Highland County OhArchives History .....Framed Civil War Calligraphy  (one Poem) January 1, 1864
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File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by:
Mary Kenworthy niddy_noddy@netzero.net May 30, 2006, 11:26 am

Book Title: 

New Year’s Address
Of the Carrier Boy of the Highland Weekly News
The New Year came with silent stride
Just at the moment the old one died;
Then welcome be this happy morn,
Which to the world again is born.
And may the days be bright and clear
Which shall compose this new born year
And may the storm clouds gather round
The homes where peace and joy are found.
And as its days shall onward move
 Let’s try in all things to improve
And if on earth our lots be cast
When this new year shall join the past
We all can then more plainly see
What we have learned since sixty three.
And when the year of sixty four
Shall blend with those that are no more
O, may it bear no marks of guilt
Or stain of blood in battles spilt:
The years of sixty one and two
And three were stained with crimson hue:
May nations learn to war no more
Before the close of sixty four.
And may a peach established be
As lasting as Eternity.
May no polluted spot be found
In all this wide, wide world around:
May every inch of freedom’s soil,
Be free from every strife, and broil.
May every rebel tyrant flee
To some lone spot beyond the sea
And may their dying knell be sung
In every land by every tongue.
Long ere with years of brighter yore,
Shall end this welcome sixty four.

Twas in July in sixty three
Time will long remembered be
Twas when the ripe and waving grain
By glistning scythes was being slain,
Twas when the richly scented hay
Ungathered o’er the country lay.
Twas when old “Sol” with heat increased
Made us fell glad when day-light ceased.
So we could lay our weary heads,
Upon our soft and downy beds
And close our eyes on all below,
And to the land of slumber go.
Twas then that first a rebel raid
Across our glorious state was made.
Twas then we heard in thunder peals
A rebel horde was on our heels.
Twas General Morgan led the van
Of that infernal thieving clan.
He thought the copper headed crew
Would swell his rank as he marched through.
And valiant butternuts would fall
Into his ranks at every call.
But no! poor cowardly curses, they
As he advanced would run away.
And when the evening shades would gather
The angry tempest they would weather.
They’d take their beds and walk alas!
And hide them in the waving grass.
At last he thought as they were “bullies”,
He’d go alone and risk the “woolies”,
But oh! He caught the very dickens
When roused the blue hen’s chickens.
And as he marched his rebel crew
He stirred the bald-head hornets too. 

And hot and fierce the skirmis grew,
Before he got his army through;
He marched his men both day and night
With now and then a skirmish fight.
But at the last he reached the spot,
Where many rebs were left to rot
Our “butternuts” and “coppers” too
Numbered then but very few.
But when we’d bagged their southern friend
And Morgan’s raid was at an end.
Their number swelled at such a rate
They thought they’d rule our noble state;
And when they to the polls had rallied,
And from their murky dens had sallied,
They saw that “Brough” would be the man,
Instead of Old “Vallandigham”
Then how their groans and curses fell,
Tis useless now for me to tell:
But let it here suffice to say,
Their hopes have flown and gone the day.
 On which they hoped by fatal blow,
To lay each union lover low,
And had their object then been gained,
And all their wicked ends attained,
This glorious state of ours today,
In bloody ruin wrapt would lay.
The sighs of maids and Mothers must,
Have floated on each wailing gust.
But guided by some blessed late.
We still maintain a peaceful state.
And since we’re blessed with peace and quiet
Instead of bloody war and riot.
Let us all drop a welcome tear,
To greet this beginning year.
And O, may God his blessing  pour
 this present sixty four.
And may its end for brighter be
Than was the end of sixty-three.
I’ll lay aside my greeting now,
And come to you with smiling brow.
For well you know tis just and true,
This claim which I present to you,
Each Thursday on these streets you see,
Me come with joyous steps and free:
At the appointed hour and place
I’m always found with smiling face.
This plainly printed highland sheet
I bring to you both clean and neat;
I often come through storm and rain,
And never murmur or complain,
My Pa’s upon the tented fields,
Where he his bristling musket wields;
My Ma is left along you see
Except her little children three,
Each day upon her bended knee,
She prays for pa, and siss and me.
And there beside my weeping Mother
Kneels down my little smiling brother,
But we have learned to murmur not,
And bear our sad and lonely lot;
And all I ask is change enough
This empty pocket-book to stuff.
Come, swell it’s sides so lank and thin,
And make it plump as it has been.
Then you will have a conscience clear
To bear you through this glad new year,
Your thoughts in happy dreams will revel
To know you’ve blessed 
                                    The printer’s Devil
By James Q. Grady Jan 1—1864 


Additional Comments:
Aaron Grady 91st OVI CO G was the great grandfather of my husband Larry 
Kenworthy.  The James Q. Grady was Aaron's brother.  We have a large 2 1/2 
foot by 2 1/2 foot framed poetry calligraphy piece which is about the Civil 
War and the families of Manker, Grady and Shade.  One is Sheridian's battle at 
Cedar Creek.  Are you interested in any of this?  
Thanks Mary Kenworthy 

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