Sugarcreek

When you're going about and you come to a place
Unexcelled anywhere for its beauty and grace,
With its verdue clad hills and its primitive groves,
Just the kind of a land that the patriot loves.
And the smiles on your face answer those of the land
As you gaze all about, and enraptured you stand,
It's a ten to one bet, without chance of a loss,
That it's Sugarcreek township that you've come across.

'Tis a land where the lilies bend over the streams,
And the roses are kissed by the sun's early beams;
Where the goldenrod shines through the soft mellow haze,
As it waves its rare plumes in the late summer days;
And the sly little violets, modest and shy,
From their cozy retreats nod to those who pass by.
Nature spreads all about with a bountiful hand,
Her profusion of beauty all over the land.

There are far-reaching meadow lands fair to behold,
Interspersed with the grain fields like patches of gold;
There are quiet green pastures where still waters run,
Ever nursed and revived by the rain and the sun;
There are remnants of forests still seen on the hills,
Giving charm to the vision that pleases and thrills;
And the corn, growing tall, in the valley is seen
Like a regiment waving its banners of green.

Oh, the country is fair: O'er the landscape is seen,
Here and there, the farm buildings in settings of green;
And the white painted houses, and barns showing red,
With the orchards around them an aureole shed
That proclaims peace and comfort abiding in them;
For in such a rare setting we find such a gem.
It is here you behold, with a patriot's pride,
The nobility, freedom, that therein abide.

Let us stand on an eminence whence to behold
All the vista around us in beauty unfold.
O'er the wide-spreading pastures see grandeur that thrills;
See the herds by the streams and the flocks on the hills
Let the vision extend the full reach of the eye
Till the green of the earth meets the blue of the sky
Let your thoughts linger on the fair scene as a whole,
While the zephyrs that pass whisper peace to your soul.

On the wings of the wind there are voices that come
From the field and the stream, from the woodland and home.
Hear the Chanticleer's note ringing out like a chime,
And the song of the reaper when harvest is prime;
From the edge of the wheatfield the call of Bob White
In its cheery shrill tones says the world is all right;
And the myriad sounds make the chorus complete
All so mellowed and blended in harmony sweet.

There are churches and schools that will rank with the best
That are found anywhere in our Land of the Blest;
There are children in plenty, both females and males,
For in Sugar Creek Township that crop never fails.
They're the hope of the land and the pride of the home
Giving promise of progress for all time to come.
It may sound like a boast, but it's none the less true,
There's no spot that's more blest 'neath the Red, White and Blue.

There are industries, too, we can boastfully name,
Than have brought Sugarcreek her fair measure of fame;
There are bricks that are made of our own native clay,
Unexcelled for their beauty, and shipped far away,
Then our broad pasture lands are the dairyman's pride,
Sending milk to the markets, and butter beside;
And our township, for long, has been known, if you please,
As the home of good Democrats, - and of Swiss cheese.

There is Shanesville that dates from the pioneer days
When the trails through the land were still wilderness ways.
It is rich in its tales of traditional lore
That embellished the lives of the settlers of yore;
And our Sugarcreek Village stands fair to the sight,
Like a sturdy young giant in pride of his might,
Half a century of old in this Jubilee Year,
Clad in Hope's shining robes as the future draws near.

Dear old Sugar Creek Township, the land of our birth,
Though we've wandered afar o'er the face of the earth,
Now, from wandering, homeward our footsteps have turned,
To our homeland, dear homeland, for which we have yearned.
We have met on this Jubilee Day to rejoice,
And to let happy voices commingle with voice.
Let the hills in their gladness call unto the hills,
And your lives be as peaceful as clear flowing rills.

By
J. M. RichardsonŠ

My heartfelt thanks to Cindy Forney for this poem!