THE PIONEERS Their deeds are written on the land, - those men of lowly name; Theirs was the strong and faithful hand, unskilled to grasp at fame; Content to lead a simple life; unvexed by discontent or strife; Till Death's oblivion came. They sowed that, when they "fell on sleep," their children's children still might reap. Unused to scenes that stir and thrill; to conquest's lurid glow; Their homely boast was strength, and skill to lay the forest low; To tear the stubborn stump from earth, and burst the pine tree's mighty girth With strong and steady blow. These were the foes our fathers fought, on fields by bloodless battles bought. They rest in peace, beneath the sod their toiling hands have won; These fruitful fields, so green and broad, proclaim their work well done, And we, who bear the lighter part, shall keep this legend in our heart, Of them whose race is run: - "The axe, the Bible, and the plow, have made our nation mighty now." And there were wives, and mothers too; brave, patient, tender, kind; Whose hands were full; whose hearts were true; though crude, perchance, the mind. To deftly whirl the droning wheel, and on the antique skiening reel, The homespun product wind; To sew, to weave - such was their boast; and who shall say: " 'Twas labor lost." Oh dear departed, weary ones; our ancient honored dead! May reverence guard your holy bones, and love, your lowly bed; For us, 'tis all that we can do - above the mounds that speak of you, - The grateful tear to shed; Keep green the memory, and the grave, and guard the heritage ye gave. W. W. Rogers This poem was taken from the publication TALES OF ABEGWEIT, edited and written by Benjamin Bremner . Sourcedfrom Confederation Centre Public Library .