COLLECTION D        -those by R.N. Stumpf DD

THE POLISHED PREACHER

"Composed for presentation at testimonial by Grace Lutheran Church congregation, Franklin, PA, in honor of Rev. Raymond N. Stumpf receiving an honorary Doctor of Divinity degree from Thiel College, 1954."
This is the man, who early in his youth.
Gave heed to God's clear call to preach the Truth,
And, having heard, he did not reason why,
But gladly answered back, "Lord, here am I".

Up from the soil, where sand and richest loam,
Gave to his forebears the needed things of home;
Molded by Nature's uncompromising hand,
He grew to early manhood; a leader in the land.

In his early life, the call from God was heard.
God needed him to go and preach His word.
And to His Sovereign will, he humbly bowed his knee;
Agreed to work for Him where e'er the task might be.

The toiling and the struggle of the testing days;
The breaking of his will to God's better ways;
The hours of doubt when Satan did his best
To prove that all was futile; he'd never end his quest.

But as the Sunlight fades; the day to rest,
This man was bound to realize his quest;
His days of testing now were in the past,
The Lectern and the Pulpit loomed at last.

Ah! Looking back at that first preaching try;
The heart still quakes, and tears come to the eye;
The tongue so dry, it to the palate clove;
And then so wet, it to the bottom dove.

The crowd, it was no trouble to awaken,
For, for "Flaming Beacon", he'd shout "Fleeming Bacon".
They watched his robe- like flutterings in the breeze-
There was no wind- 'twas just his shaking knees.

But time is kind, and with the passing years,
He has become the master, and conquered are all fears;
His manners in the pulpit set troubled hearts at rest.
He is the "Polished Preacher"; his sermons are the best.

BEST OF THE YEAR

"A good time is coming, the best of the year."
That's part of a song that I used to hear.
It was all about Christmas and eight reindeer.
Also about Santa with his whiskers white
Who came while we slept and dreamed in the night.

He gave us the things that we wrote on a list.
Of course he forgot and some things he missed.
But if we were good and didn't fight one another
And listened to Dad and obeyed our mother,

Then we got what we asked for and also a tree
Trimmed with sparklers and lights, a sight to see.
When our gifts were opened you could hear each one call,
"A merry Merry Christmas and goodwill to all."
So you kids be good and I'll take a bet
That this year Christmas will be the best yet!

PASSING A COUNTRY GRAVEYARD

Here lie the neighbors, lonely, dead.
Father, mother and little Tod.
They sleep serene in their darkened bed.
Sleep that ne'er wakens, 'neath the sod.

From the dust they came, they now return.
Traded life for the common clod.
Torch that lit their way has ceased to burn.
Life goes back to Him who gave it - God.

LEAVES IN THE FALL

When summer has lost her sweet-smelling breath
And gardens and fields of their fruits are bereft.
Then a burst of glory fills the eye,
God's extra bounty from his throne on high.

Sylvan shades of every hue
Thrill the very soul of you.
It's the last flair of nature's God-given plan
To enter and enrich the heart of man.
For who can resist the impulse for prayer
When God sends Heaven's beauty for all mankind to share.

BUSY BIRDS

The busy birds of springtime arriving flight by flight
By daylight I watch them gather and hear them pass through the night.
Dainty little visitors singing songs with zest,
Hunting twigs and scattered straw materials for a nest.
Who would stop their progress as they home on lofty bowers,
Harbingers of warming days bugling reveille for Spring flowers.


DRESS FOR SPRING

Pussy willows are peeping out from behind cold Winter's dress,
Forsythia too comes smiling through bringing boughs of happiness.
And just below the greening sod, are flowers of every hue,
Putting on new gowns and hats to welcome Spring for you.

TOMORROW
The skeleton trees in the autumn breeze
No longer bend and shake their leaves.
Nor do their shadows dance with glee
As children romp from school set free.
The soul-thrilling songs of yesterday's morn
Have now given place to the huntsman's horn.
But God in his mercy will not let us long sorrow,
For Spring will revive nature and trees blossom TOMORROW.

PINK OR BLUE

I'm in a heck of a dilemma.
Is it Bill or is it Emma?
Who that wandering bird, the stork, is due to bring?
Will it use a powder puff,
Or a razor and be tough,
And bass notes or high soprano will it sing?

Honest, it's a real goat-getter,
I'm all wet and getting wetter,
Figuring out just how this thing will be.
Will He be his daddy's boy
Or She be her mother's joy?
Wear a pair of step-ins or a pair marked B.V.D.?

Say, my head's all in a whirl,
Will it be a boy or girl?
I'll admit that I am licked, it's got me beat.
Gee, I wish that it would hurry
And relieve me of this worry.
Will it stand or sit upon the toilet seat?

ODE TO MY DOG "NIX"
They say you don't have a soul,
That reason is beyond your scope,
That good or bad, fair or foul,
For heaven you can hold no hope.
That's putting it mighty hard, old Nix.
I know that it is not true.
For when I'm blue or troubled,
Who comes to cheer me but you.
You cannot speak, that I'll admit,
Nor read nor write nor spell,
Nor ever a day in school did sit,
nor lead in a college yell.
But when it comes to judgment sound,
And sound and scent and keen of ear,
There is no mortal can be found
That is your equal or peer.
 ALONE AT PROSPECT
The flames still leap with crackling delight
As I sit in my den this cold Winter night.
My armchair is restful, makes it easy to dream,
But then things are not just as they seem.
Too silent the house, a monotonous place
With only one's footsteps and only one's face.
The footsteps are mine, the face is mine too.
In other words, darling, I'm longing for you.

WOE IS RADIO
O Mother dear, O Mother, listen to my tale of woe.
For I was a happy man before the radio.
People called me Mr. or Reverend, Kind Sir!
Now they never look at me unless to cast a slur.
"There goes the preacher's wife", the neighbors all would say,
But that was in the happy days before Radio held sway.
Now Kate sang in a concert given at W.C.A.E.
And then it was my prestige fell and now it's only "me".
But Kate is The Concert Singer, The Madame Stumpf, The Great,
While now I'm only her husband, an insignificant skate.

LONGING

I long for the cool streams and forests.
I long for the shaded dell
Where the fragrant trailing arbutus
Has a home wherein to dwell.

I long for the sweet-scented breezes
And wild flowers kissed with dew,
But my longing for these is trivial
When compared to my longing for you.

MAMA CAT
A mama cat was in a stew,
For nature said her kits were due.
So she looked around to find a place
Where she could enlarge the feline race.
She looked around most all the night
To find a spot that was just right.
And papa Tom didn't help a bit.
He just wants to sit and sit.

At last just as the day was breaking,
And Nancy and Linda were just awaking,
The tabby found a spot just dandy
Beneath a porch, it was so handy.

Four kittens were born that day
To bring great joy to Peg and Ray.
And now the milk bill will soar
As Nancy and Linda feed those four.

But kittens are kittens and so will grow
To be big cats before it will snow.
And each one will present the family
With more nice kittens, just wait and see!

ALMA MATER

It hasn't been so many years since I dwelt within your walls
And trooped along with classmates through your oaken halls,
Or sat within the classroom and there at teacher's feet
Learned how to fight and conquer life's problems one must meet.
It hasn't been so very long, yet my heart would fly away
And cross the mountain, hill and plain, and be with you today.

FIRST CHILL
 When the winds begin to howl and the house begins to creak,
That's the time to hit the woodshed, some kindling wood to seek.

For the wind is not a single thing, it's never quite alone.
It's filled with snow and icy rain that chills you to he bone.

So gather up the chips and logs to fill the woodbox high,
And light a fire and settle down, and heave a heartfelt sigh.

THE FIRE
With a terrible crumble, rumble and roar
Huge masses of wall fell down to the floor.
And then as if to add to the deafening din,
The roof gave a groan and then fell in.

The hiss of the steam and the whistle so loud
While the smoke rolled skyward, cloud after cloud.
The forms of the men as they ran to and fro
Telling where this or that was to go.

A bursting hose, the call for repair,
The flames leap higher into the air.
But night is here and the flames are controlled,
And the men got nearer, so brave and bold.

Now another wall falls, but alas, alas!
Three men were killed by the fearful crash.
And this to the honor of the brave,
And may each sleep peacefully in his grave.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, AGAIN 
'Twas the day after Christmas, yes, the house was still there,
But Oh what a mess, 'twas a mother's despair.
A broken toy here, and there was a sled
With one runner missing, 'twas under the bed.

A messy old doll cast off for a new
And bats, ball and ribbons all were askew.
Even Dad left his tobacco all over the floor.
And Mother...well, I could mention much more.

The day after Christmas; things never are neat,
But who cares. we're happy from head top to feet.
And, oh yes, the tree, it still stands in its place,
But the old stuffed Santa is flat on his face.

So let's all get busy and clean up the debris
And make all things bright and clean as can be.
No, don't run away for I know that you can
Put things in their places, make all spick and span.

I know that old Santa is back at the pole
And now just before we all say 'Amen',
Let us all join and shout, 'Merry Christmas', again.
MOTHER'S DAY
 When I in the misty future,
Choose the mother of my son,
May I do it just as wisely
As my own father has done.

MOTHER'S-IN-LAW DAY

Dear Mother, "Cath" left the ink pot open and a stub pen handy. Now the best of my ideas and expressions are in an ink pot; the one thing that keeps me from being a great man is the fact that I cannot extract them. However, truth floats near the top, therefore accessible even to me, the truth then is this. You are a great mother-in-law; but since that word is in ill repute, I'll coin a word that expresses my sentiments at the same time; Mother-in-love! Also your presence with a traveling bag would not be amiss, providing this was the end of your journey.

My ink pot is covered, for I've struggled in vain
To entice more words from its black domain.
But what pen fails to express, your heart will perceive.
So farewell, more anon, I'll take my leave.

Ray

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