Streams of Poetry

       1.  "Missouri Our Home" by Blanche Shipley

Man needs some good, black, earthy soil, twelve inches, more or less; Refreshing rains, occasional snows, and winds to cool and bless.

Man needs some rocks, whole hordes of them, foundations strong to make; Phosphate and lime and road rock, too, and piles for beauty's sake.

Man needs some forests, tall and prime, some underbrush and weeds; Tall prairie grass and meadow bloom and swampy wildlife reeds.

Man needs the mountains, valleys, dales, the hills and rolling lands; The level fields for growing grains, the streams and shifting sands.

Man needs the bustle and the din of city great and small; And peace of regions far removed from every beck and call.

Man needs some pain, some anguished hours, some moments sweet and choice; Communing with his maker, God, And listening to his voice.

God made man; He knows his needs, and wrought with tender care; He made the mold and poured the form, Missouri's beauty rare.

Man solves Missouri's problems great, Performs the steward's roll; Man needs Missouri fine and true, To nurse his weary soul.

Into this place--Missouri's clime--Conglomerate, 'tis true; Just let me live and serve in joy; With God my strength renew.

          2. "The Farm" by Martha Stevens 1996

Down in Missouri and perched high on a hill, Surrounded by nature and with night so still; Is a place where stars twinkle in the sky and a golden moon shines from on high.

The house sits quiet nestled in the trees, As the leaves whisper softly in the gentle breeze; Mom and Dad sit outside on a moon-lit night to watch the firefles in dancing flight.

It's a place where colts frolic and dogs run free and the frogs at the pond croak merrily; The coyotes still yip on a full moon night, As the owls are hooting 'ere they take to flight.

There's the sight of deer as they amble by, and the whip-poor-will with his plaintive cry; A place to enjoy God's creations so great, A place to sit quietly and just meditate.

It's a pleasant diversion from the city life, That's filled with noise and oft wrought with strife;The neighbors wave gaily as you pass by, There's a love for each other that will never die.

There's the song of wrens that fills the air, A feeling of peace, a place for prayer; So take me back there where the wind blows free,To enjoy God's world as it was meant to be.

         3. "Grand River" by George T. Wray

Where North meets South and East meets West, Where opportunities are the best. Where grows the stately Elm and Oak, Where promises are seldom broke,Where waving corn gives plenteous yield, And golden wheat adorns the field. There through that rich and fertile land Flows gently on the River Grand.

Where wild birds sing their merry song, Where swan and wild geese pass along, Where honeysuckles grace its shores And high above the wild hawk soars, Where daisies white and violets blue, And Sweet Williams bloom for you. Where Bob White calls at break of day, The old Grand River wends its way.

I've seen it in the moonlight gleam, A gentle, rippling silent stream, Forever flowing gently down, Through growing fields and sleeping town, With snake-like course across the land, That leads to Mississippi sand And forms the fishes water-way, From Mexico to Io-way.

The deer and bison that have drank From you and loitered on your bank, And moccasins that Redmen wore, Are seen within your vale no  more. As silently you onward flow, And tirelessly your vigil keep, Through ages, for the ones who sleep.