WHEN I was young the farmers' shacks were shy of costly tomes; and only last year's almanacs were found in many homes. I used to work for Uncle Hi, I plied the hoe with speed; and when night came how I would sigh for something fit to read! A weekly paper Uncle took, and it was always stale, but for a magazine or book he would dig up no kale. We fed the hogs their luscious stews, and gave the hens their hay, and never heard the great world's news till it was old and gray. Oh, countless farmers lived like this, in that fine olden time; they held that ignorance was bliss, and reading was a crime. My Uncle Hi is now on high—at least I hope he's there; his generation had to die, as men must, everywhere. 'Tis but some thirty years ago since Uncle cashed his string, and faded from this vale of woe to play a harp and sing. How times have changed! The farmer's lair has reading, now, to burn; the farmer, in his easy chair, today's hot news may learn. My Uncle Hi would find things strange, if he could be our guest. How times have changed—and every change seems always for the best! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEFORE SEDAN by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE GOLD-SEEKERS by HAMLIN GARLAND HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY STRANGE FILAMENT by LILLIAN M. (PETTES) AINSWORTH THE WARM CRADLE by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA THE TEMPTATION OF OUR LORD: BALEUS PROLOCUTOR by JOHN BALE |