Now this is the end of this little tale,

A simple poor made rhyme,

But it’s true to life, some win, some fall,

As they did at the Murphy Mine.

 

-Evan R. Fraser