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Historical Records "HERE WHERE WE NOW STAND" A Century ago your Great Grand-dad Came to this very spot where now we. stand With but an axe held in his rugged hand, To conquer forests tall, and thought: "Not bad. I'm young and free, and all this land is mine. Close by a river, could I better ask?" And swung his good blade to the mighty task Of felling the stout spruce and towering pine. Built he a small log hut with eager hands, Its one low door-way open to the river That hurried on its own blue way forever. When freed by Spring's warm breath from Winter's bands. Planted between the stumps of trees laid low, In new burnt land a crop, the first of all That this fair countryside its own could call, ere where we stand, a hundred years ago. Great Grand-dad to that cabin brought his bride, Blue-eyed and young and sweet as mountain heather, That bloomed back home where they had roamed together. Far from this clearing by the river-side. Here did they toil long hours and dream that they Should wake to gaze on fields of waving green. Without a stump to mar the lovely scene,— Those very fields we gaze upon today. A marble headstone marks their resting place, But that stone fence down there, it seems to me A truer monument will ever be, To toilworn men and women of our race. So when you boast of crops and fertile land, Think back upon that lad who long ago First won this farm for you from forest foe. With hut an axe held in his rugged hand. H. C. MacDonald.