FRANK LEBBY STANTON 
Georgia's First Poet Laureate 
 
"E you strike a thorn or rose, Keep a-goin'; 
E it hails or e it snows, Keep a-goin'." 
 
GEORGIA STATE DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION 
ATLANTA 
M. D. COLLINS, State Superintendent of S~hools 
1938 
 
 FRANK L. STANTON 
FIRST POET LAUREATE OF GEORGIA 
 
 FRANK LEBBY STANTON, 
Georgia's First Poet Laureate 
-e- 
Prepared and Issued by 
DIVISION OF INFORMATION AND PUBLICATIONS 
L. L. PERRY, DIRECTOR 
-e- 
Edited by WIGHTMAN F. MELTON, PH.D. 
1938 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
BibIiograp h Y 
 
5 
 
Introduction 
 
6 
 
Governor's Proclamation 
 
7 
 
Frank L. Stanton-Poet Laureate______________________________________________________________ 8 
 
BiographicaL 
 
10 
 
Stanton's Musical Verse Heart AppeaL Stanton Poems Stanton's Prose 
 
14 
 
--- 
 
15 
 
c 16 
 
24 
 
An Address by Dr. M. D. Collins 
 
25 
 
Stanton's Birthday Celebrated 
 
26 
 
Stanton Loved Children 
 
27 
 
"He Sings of Simple Things" 
 
28 
 
Stanton PhilosophY 
 
29 
 
Typical Editorials_--- 
 
31 
 
Riley and Stanton 
 
32 
 
Visitors to Stanton's Column 
 
35 
 
Stanton Believed in the Unseen 
 
35 
 
Stanton Looks to the Future 
 
37 
 
T ribu te to Stanton 
 
41 
 
Questions on Stanton 
 
42 
 
4 
 
 FRANK L. STANTON 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
Songs ot A Day. D. Appleton and Company, 1892. Songs ot the Soil. D. Appleton and Company, 1894. Comes One With A Song. Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1898. Songs trom Dixie Land. Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1900. Up From Georgia. D. Appleton and Company, 1902. Little Folks Down South. D. Appleton and Company, 1904. Just From Georgia. Byrd Printing Company, 1927. 
REFERENCES 
History ot Southern Literature. By Carl Holiday, New York. Neale Publishing Company. 
National Encyclopedia ot Biography) Vol. XI. Portrait) The Critic) Vol. 43, Page 15. Review ot Reviews. Vol. 30, Page 759. Specimen Poems and Portrait. Current Literature. Vol. 34, Page 49. Library ot Southern Literature) Vol. XI, pp. 5060-5082. The South in History and Literature. By M. Rutherford, Atlanta, 
Georgia, Franklin-Turner Company. Review ot "Up From Georgia/' The Nation. Vol. 75, Page 466. Reminiscences ot Famous Georgians. By Lucian L. Knight, Atlanta, 
Georgia, Franklin-Turner Company. American Magazine) February 1925. Article by Walter Chambers. Files of The Atlanta Constitution. 
5 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
WHEN the name of Frank L. Stanton crumbles from the printed page, the bronze tablet, and the granite monolith - if that day should ever come - his spirit of optimism will live on and on to strengthen, help and comfort discouraged parents and children, teachers and pupils. 
Who of us has not, at some time or other, felt like stoppingquittin'? Looking for roses, we found thorns. The weather was against us. Our funds were low. Nature, somehow, had ceased to be beautiful. We had reached the end of our row. There seemed to be nothing left but for us to sit and sigh - or whine. Then came Stanton, singing: 
KEEP A-GOIN'l 
Ef you strike a thorn or rose, Keep a-goin'J 
Ef it hails or ef it snows, Keep a-goin'J 
'Tain't no use to sit an' whine When the fish ain't on your line; Bait your hook an' keep a-tryin' - 
Keep a-goin'! 
When the weather kills your crop, Keep a-goin'! 
Though it's work to reach the top, Keep a-goin'! 
S'pose you're out 0' ev'ry dime, Gittin' broke ain't any crime; Tell the world you're feelin' prime- 
Keep a-goin'! 
When it looks like all is up, Keep a-goin'! 
Drain the sweetness from the cup, Keep a-goin: I 
See the wild birds on the wing, Hear the bells that sweetly ring, When you feel like sighin', sing- 
Keep a-goin'! 
In the spirit of this song we present the following pages on the life and works of our first Poet Laureate - Frank Lebby Stanton. 
6 
 
 OFFICIAL PROCLAMATION DESIGNATING FRANK STANTON POET LAUREATE OF GEORGIA 
A PROCLAMATION 
 
WHEREAS, Sunday, February 22nd, 1925, being the 68th birthday of a great American poet, a man whom we love and whose work we appreciate; and because of our desire fittingly to honor him, I, Clifford Walker, Governor of the State of Georgia, do hereby proclaim Frank Lebby Stanton Poet Laureate of the State of Georgia. 
 
In testimony whereof I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the State to be affixed, this 17th day of January in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and twenty-five, and independence one hundred and fiftieth. 
 
By THE GOVERNOR: S. G. McLENDON, Secretary of State. 
 
CLIFFORD WALKER, Governor. 
 
7 
 
 STANTON - THE WRITER WITH A HEART 
Sunday morning, January 18, 1925, on the front page of The Atlanta Constitution, Governor Clifford Walker's proclamation naming Frank L. Stanton Poet Laureate, was accompanied by the following story by Paul Stevenson: 
"Because of the universal love and esteem in which he is held by his people and because of the glory and fame he has brought to his state by his master poems and age-enduring songs, Frank L. Stanton, sweet singer of the southland, has been named Poet Laureate of Georgia in an official proclamation issued Friday by Governor Clifford Walker. For the first time in the history of the state this, the highest honor of its kind in the gift of the people, has been bestowed upon a Georgia man of letters in recognition of the brilliant career he has carved for himself and to evince a deeply rooted and heartfelt love for the poet by his people. 
"While yet in life and while he daily contributes his human interest songs in his column, 'Just From Georgia,' which he has conducted for nearly two-score years in The Constitution, Governor Walker declared it would be a fitting time to bestow this honor on the Georgia poet. In view of the fact that Mr. Stanton will celebrate his 68th birthday anniversary on February 22, Governor Walker issued his proclamation appointing him poet laureate of Georgia so that the schools and other institutions can observe this day with fitting ceremonies. 
"To bestow this honor in a graceful and informative statement concerning the life and achievements of the Georgia singer, Governor Walker called in conference Dr. Wightman F. Melton, formerly head of the department of English and Journalism at Emory University, and a member of the editorial staff of the Atlanta Georgian, who has assembled many of the outstanding poems of Mr. Stanton and other material bearing on his life and works. 
"Dr. Melton long has been intimately associated with the poet and is familiar with all his best poems. Others who join in statements honoring Stanton are his close friends, Major Charles W. Hubner, a fellow poet of note, and S. G. McLendon, Secretary of State, whose name also is attached to the Governor's proclamation. 
"A~ far as can be learned from the records, Mr. Stanton is the first man to serve as poet laureate of Georgia or any other Southern state and one of the few poets of America who has won such an honor from any state. The declaration of the Governor reflects the widespread opinion of the people of Georgia and is an honor that comes spontaneously from all the people. He has brought sunshine and cheer into millions of hearts and through his prolific art he has sung of all possible human emotions. He is known as a 'scrap book poet,' because tnousands of people have collected his poems from time to time and preserved them in scrap books. 
8 
 
 "No niche in the hall of fame has come to Frank Stanton for turning smoking cannon on the ranks of his bleeding and dying fellow man; no place has been found on the scrolls of honor for debating great causes in the forums of statesmen. He has won no banners for conquest and bears no medals for laying waste fallen and prostrate foes. His eternal monument is written in the hearts of his people. His undying honor comes from bringing happiness and joy and comfort into the hearts of the weary, the suffering and the heavy-laden. 
"Frank Stanton's inspiring melodies, whimsical songs and soothing lullabies have brought cheer and hope to millions. His quaint humor has brought chuckles and smiles in places where smiles are rare. His merry jingles have brought laughter to old and young, small and great, noble and lowly. He is a poet of quiet and peace and has given rest and serenity to a world of bustle and discord and battle and strife. 
"As a man, Frank Stanton has followed Life's detour. He has walked in the by-paths and painted word pictures of the foibles, the crotchets, the whimseys, the hopes. the despairs of his fellow men. He has ever striven to make their lives brighter and to give them inspiration to meet the frowning obstacles looming in their path. 
"To have written poems like those of Frank Stanton a man must have possessed the great heart of Frank Stanton. A heart bursting with sympathy. A heart now merry, now sad, now weary, now gay, reflecting the gamut of emotions of his people and writing them in words immortal. 
"As the people pause to pay tribute to this noble man of nature they cannot but reflect on the honor he has brought to his city, his state and his nation. States have produced warriors, statesmen, inventors and daring explorers but none has produced a singer with a voice sweeter than that of Frank Stanton nor a heart in closer attune with his people. He is the master singer of his age and he is first of all Georgia's sons. He belongs to Georgia and the South but his songs will belong to the world forevermore. 
"To have left a monument of love is to have left the highest and most enduring of all monuments. Frank Stanton can pause in his path and look back and he will gaze on a sea of faces upturned and smiling, the faces of his people, the faces of the old, the young, the grave and the gay. And in that sea of faces he will see the monument that will be his, and will feel that sentiment which memory's ripening touch can only make dearer. He can turn again in his journey, imbued with the thought that he has contributed in his life as much as any other man to the happiness and contentment of his people." 
In outlining the glory and fame brought to Georgia by Stanton and in discussing interesting phases of his work, Governor Walker issued the following statement: 
9 
 
 "I do this now in order that the churches and schools of the state may have time to prepare appropriate joint exercises for February 22, in memory of Washington and in honor of Stanton. 
"So far as I am aware, Mr. Stanton is the first man to be proclaimed Poet Laureate of a Southern state. In taking the initiative in this matter, I hope to encourage the younger writers of Georgia-and the whole South-as well as honor our sweetest singer. After all, are not the writers of our worthwhile songs among our most useful citizens?" 
BIOGRAPHICAL 
Governor Walker then gave the following interesting facts, elaborated by Dr. Melton, concerning the life and literary activities of Mr. Stanton: 
"Frank Lebby Stanton was born in Charleston, S. C.February 22, 1857. His parents were Valentine and Katherine Rebecca Stanton. The War Between the States cheated young Stanton out of an education. It was in the common schools and as an apprentice in a printing office that he received the training for his life work. Stanton was born a poet, with a poet's ear for rhyme and rhythm. By careful reading of the world's best poetry, he became a master in his art. 
"After spending his early boyhood in Charleston, young Stanton moved to Savannah when 12 years old and obtained a position as copy boy on The Savannah Morning News. Here he first began contributing verse to the paper. Although but a boy his verse attracted the attention of Joel Chandler Harris, who was at that time an editorial writer on The News. Young Stanton developed into a reporter and feature writer on The News, remaining on that paper from 1869 to 1887. 
"In the latter part of 1887 Mr. Stanton decided to enter the weekly paper field and began the publication of The Smithville News at Smithville. Here he had full sway in the publication of his poems, and his verses soon attracted national attention. While in Smithville he met Miss Leone Josey, whom he married. After operating The News at Smithville for about one year Mr. Stanton accepted an offer from John Temple Graves to join the staff of The Rome Tribune. He took his bride to Rome, succeeding the late Henry W. Grady on that paper. While working in Rome as night editor of The Tribune, Mr. Stanton received several offers to come to Atlanta, these offers being made by Joel Chandler Harris, who had moved from Savannah to Atlanta. Stanton came to Atlanta in 1889 a short time before the death of Henry Grady. He engaged in feature writing and reportorial work for a short time and then began to contribute verse and features, which he has continued to the present day. 
"In 1892 he published a collection of his verses under the title 'Songs of the Soil.' Another collection 'Comes One With a Song' in 1899. In 1900 he published 'Songs From Dixie,' which was followed 
10 
 
 by 'Up From Georgia' in 1902 and his last volume, 'Little Folks Down South.' in 1904." 
Governor Walker now quotes Dr. Melton, as follows: 
"Mr. Stanton gives his mother credit for the easy swing-the singing quality-of his verse. He says: 'During my early boyhood it was my mother's custom to read, from the Methodist hymn book. I was brought up on Charles Wesley and Isaac Watts.' 
"Mr. Stanton has been called the Riley of the South. The originator of this expression meant it as a compliment. Stanton, however, is no more the Riley of the South than Riley was the Stanton of the Northwest. Both of them are loved, throughout the nation and beyond, because of the unmistakable note of optimism which pervades their poems, and because they have chosen to picture commonplace things and to sing of elemental emotions. 
"Riley has preserved for us the quaint Hoosier dialect. Stanton has brought to perfection the use of Negro personality and Negro dialect as literary materials. He has not, of course, confined himself to the Negro dialect. In the several volumes of published verse are to be found many poems elegant in diction and equal to the most searching rhetorical analysis. 
"A literary history of the world reveals the names of many onepoem authors; writers, who although they may have produced verses by the thousands, are remembered for some one notable poem. Mr. Stanton has gone far beyond the one-poem limit. He is known wherever music is loved, as the author of 'Just A-Wearyin' for You: 'Mighty Lak' A Rose,' 'Li'l Fellow,' 'Let Miss Lindy Pass,' 'Sweet Little Woman 0' Mine,' and numbers of other song-poems. 
"Some 25 years ago, Joel Chandler Harris, who worked at a little calico-covered table in the same office with Mr. Stanton, said to him: 'The writing of no American poet has achieved such wide popularity, if we are to measure popularity by the daily and weekly newspapers of the country, or by the interest which makes itself manifest in private correspondence, or by the appreciation which betrays itself in the irresistible desire of composers, professionals and amateurs, to give musical setting to the poems.' 
"Harris quotes a prominent English author as saying to Stanton, 'Your poems are gaining reputation for you in England. The note of hope that you are singing has been unheard for years.' Harris adds: 'It is a bold voice, too, for it persists in singing night and day, neither asking nor avoiding an audience. If the world listens, well and good, if not, pleasant dreams to all for the sake of old times.' But the world listens ... Here is one with the dew of morning in his hair, who looks on life and the promise thereof and finds the prospect joyous. Whereupon, he lifts up his voice and speaks to the heart; and 10 here is Love, 
11 
 
 with nimble feet, fresh risen from his sleep; and here is life made beautiful again!" 
In concluding his statement, Governor Walker says, "In the home of my boyhood, the name of Frank L. Stanton was a household word. How happy I am to be able to exercise the brief authority of a governor in conferring a deserved honor upon one whose name will live forever." 
One of Mr. Stanton's warmest admirers, closest friends and a fellow poet was Major Charles W. Hubner, who had been associated with Mr. Stanton for more than two-score years in the common ties that bind such genial souls together; and he offered many interesting sidelights on the character of the noted Georgia singer. 
"Georgia is not honoring Stanton half so much as she is honoring herself," he said. "It is a pretty thing for a State to recognize in an official way the career of one of her sons who has brought so much honor to this commonwealth. Stanton assuredly is deserving of all the honor that this State can bestow upon him. He is the only poet who is worthy to stand in the shoes of the great Sydney Lanier." 
Major Hubner long was ranked as a leading poet of the South and was an authority on the poetry of the nation. He was an intimate associate of Paul Hamilton Hayne and James Ryder Randall, and also knew personally Sydney Lanier and Father Ryan, a quartet of the South's most famous poets and sweetest singers. 
"Frank Stanton can touch the very depths of human sorrow and pity because he has one of the tenderest hearts ever born," Major Hubner said. "Stanton loves Georgia, loves the South, its people, its homes, its traditions, its history, its romance, its sunny skies and landscape - all that is beautiful to the eye and dear to the heart of the sons and daughters of this fair land he loves with the ardor of a devoted and favored son. He is on familiar terms with nature and she keeps few of her divinest secrets from him. He is nature's chosen interpreter in Georgia and he lives in sweet communion with her. 
"Nature has taught Stanton her art," Major Hubner continued. "Her seasons bring him knowledge, the birds bring him messages, every flower to him is a revelation of divinity. Every aspect of nature reflects itself in his verse. Insistent voices call to him from sod and star, wooing him, compelling him to dip his pen in his heart and write and interpret the meaning of the good, the true and the beautiful. Such is our master singer, our Georgia minstrel, Frank Stanton." 
Major Hubner kept a scrap book in which he preserved Stanton's poems and many articles written about the famous Georgia poet which appeared from time to time in national magazines. He referred to this scrap book and produced an article which appeared in "The Bookman" more than a score of years before in which the remarkable memory of Stanton was recounted. 
12 
 
 In this article it was related that Stanton could read a poem which he had never seen before or a short prose article one time and could immediately recite it verbatim. The article went on to tell of an incident wherein Charles L. Logan, of Griffin, tested this capacity. Mr. Logan read aloud a poem which Mr. Stanton had never read before. While he was reading this poem Mr. Stanton read some prose which also was new to him. When both men finished Stanton immediately recited the poem and also the prose which he had read and did not make a mistake in either. Major Hubner said Mr. Stanton submitted to this test on many occasions and always was able to repeat both articles. 
"He possesses some kind of a dual mind, as this test is something few people have been able to meet," Major Hubner said. "Stanton knows the works of Shakespeare by heart and can repeat any passage from that poet any time. His favorite poet is Lord Byron and I have heard him recite Childe Harold without making a single mistake. I don't think America ever produced a man with the memory of Frank Stanton." 
Major Hubner declared that Stanton wrote numerous poems which he never saw after they were printed although they had been reprinted many times. 
"He told me once that he wrote his poetry and then forgot all about," Major Hubner continued. "He sent poems to magazines and wrote many for The Constitution which he never read after writing them." Major Hubner wrote a biography of the Georgia poet for the Library of Southern Literature, published by the University of Virginia Press. 
"In preparing the material for this biography I discovered innumerable incidents which led me to a realization of the mighty intellect possessed by this poet," Major Hubner asserted. "But this mighty mind always turned to the simplest and prettiest things in nature. He never attempted the metaphysical poem, the philosophic or the heroic epic. Stanton is satisfied with homely themes, with household joys and sorrows, with the humorous and pathetic aspects of ordinary daily life. He plays with the feelings which respond with heartsome laughter at the comical notion of the picture he paints or else he melts the soul with the pity called forth when the poet pictures for us the frailties and afflictions of mankind." 
Major Hubner said Stanton is superior to James Whitcomb Riley in many respects. He said Riley was a master of the Hoosier dialect, but pointed out that Stanton not only was master of the Georgia cracker dialect but also of the Negro dialect. He said "Songs of the Soil" is a collection of poems with few superiors. Major Hubner declared that one of Stanton's masterpieces which few people now recall is the poem "Saint Michael's Bells," inspired by the chimes of St. Michael's church 
at Charleston, S. c., one of the oldest churches on the American con- 
tinent. 
13 
 
 S. G. McLendon, Secretary of State, was another warm admirer of the Georgia poet and followed his work during his entire career. 
"I think Henry W. Grady was one of the first men to discover the genius of Frank Stanton," Secretary McLendon said. "Grady discovered Stanton and Montgomery Folsom at about the same time. Montgomery Folsom was a poetic genius whose nickname was 'Stump,' and he was associated with Stanton for a long time. Folsom won the attention of Grady by a poem published in a Thomasville newspaper, entitled 'It Was the Scarcity of Bacon That Killed John Hancock's Bull," a humorous bit of verse widely read at that time. 
"Frank Stanton's intellect is colossal," Secretary McLendon continued. "He is the Bobbie Burns of this country. He sings of the soil and the flowers; he translates the tunes of the birds and brooks. He lives next to nature. The amazing thing about his work is that he turns out day by day his poetry in an unending stream. It seems to bubble forth like water from a mountain spring." 
STANTON'S MUSICAL VERSE 
Frank L. Stanton, Georgia's first Poet Laureate, ranks as one of the most prolific poets in America. Daily, for almost forty years, he turned out one or more poems, many of them of the highest poetic quality. 
Composers have found Stanton's verse readily adaptable to music. Some of the world's most popular melodies were written around his poems. Among them is "Mighty Lak' A Rose," for which a musical setting was provided by Ethelbert Nevin. And so perfectly does the musician interpret the sentiment of the poet that Stanton once said to his friend, Dr. Melton: "1 I had heard Nevin's music before I wrote the poem, I believe I would have written about the same words to accompany it." "Mighty Lak' A Rose" grows with the passing years; It is immortal. "Just A-Wearyin' for You," the music to which was composed by Carrie Jacobs Bond, has also become a classic. Among other outstanding Stanton songs are "Sweet Little Woman of Mine," "Let Miss Lindy Pass," "LiT Feller," and "Keep on Hopin'." 
Perhaps Mr. Stanton's best known quatrain, "This World," is as follows: 
This old world we're livin' in Is mighty hard to beat; 
You get a thorn with every rose, But ain't the roses sweetl 
A bronze medallion of Stanton's face and a bronze tablet containing these lines may be seen on the granite boulder which marks his grave in West View Cemetery in Atlanta. 
14 
 
 HEART APPEAL 
The tenderest heart appeal of any Stanton poem is probably found in his "Marcelle." Mr. Stanton's only daughter, Marcelle, was believed to be dying and the poet, overwhelmed with grief, sang his sad song as follows: 
MARCELLE 
There is no sweeter place to dwell Than here, Marcelle! 
Could angels love you half so well As I, Marcelle? 
There's not in heaven an angel bright Could match your living eyes of light! God grant I'll never say goodnight 
To you, Marcelle! 
What stories sweet hath heaven to tell To you, Marcelle? 
What echoes where their anthems swell Like yours, Marcelle? 
There-where Faith makes a gilded dome For all the shelterless that roam, What like your kiss when I came home 
To you, Marcelle? 
All sorrows which the day befell Seemed faint, Marcellel 
I only knew you loved me well, Marcelle-Marcelle! 
A cabin door was home to me, And in your love's simplicity Earth sweeter seemed than heaven could be, 
Marcelle-Marcelle! 
Against God's love I should rebel If you, Marcelle, 
Should break of Love the magic spell That made Marcelle! 
God would have nothing for me there, Where shine His angels, crowned and fair, Save your bright eyes and golden hair, 
Marcelle-Marcelle! 
15 
 
 STANTON POEMS 
Following are some of the best and most popular of Mr. Stanton's poems. These have been divided into groups. Under the head of Songs of Georgia are: "'Crost the Hills to Georgy," "Here's Georgia," "Georgia Land," "Watermelon Song," "Old Times in Georgy," and "Chattahoochee." Here are poems from the group of Georgia Songs: 
'CROST THE HILLS TO GEORGY 
" 'Crost the hills to Georgy"-we wuz fur away, An' the land aroun' wuz lonesome, an' all the skies wuz gray; But allus she wuz singin', beneath the hopeless sky: " 'Crost the hills to Georgy-we'll git thar' by an' by!" 
" 'Crost the hills to Georgy"-we'd left the folks so long: The tears would come a-fallin' with the music 0' the song! But allus she wuz singin', with tear-draps in her eye: " 'Crost the hills to Georgy-we'll git thar' by an' by!" 
" 'Crost the hills to Georgy"-an' many a heart would beat:It brought to min' the valleys-the medders green an' sweet. We heard the birds a-singin' beneath the clear, blue sky: " 'Crost the hills to Georgy-we'll git thar' by an' by!" 
" 'Crost the hills to Georgy"-from many a lonesome shore: " 'Crost the hills to Georgy"-we're goin' home once more! An' still her sweet voice singin', an' hearts a-beatin' high: " 'Crost the hills to Georgy-we'll git thar' by an' by!" 
We saw the wild flowers bloomin'-we saw the daisies foam: We heard the bells a-ringin' the songs 0' love an' home. But a woman's voice still cheered us, beneath the stormy sky: " 'Crost the hills to Georgy-we'll git thar' by an' by!" 
An' we reached the plains an' valleys we loved in days of old, An' our friends come out to meet us, an' stories sweet wuz told. Of them that has been waitin' with teardraps in the eye: .. 'Crost the hills to Georgy-we'll git thar' by an' by!" 
16 
 
 HERE'S GEORGIA 
Singin' the song of Hope and Home, Here's Georgia! 
Fields light-white with fleecy foam, Here's Georgial 
When the corn hangs heavy and climbs so high It tells the gold in the mines "Goodbye," And hides the hills from the mornin' sky. 
Here's Georgia! 
Call 0' the golden-hearted hills Of Georgia! 
The gold-deep mines and the whirrin' mills Of Georgial 
Clear as the mornin' trumpet call, The notes 0' the message rise and fall: "Hearts to hold you and homes for all" 
In Georgia! 
Her tables creak with plenty spread By Georgia! 
With peace herself for to bless the bread For Georgia! 
The welcome word is the word we know: God's own land where the good things grow: The horn 0' Plenty's the horn we blow 
In Georgia! 
GEORGIA LAND 
(To the tune of "Maryland, My Maryland.") 
Love, light, and joy forever more. Georgia Land, dear Georgia Land. 
The world finds welcome at thy door, Georgia Land, dear Georgia Land. 
The star-crowned hills and valleys sweet Their litanies of love repeat At night and morning, singing sweet, 
Georgia Land, dear Georgia Land. 
Where'er thy loving children roam, Georgia Land, dear Georgia Land. 
With thee their hearts are still at home. Georgia Land, dear Georgia Land. 
Where'er the wanderer's pathway lies, In dreams he sees thy blessed skies, And hope doth like a star arise. 
Georgia Land, dear Georgia Land. 
17 
 
 Blest be thy holy hills and plains, Georgia Land, dear Georgia Land. 
The sunlight twinkling through thy rains. Georgia Land, dear Georgia Land. 
God have thee ever in His keep From mountain wall to stormy deep, Until upon thy breast we sleep, 
Georgia Land, dear Georgia Land. 
'*' '*' '*' '*' 
Here is a stanza of "The Watermelon Song": 
Oh, the Georgia watermelon-it's a growin' cool and green! An'll soon be pullin' heavy at the stem: 
An' the knife-it needs a-whettin' and the blade is gittin' keen. Oh, the Georgia watermelon is a geml Melons cool and green Jest the best you ever seen; See the sweet juice drippin' From them melons cool and green. 
'*' '*' '*' '*' 
One of the most lilting of the Stanton poems is "Chattahoochee," of which the following is the first stanza: 
Sweet sings the Chattahoochee on its way toward the seaThe curling Chattahoochee, The whirling Chattahoochee;- 
And the mocking birds make answer to its music wild and free; The blue skies bend above it, The green hills lean and love it 
And the Chattahoochee singeth of the summer and the sea. 
'*' '*' '*' '*' 
A pleasing sample of Stanton's mastery of the "Cracker" dialect is seen in "Old Times in Georgy," the first stanza of which reads as follows: 
"Old Times in Georgy"-them's the times for me. No times now like them times and ain't a-goin' to be. Long time 'fore the railroads an' steamboats flowin' freeHow I like to dream 0' them-good old times to me. 
18 
 
 Among Stanton's Popular Songs is the following group: 
SWEETES' LIT FELLER 
Sweetes' liT fellerEverybody knows; 
Dunno what ter call 'im, But he's mighty lak' a rosel 
Lookin' at his mammy Wid eyes so shiny-blue, 
Make you think dat heaven Is comin' clost ter youl 
W'en he's dar a-sleepin' In his liT place, 
Think I see de angels Lookin' th'00 de lace. 
W'en de dark is fallin'W'en de shadders creep, 
Den dey comes on tip-toe Ter kiss 'im in his sleep. 
Sweetes' liT fellerEverybody knows; 
Dunno what to call 'im, But he's mighty lak' a rosel 
-Songs from Dixie Land, Babbs-Merrill Co., 1900. 
Here is another Stanton poem, which has won universal popularity as a song: 
WEARYIN' FOR YOU 
Jest a-wearyin' for you All the time a-feelin' blue; Wishin' for you-wonderin' when You'll be comin' home again; Restless, don't know what to do, Jest a-wearyin' fer you! 
Keep a-mopin' day by day: Dull-in everybody's way; Folks that smile an' pass along Wonderin' what on earth is wrong; 'Twouldn't help 'em if they knewJest a-wearyin' fer youl 
Mornin' comes; the birds awakeUsed to sing so fer your sakeI But there's sadness in the notes That come trillin' from their throatsI Seem to feel your absence, tooJest a-wearyin' fer youl 
19 
 
 Evenin' comes: I miss you more When the dark is in the door; 'Pears jest like you orter be There to open it fer me! Latch goes tinklin'-thrills me through, Sets me wearyin' fer you! 
-Songs of the Soil) D, Appleton & Co, 
RUN HOME 
De dark night's comin' an' it's gittin' mighty late(Run home, liT chillun, run home!) 
Ef you wants ter find de latchstring on de outside gate, Run home, liT chillun, run home! It's a long, long way Ter de breakin' 0' the dayRun home, liT chillun, run home! 
De wind frum de witch-wings is blowin' out de Moon(Run home, liT chillun, run home!) 
Jes' go ter sleep, a-dreamin' dat de light is comin' soonRun home, liT chillun, run home! It's a long, long way Ter de Light dat makes de day, Run home, liT chillun, run home! 
KEEP ON HOPIN' 
Keep on lookin' for the bright, bright skies, Keep on hopin' that the sun'll rise; Keep on singin' when the whole world sighs- 
And you'll get there in the mornin', 
Keep on sawin' when you've miss'd the crops, Keep on dancin' when the fiddle stops, Keep on faithful till the curtain drops- 
And you'll get there in the mornin'. 
Keep on trustin' in the cause of Right, Keep on lookin' to the dawn of Light, Keep on fightin' till you've won the fight- 
And you'll get there in the mornin', -Just from Georgia) Byrd Publishing Company. 
SWEET LITTLE WOMAN 0' MINE 
She ain't any bit of a' angelThis sweet little woman 0' mine; 
She's just a plain woman, An' purty much humanThis sweet little woman 0' mine. 
20 
 
 For what would I do with a' angel When I looked for the firelight's shine? 
When six little sinners Air wantin' their dinners? No! Give me this woman 0' mine! 
I've hearn lots 0' women called "angels," An' lots of 'em thoughtit wuz fine; 
But give 'em the feathers, An' me, in all weathers, This sweet little woman 0' mine. 
I jest ain't got nothin' ag'in' 'emThese angels-they're good in their line, 
But they're sorter above mel Thank God that she'll love meThis dear little woman 0' mine. 
-Comes One With A Song, Bobbs-Merrill Co., 1898. 
Under the head of Patriotism, here are several poems written by Stanton during the World War, as well as some of his older patriotic numbers: 
ONE COUNTRY 
I After all, One country, brethren! We must rise or fall With the Supreme Republic. We must be The makers of her immortality; 
Her freedom, fame, Her Glory or her ShameLiegemen to God and fathers of the freel 
II After allHark! From the heights the clear, strong, clarion call. And the command imperious: "Stand forth. Sons of the south and brothers of the north! 
Stand forth and be As one on soil and seaYour country's honor more than empire's worth!" 
III After all, 'Tis Freedom wears the loveliest coronal: Her brow is to the morning; in the sod She breathes the breath of patriots; every clod 
Answers her call And rises like a wall Against the foes of liberty and Godl 
21 
 
 OUR GEORGIA BOYS (From Over Seas) 
The love of home to the Georgia boys, With the light that love is bringing; Over the foam To the heart of home, And home with a mother clinging! 
The light of life and joy of joys! OUR Boys! OUR Boys! 
In the thunder-fight they glimpsed the light Of the far home-firesides gleaming; Fields where they foughtDeeds that they wrought Made music in home's dreaming! 
And home to hail them-forget them never: OUR OWN FOREVER! 
(With home'sgreetings to the Georgia boys.) 
SOME OF THESE DAYS 
Some of these days all the skies will be brighter; Some of these days all the burdens be lighter; Hearts will be happier, souls will be whiter, 
Some of these days! 
Some of these days, in the deserts upspringing, Fountains shall flash while the joybells are ringing; And the world-with its sweetest of birds-shall go singing; 
Some of these days! 
Some of these days! Let us bear with our sorrow! Faith in the future-its light we may borrow; There will be joy in the golden tomorrow- 
Some of these days! 
THIS WORLD 
This old world we're livin' in Is mighty hard to beat; 
You get a thorn with every rose, But ain't the roses sweetI 
-Comes One With A Song, Bobbs-Merrill Co., 1898. 
22 
 
 Under the group of Songs of Faith are the following poems: 
THE OLD HYMNS 
Thar's lots 0' music in 'em-the hymns 0' long ago, An' when some gray-haired brother sings the ones I use' to know I sorter want to take a han'l I think 0' days gone by:- 
"On Jordan's stormy banks I stan' and cast a wistful eye!" 
Thar's lots 0' music in 'ern-those dear, sweet hymns 0' 01',With visions bright 0' lan's 0' light, an' shinin' streets 0' gol;' An' I hear 'ern ringin'-singin', whar' mem'ry, dreamin' stan's, "From Greenland's icy mountains to India's coral stran's." 
They seem to sing ferever of holier, sweeter days, When the lilies 0' the love 0' God bloomed white in all the ways; An' I want to hear their music from the or-time meetin's rise Till "I can read my title cl'ar to mansions in the skies." 
We never needed singin' books in them 01' days-we knew The words-the tunes of everyone the dear 01' hymnbook through I We didn't have no trumpets then; no organs built fer show: We only sang to praise the Lord "From whom all blessin's flow." 
An' so, I love the 01' hymns, an' when my time shall comeBefore the light has left me, an' my singin' lips air dumb, Ef I kin only hear 'em then, I'll pass without a sigh "To Canaan's fair an' happy lan' whar my possessions lie!" 
**** 
ONE SAD DAY 
One sad day when the sun's gold crown Jeweled the desolate, dreamy west, 
I came with my burden, and laid it down Under the lilies and leaves to rest: 
And, weeping, I left it and went my way With the twilight whispering: "God knows best!" 
One sweet day-it was long ago, And thorny paths my feet have pressed 
Since with tears and kisses I laid it lowSoul of my soul and life of my breastl 
But kneeling now in the dark to pray, There comes with a song from the sunless west 
The same sweet voice that I heard that dayThe Twilight whispering: "God knows best!" 
23 
 
 "NEARER TO THEE" 
They were singing, sweetly singing, And the song melodiously 
On the evening air was ringing: "Nearer, 0 My God, to Theel" 
In my eyes the tear.drops glistened As it starred the twilight dim, 
And I wondered as I listened If it brought them nearer Him? 
Where they like the wanderer weary, Song and life in sweet accord; 
Resting in the darkness dreary In the nearness of the Lord? 
Had His spirit ever sought them To be slighted or denied? 
Had that dear song ever brought them Closer to the Saviour's side? 
I have heard its music often, Felt its meaning deep and sweet; 
And my weary heart would soften Singing at my Master's feet; 
"Nearer Thee"-oh, precious feeling! Nearer Thee in gain and loss; 
Nearer Thee when I am kneeling In the shadow of Thy crossl 
STANTON'S PROSE 
Mr. Stanton is remembered chiefly as a poet. He was, also, a writer of prose unexcelled for beauty of diction and imagery, as the following shows: 
FROM NIGHT TO LIGHT 
The night was desolate; the wind wailed at my casement and stormed the stars from Heaven. Human love had left me in the valley of despair, and no ravens in life's wilderness flocked to feed my famished soul. I stretched forth empty hands to the upbraiding darkness, and bowed my head and wept. There was no balm in Gilead-no physician there. But out of the night and storm and darkness, I heard as in a dream, the footsteps of God, and Heaven came nearer earth, and peace fell like a benediction on my soul. 
24 
 
 An all-pervading presence filled all space, and deep and sweet beyond expression was the holy calm. There came a vision of the hill called Calvary, and from the shadow of the cross there streamed a light that lit the way before me and made the darkness beautiful. I feared to speak, lest the light should elude me; I feared to turn my eyes lest the spell should be broken, with all its great, unutterable sweetness. But soft streamed the light still, and the valley and the shadow of death was not, and all the waves and billows of life sang peace-ever the peace of God which passeth understanding. And in the light, farshining from the cross, I walk and walk forever. 
There is no darkness now, there is no desolation, and surely Heaven will not seem strange when at its gates I knock, for the glory of it is with me here, and earth is beautiful and life is life, indeed! 
 
ADDRESS BY DR. M. D. COLLINS 
The following paragraphs are taken from an address delivered February 22, 1937, before the Atlanta Writers Club, by Dr. M. D. Collins, State Superintendent of Education: 
"Stanton's songs, set to music, have been heard wherever music touches the soul and stirs the emotions. His smiles have smoothed the furrowed brow; his optimism has driven life's cares away; his folk-lore has gripped young and old; his spirited appeals for human ideals have made people better; his great love has penetrated the heart of all the world; his logic has made people think; his quaint dialect of the Southern Negro and the Georgia 'Cracker' has made people laugh; his genius has made the readers of every race his loyal friends and admirers. 
"The following can be said of Stanton: 
1. No poet of his age has sung more sweetly, more upliftingly, more touchingly. 
2. His songs have been translated into many languages. 
3. His poems of cheer helped the boys in the World War trenches. 
4. His stories, for a generation, have carried light into bowed and sorrowed homes. 
5. In personal life he was the friend of everyone. 
6. He illustrated, in verse, in prose, and in his daily life, the most profound human sympathy-the abiding tie of the fellowship of man. 
7. He lived the spirit of democracy. 
8. He was loved for what he was) as well as for what he did. 
25 
 
 "Joel Chandler Harris says: 'Mr. Stanton loved Georgia, loved the South, its people and its homes, its history, its romance and traditions, its sunny skies, its lovely landscapes-all that is beautiful to the eye and dear to the heart of the sons and daughters of this fair land of Georgia. He is Georgia's chosen interpreter and lived in sweet communion with her.' 
"As a fitting conclusion to these remarks, let us have the lines on Frank Lebby Stanton, written by Dr. Wightman F. Melton of our State Department of Education, and published in The Atlanta Constitution the morning after Mr. Stanton passed away: 
'Sweet shepherd of the roses, There is joy in Heaven today: 
Little children's voices ringing, Angels gently, softly singing, "He whose 'Mighty Lak' a Rose' Everyone in Heaven knows, 
Has come home to stay." , " 
*' *' *' *' 
Marcelle Stanton Megahee (Mrs. Percy Megahee) only daughter of Frank L. Stanton, has written the following poem for this Bulletin: 
THE TREE AT FATHER'S DOOR 
Loved tree that stands at Father's door, I'm sure he'd love you even more For all the lives you yet may bless With your dear, quiet loveliness. 
Great souls, like his, enjoy your shadows deep, And in your arms small birds delight to sleep. 
May I as strong and tender be As Father's tree-beloved tree. 
-MARCELLE STANTON MEGAHEE. 
*' *' *' 
STANTON'S BIRTHDAY CELEBRATED 
Years before Mr. Stanton was proclaimed Poet Laureate of Georgia he was recognized as the South's chief lyrist; and the teachers and pupils in the ppblic schools of Georgia were celebrating his birthday with appropriate exercises. The following editorial, from The Atlanta Constitution, February 23, 19l6-the day after Stanton's 59th birthday 
26 
 
 -is typical of those which appeared in this paper, annually, year after year, for more than a score of years: 
"Yesterday was Frank L. Stanton day. 
"Throughout Georgia the day was observed and special homage was paid Georgia's sweetest singer, who has won his way into the hearts of the people by his verse. 
"In many of the public schools of the city as well as in other cities in the state special exercises were held. Stanton's poems were read and Stanton's songs were sung. 
"Mr. Stanton's desk in The Constitution was literally covered with flowers when he came down to the office Friday morning. All day long he was kept busy answering the telephone and opening letters and telegrams that were showered on him from friends who wanted to wish him many returns of the day and to assure him of their love and esteem. 
"Stanton, the poet, is also the philosopher. His verse, while sweet and flowing, also expresses the philosophy of one who knows human beings like a book and who loves his fellow man. All Dixie loves Frank L. Stanton and all Southerners feel as though he belongs not only to Georgia, but to the entire South. 
"Starting as a country printer in Smithville, where he issued a small weekly, Frank L. Stanton has won his way to the top of the ladder as a poet of the people. Even when in the little south Georgia way station his writings attracted the attention of many, and his little paper had a wide circulation, as Georgia folk wanted to read his column, which even then was called 'Just From Georgia.' 
"Today Frank L. Stanton occupies a position in Southern Literature that is undisputed. He is recognized as Dixie's nominee for the Hall of Fame." 
STANTON LOVED CHILDREN 
Frank L. Stanton's love for children inspired a number of his sweetest songs, notably "Sweetes' LiT Feller" (better known as "Mighty Lak' a Rose") , to his first-born, Frank L., Junior; but his love for the school children of Georgia and for the memory of his own childhood days sometimes found expression in a personal letter to a little boy or girl. Such was the letter he wrote to a pupil in the Lula Kingsbury School of Atlanta (formerly English Avenue School), who had been assigned the writing of a letter to the poet for information to be used in celebrating his birthday. This letter, which is preserved in the office of the principal, Miss Lula Kingsbury, is as follows: 
"Dear Ethel Hicks: Thank you, little friend, for your fine letter. It was not lack of appreciation that caused my delay in replying. I 
27 
 
 have been taking things easy since my birthday and am afraid I have neglected my correspondence. 
"My boyhood was not spent in school. I went to work while still very young, and burned the mid-night oil for my education. I learned to spell from reading. I read everything I could possibly get my hands on. When there was no oil, I burned my candle far into the nightalways reading, and memorizing most that I read; certainly remembering it all, even to this day. 
"When I was only 6 years old my mother made me memorize a hymn a month. In that way I seemed to catch the music of poetry from those grand old hymns. But I was just a child, and if they sometimes grew a little monotonous to me, I found a way around it. 1 would place my hand over two lines and rhyme up two with themall my own. That was the beginning of poetry writing for me. 
"I have lived in many places in Georgia-but was born in Charleston, S. C. I have filled every place on a newspaper from editor straight down to printer's devil-being the latter upon first entering the newspaper world when not yet in my teens. 
"1 know you must have a fine school and you, I am sure, are a star pupil. Some of my good relatives are named Hicks. They are my father's people, and live in Brooklyn, N. Y. 
"I thank you, and all the school children for the interest expressed in my work. 
"Sincerely yours, 
"FRANK L. STANTON." 
"HE SINGS OF SIMPLE THINGS" 
Frank L. Stanton's literary career is described in an article in the February, 1925, issue of the American Magazine. This article, with the title, "He Sings of Simple Things," gives, in his own words, his inspiration for writing "Mighty Lak a Rose," "Jest A-Wearyin' for You," and many others of his most famous poems. The article is by Walter Chambers, a former Atlanta newspaper man. 
Mr. Stanton's retiring disposition and his dislike of the limelight made him one of the most unique characters in America. Though his songs have been translated into many languages and have been sung in every country on the globe, only those who were associated with him in his home or in his work had an insight into his kindly spirit, his supreme love for the simple things of life. 
James Whitcomb Riley, Stanton's intimate friend and Indiana contemporary, once wrote of him: 
28 
 
 "He sings of the simple things, The trees and the open air; 
The orchard bough and the mocking bird, And the flowers everywhere." 
It is from the first line of this quatrain that Chambers got the title for his article on Stanton. 
"Few people know," the article states, "that Mr. Stanton once wrote two poems that caused an Oklahoma governor, at the eleventh hour, to commute the sentence of a man who was to be hanged. A few hours previously the governor had refused the plea for a life sentence; but after reading Stanton's 'Lynched' and 'They've Hung Bill Jones,' he hurriedly dispatched a message to the hangman and the prisoner's life was spared. Later the wife of the man walked from Oklahoma to Atlanta, personally to thank Frank L. Stanton." 
STANTON'S PHILOSOPHY 
It was Mr. Stanton's custom to intersperse bits of prose philosophy with the poetry in his column, crediting the expressions to "Brer Williams," the "Old Deacon," and others. The following are examples of this philosophy, which, in reality, is his own: 
Satan wuz a' angel in heaven, but lak de res' of us, he couldn't stan' prosperity. 
Sometimes, after you've searched the hills for Happiness you discover her in the humble valley, training a vine to blossom at a cabin door. 
It's hard to beat the opera of the birds, with a front seat on a pine log in a theater with a roof of blossoms. 
It wouldn't be such a cold world if we'd make bonfires of the old stumbling blocks, and warm up to happiness. 
The chap who can whistle trouble out of town is a world-benefactor to count on. 
I never have wanted the earth for the sole reason that it would be too big for me to tote around. 
"Lord," prayed Brother Williams, "don't let de worI' come to a end in de fishin' season, when dey's bitin' faster'n you kin take 'em off de hook. Wait till de bottom's dropped out 0' ever'thing, an' dar's no sense in livin' any longer. 
The Deacon's Philosophy: Some folks seem to get a lot of satisfaction out of growlin' at a world that doesn't know they are in it. 
29 
 
 Don't wait till trouble troubles you, if dar's a good road fer runnin' ter de end 0' de rainbow. 
Never mind 'bout de spots on de sun. Clean up de ole worl' an' make it shine brighter when de sun lights on it. 
Old Trouble dop't have a chance when Joy is the bandmaster and strikes up a lively t.une. 
Let's everybody go to heaven, and make hell feel lonesome. 
"They're mighty good at discoverin' new worlds," said the old deacon, "but powerful slow about house-cleaning in this one." 
De man what dunno how ter run hisself is de one what thinks he was born ter run de government. 
All can't be millionaires but some of us can be tolerable happy. The sun's light may be dying out, but it's too early to worry about a possible increase in the electric light bill. 
One good thing hez come ter pass sence prohibition broke out, an' dat is my special white-folks keeps sober enuf to see Christmas comin' an' rickernize it fum de Foth 0' July. 
To some folks Christmas means moonshine one day, an' Lord have mercy next mornin'. 
It's de fool what says de world's gain' ter smash; dey ain't a man in it big 'nuff ter smash it. 
I dunno how high heaven is n'er how deep is hell. All I know is I better walk a chalk line 'twixt de two. 
Think of the long hours devoted to the Gfossword puzzles by people who can't spare a second to read a danger sign at the railroad crossing. 
Even if Joy forgets to bring his fiddle with him, you can dance to the clapping of his hands. 
"I hope ter go ter heaven when my time comes," says Brother Williams. "But harp-playin' would be too much like work for me, so I ain't takin' any lessons down here." 
Growling at the weather never yet brought wet or dry. Since the Lord made it the wisest plan is to let him manage it. 
o Next to running for office, chasing rainbows affords the best exerCIse. 
You can't 'scape Trouble, but you kin whistle a jig tune an' make him fergit what he come fer. 
 
 Folks would learn more 'bout de Bible ef dey stayed wid it like dey stays wid cross-word puzzles. 
In doin' de bes' you kin, de sayin' is dat de angels could do no mo'; bu t de angels knocked off from work long an' long ago. 
De sayin' is, you can't take your money to de hereafter, but it'll give you easy ridin' on a paved road till you gi t dar. 
Folks dat say dis ole worl' is no fr'en' ter grace, wouldn't know grace ef dey met her in a Sunday hat, on de road ter preachin'. 
De wise man said dar's nothin' new under de sun, but de worI' looks so new ever' mornin' dat you has to ax yestiddy whar you is today. 
Don't ever open de do' till you know who's knockin'. It might be a' angel; an' den, ag'in it might be de debbIe hisse'f, gadderin' his elect. 
Don't ever be afeard dat dar's a lion in de way; ef dey is, ketch 'im an' sell 'im ter a circus. 
TYPICAL EDITORIALS 
BIRTHDAY EDITORIALS FROM THE ATLANTA CONSTITUTION WHILE MR. STANTON WAS LIVING 
(I) 
Today is Frank Stanton day and will be celebrated throughout the state. School children will be singing his songs today from Rabun Gap to Tybee Light. There will be many meetings throughout the state which will do honor to his name and tell of the affection for him and his wonderful poetry. 
It is rare for a man in his life time to reap the reward of universal knowledge of his work and love for his personality, such as has been shown Mr. Stanton, not only in Georgia, but throughout the country. Yet there is certainly no man more deserving of the love and esteem of the people among whom he lives, no man in Georgia who has given more of himself for the cheer and uplift of his fellowman than Frank L. Stanton. 
Mr. Stanton has been writing for The Constitution for many years. During this time his songs have found a place in the heart of every Georgian, and his indomitable optimism and cheerful, homespun philosophy have helped to smooth out many a rough place in life's road, a richer heritage than which can be left by no man. No writer in Georgia today has a larger and more faithful following. 
Frank Stanton has not only given of himself most liberally to the world, but he has preserved for the future, in form perhaps more attractive than that of any other writer, the quaint philosophy and dia- 
31 
 
 lect of the old-time Negro. Certainly it has been Mr. Stanton's privilege to preserve the musical qualities of the Negro personality and dialect as none other has done, or, in all likelihood, ever will do. 
(2) 
FRANK STANTON DAY 
To notify the school children of Georgia that today, February 22, is Frank L. Stanton Day would be a waste of time, because they already know it. Not only that, they have been looking forward to it for a year. 
But since the day-marking the birth of Frank L. Stanton, the poet of The Constitution, but claimed by all of Dixie as its own-was universally decreed an annual event only in 1915, a reminder of the fact may not come amiss to many of Georgia's grown-ups, who love Stanton and his songs as do the young folk. 
Stanton is to Georgia as Riley was to Indiana; and, like the great Hoosier poet, he is loved by a nation for the beautiful thoughts and sentiments and rhetorical jewels which have flown from his pen into the hearts of a world of readers. What Riley did for and with the Hoosier dialect Stanton has done with and for that which is characteristically southern. Neither man ever penned a word that saddened a soul or caused a heart-ache; their stock in trade has been sunshine, beautiful things and gladness. 
Stanton sings of the humble, common things-the things that folks know and understand all about. The people of Georgia and Dixie love him and honor him for his beauty of expression, his picturesque optimism, and for the blossoms bestrewn by him. 
The children of Georgia and Dixie love him, and on the 22nd of February pay to him their respect and homage. 
It is, therefore, most fitting that one day in the year should have been set aside as a day upon which to pay tribute to Georgia's greatest bard. 
Preparations have been made, throughout the state, for celebrations by schools, colleges and societies. 
RILEY AND STANTON 
By WIGHTMAN F. MELTON 
When Joel Chandler Harris and Frank L. Stanton were living and had their office together on the fifth floor of the Atlanta Constitution building, that little office-now a store room for the Constitution photographic department-was the mecca of the literary world who happened to be in Atlanta or Georgia. Some of the visitors to that office 
32 
 
 were Richard Malcolm Johnson, Hamlin Garland, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Paul Hamilton Hayne, Charles A. Dana, Josquin Miller, and James Whitcomb Riley. Among the special visitors to Stanton's desk were James Ryder Randall, Samuel Minturn Peck, Will Hamilton Hayne, Fred Emerson Brooks and Riley. 
Riley visited Atlanta three times to read from his poems. In the Constitution, Friday, April 14, 1893, Stanton greets Riley in these lines: 
HERE'S TO JIM 
Here's a welcome to Jim Riley; we've been readin' of his books; An' we're hungerin' to hear him an' to see jes' how he looks; See the sweet "Old-Fashioned Roses" in our mellow sunlight shineAn' git happy in the comp'ny 0' that "Old Sweetheart 0' Mine." 
Here's a welcome to Jim Riley-been a-readin' him fer years, Sometimes with fits 0' laughter, an' sometimes with floods 0' tears! For he kinder knows our fee1in's an' he clings to natur' jest Like the child clings to its mother-for the life that's in her breast. 
Here's a welcome to Jim Riley-fer we have to call him "Jim," It's sociable an' home1ike--cjest the very name fer him! An' we press him with "God bless him!" to our hearts, an' hope he may, Like "Little Orphant Annie," come to our house to stay. 
The next morning, Saturday, April 15, The Constitution states that hundreds of admirers greeted the Hoosier poet at DeGive's the evening before. In the write-up is found this paragraph: "Chief Justice Logan Bleckley, accompanied by all the Judges of the Supreme Court, was in a box near the poet-humorist, and it was too much for the sober jurists to withstand. The Chief Justice laughed until he could laugh no more; and, for the time, it was clear that the deep and wearisome cases that bother him eternally on the bench were as far from his mind as Cape Cod is from Kalamazoo." 
It was the Friday morning, before his reading that evening, that Riley called on Stanton. One of the first things Stanton said to his visitor was, "How did you rest last night?" Then, after they had talked a while, Stanton requested a poem for The Constitution. Riley took up a piece of brown wrapping paper that happened to be lying on the desk and dashed off the following poem, to which Stanton gave the title, "A Sunday Symphony." The sub-title, "How Did You Rest Last Night?" Sunday morning, April 16th, the poem appeared in The Constitution: 
33 
 
 "HOW DID YOU REST LAST NIGHT?" 
"How did you rest last night?" I've heard my gran'pap say 
Them words a thousand times-that's rightJes' them words thataway! 
As punctchul-like as mornin' dast To ever heave in sight 
Gran'pap 'un allus ha'f to ast"How did you rest last night?" 
Us young-uns used to grin, At breakfast, on the sly, 
And mock the wobble of his chin And eyebrows helt so high 
And kind. "How did you rest last night?" We'd mumble and let on 
Our voices trembled, and our sight Was dim, and hearin' gone. 
Bad as I used to be, All I'm a-wantin' is 
As pure and ca'm a sleep for me And sweet a sleep as his! 
And so I pray, on Jedgment Day, To wake, and with its light 
See his face dawn, and hear him say"How did you rest last night?" 
Two days later, Tuesday, the 18th, Stanton bids Riley adieu in a manner that must have delighted the Hoosier's heart: 
GOOD-BYE, JIM; TAKE CARE 0' YOURSELF 
Well, Riley's been to see us, an' he's told us all goodbye; An' the sweet songs that he sung us seem to slip into a sigh; Fer we don't know when we'll see him in the Piedmont hills againSo our eyes, they're runnin' over, like rivers swelled by rain! 
Yes, Riley's been to see us, an' the sun come out to shine On the valleys where we wandered with that "Old Sweetheart 0' Mine"; But we're hopin' still to meet him-an' till then we'll stop the clock When the frost is on the punkin an' the fodder's in the shock. 
Wasn't it a lucky day for Georgia when a South Carolina printer boy wandered over this way to spend his natural life singing to us of things that will endure long after our steel-and-stone sky-scrapers have crumbled into dust? 
-From The Atlanta Constitution. 
 
 VISITORS TO STANTON'S COLUMN 
In May, 1913, The Atlanta Constitution invited the Em?ry Class in journalism to come up from the village of Oxford and edit t~e paper for a day. This, Georgia's first class in journalism, was orgamzed and taught by Dr. W. F. Melton, who accompanied the class to Atlanta, and acted in the capacity of managing editor for the day. That day Frank L. Stanton's column, "Just from Georgia," became "Just from Oxford," the poems, rhymes and jingles being supplied by teacher and class. At the head of the column appeared the following lines: 
TO FRANK L. STANTON 
Frank Stanton, these, my fledglings, Can only chirp the song 
That they have caught from Heaven's gate Where you have sung so long. 
On Jordan's stormy bank we'll stand, And cast a wistful eye, 
Until we find where Stanton sings In woodlands of the Sky. 
Then straight across the swelling flood, With fearless wing and strong, 
We'll take our hallelujah way To join in Stanton's song. 
-W.F.M. 
STANTON BELIEVED IN THE UNSEEN 
By WIGHTMAN F. MELTON 
Frank L. Stanton not only sang in simple words of simple things, but he also had the simple, sincere faith of a child. "Mr. Stanton," I once asked him, "do you believe in Santa Claus?" "Of course I do!" he replied emphatically; then he added, "Santa Clause is a spirit and we cannot see spirits, but they exist just the same." He also firmly believed that the things we can see are temporal and the things we cannot see are eternal. 
When the Stantons were living at the corner of Highland and Cleburne I called one Sunday afternoon to see Mr. Stanton. His room opened on Cleburne. It was a chilly day in November. As I went up the steps to the little veranda I saw, through a window to the right of the door, what seerped to be smoke in the room. I knocked. No resonse. I knocked again, more loudly. Still no response. Then I went to the window to see about the smoke. Peering through my cupped 
35 
 
 hands I found that the room was really filled with smoke. I then went back to the door and turned the knob. The door was not locked. When I opened the door the room was so filled with smoke that I could not see clearly what had happened or if there was anyone in the room. 
"Mr. Stanton, Mr. Stanton!" I called, excitedly, as I felt my way toward his bed; for I was afraid he might be suffocated. Then I discovered that he was not on the bed; but there were two pillows on which he had been propped and beside them a copy of "Pickwick Papers." 
By this time the smoke had cleared away sufficiently for me to get some idea as to what had happened. In a corner of the room the stovepipe was standing. Smoke was coming from the stove. Beside the stove sat a washbowl with a little water in it. A sooty towel lay beside the bowl. 
Taking in the situation at a glance, I figured that the stovepipe had fallen while Mr. Stanton was lying on the bed, reading; that he had used the towel in standing the hot stovepipe in the corner of the room, and that he had poured water on the fire to put it out; but I was puzzled as to what had become of him. I knocked on the door leading toward the front of the house, then I opened this door and called. Not a sound anywhere. 
Just at that time the unextinguished fire in the stove flared up and I saw something must be done quickly. Hurrying across the street to a little drugstore on the corner, I got a stepladder and found a colored boy to help me. Returning to Mr. Stanton's room, the boy held the ladder while I restored the stovepipe to its proper place, using the towel to protect my hands from the soot. 
The moment the pipe was in place the fire began to roar. We opened all the windows until the room was cleared of smoke. Then my helper found a broom in the bathroom and swept around the stove. A few minutes later we closed the windows, then the door, leaving the room as if nothing had ever happened to it. I paid the the boy for helping me and for returning the borrowed ladder. Then I drove home, smiling at the joke I had played on Mr. Stanton, but still wondering what had become of him. I was tempted, that night, to call up the Stanton home and inquire if he was all right; but I didn't because I knew if anything had happened they would let me know. 
Although I was eager to see Mr. Stanton and hear what he had to say about the stovepipe episode, I waited until Thursday to call on him-in his office in the Constitution building. 
At his office door I stopped, for I saw that he was writing. At his home I always found him reading. At his office I always found him writing. 
36 
 
 Presently he became aware of my presence, looked up, and cheerily invited me to come in. "Mr. Coleridge," I replied, playfully, "I thought you might be busy with another 'Kubla Khan,' and did not want to interrupt you." 
After we had talked a few minutes of this, that and the other, Mr. Stanton gave me a quick, quizzical, schoolboyish look, and inquired, 
"Do you believe in witches and ghosts and spirits?" 
"Of course I do," I replied, and asked, "Why?" 
He then told the whole stovepipe story, adding that he and Mrs. Josey, Mrs. Stanton's mother, were up in the front of the house talking; that the other members of the family were out riding, and that they were waiting for Frank or Val to come and fix the stovepipe. "Not another soul was in the house," he declared, at the conclusion of his story," and I believe unseen hands fixed that stovepipe for me. I just want to know if you agree with me." 
"Sure I do," I replied, looking innocent, for I knew he hadn't seen my hands fixing the pipe. 
Mr. Stanton lived about twelve years after that happened, and although I saw him many times and talked with him hours at a time in his room, neither of us ever again referred to the stovepipe incident; and I am still honestly wondering if he secretly chuckled over the joke he had on me or if he really. believed a ghost fixed his stovepipe. 
Incidentally, I have the honor to belong to the goodly company of those who still believe in Santa Claus. 
-From the Griffin Daily News. 
STANTON LOOKS TO THE FUTURE 
By WIGHTMAN F. MELTON 
December, 1924, Frank L. Stanton promised me a little white, woolly puppy as soon as it was old enough to be taken from its mother. Those puppies, now (January, 1927) in mature life, look very much like "Witty," my sole companion this evening, for an hour or two, in this room of sacred silence. "Witty," on a rug before the fire, turns; now and then, to gaze pitifully at his sleeping master on the bed; and then, looking up at me out of humanly wistful eyes, this little white dog seems to inquire: "What does all this mean?" And then, with no one to hear me but God, I have to confess to a little white dog: "Witty, I don't know." 
Six weeks after Mr. Stanton promised me the puppy, I was in his office in The Constitution building one afternoon and he inquired, 
37 
 
 "Got anything special to do tonight?" Laughingly, I replied, "If Brutus has any enterprise worthy the name of honor, I hereby break all engagements." Understanding from this playful remark that I was free for the evening, He said, "Well, come around to the house about 7 o'clock." 
That evening at dinner, out home, I remarked, "Mr. Stanton is going to give me that little woolly, white puppy tonight." One member of the family suggested: "We've no place to keep a puppy, and we don't need a dog, anyway," The younger son and his wife spoke up, "Oh, we'd just love to have a little white, woolly dog; bring him to us, we'll take him!" Finally, having assured the family that I would not offend Mr. Stanton by declining his offer, I went on over to his home-then on Cleburne Avenue. When I entered Mr. Stanton's room in response to his cherry, "C'm in," three little snow-white balls of wool were playing under the side of the bed. Mr. Stanton had already retired, early, as was his custom when he was not feeling well; and while he and I were exchanging greetings, I gave the three puppies the "once over" and decided which one I would take if I could choose; but I would wait and let him bring up the subject. 
Seeing a much-worn book, lying open beside Mr. Stanton's pillow, I inquired, "Been reading?" "Yes," he replied, "Pickwick Papers,' one of the most interesting books ever written. Charles Dickens saw everything worth seeing and knew how to leave out the nonessentials." 
"Dickens," I replied with sympathetic understanding, and with school-boy enthusiasm for "David Copperfield," "must have got his training as a newspaper reporter." Here, Mr. Stanton smiled down at the antics of one of the little woolly, white puppies, as the other two rolled him over on the floor. "Now," I thought, "Mr. Stanton is going to talk 'dog.' But he didn't. Instead, he remarked: "Now, there was Joe Harris (he always spoke of Joel Chandler Harris as Joe), he was a great newspaperman; his sense of news values and of things literary was almost uncanny. No one was more surprised than he, however, when his 'Uncle Remus' stories began to bring him national and international fame." 
"It is often the case," I remarked, "that an author undevalues his best work." Just here I was thinking that, possibly, the animal stories of Joel Chandler Harris may have been suggested to Mr. Stanton, in a subconscious way, by the thought of the puppy I had come to take home with me. I was sure he would say "dog," but he didn't. 
"If Joe had taken Jim Riley's advice," resumed Mr. Stanton, "he would have told his folk-stories in verse; but they are better adapted to prose, and Joe knew it." 
Following this, Mr. Stanton quoted many lovely passages from Shakespeare and Byron, Wordsworth and Swinburne; then he spoke in an intimate, affectionate manner of Samuel Minturn Peck, James 
38 
 
 Ryder Randall and Charles W. Hubner. Presently, pointing to a picture of Napoleon Bonaparte on the wall beside his bed he said, "There was a man, one of the greatest that ever lived!" And in the same breath he requested, "Please put a lump or two of coal in the stove." 
While I was complying with this request, the very puppy I had decided was the prettiest in the lot, waddled out from under the bed 
and wagged his little tail, as if to thank me for appreciating his beauty. 
Peeping at my watch, while Mr. Stanton was making himself more comfortable on the pillows, I discovered that I had been there more than an hour and nobody had said "dog"-yet! 
Then came a lull in the conversation, and I noticed that Mr. Stanton seemed to have something unusual on his mind. I was supposing he had concluded, while we were talking, that he couldn't let one of his pets go, and just hated to tell me about it. Presently, with a puzzling smile, he pointed toward the dresser and requested, "Please get that book over there." 
The dresser was in a dim side of the room and as I approached it, I smiled to myself, "Wonder if he has a treatise on 'How to Mother a Young Dog'?" Arriving at the dresser, I looked back over my left shoulder and announced, "Mr. Stanton, the only book I see here is a Biblel" 
"That's the very book I wish you to get," he replied, while I opened up a front cover and read, on a flyleaf: "To Frank L. Stanton, from Fuzzy Woodruff." "Well," I smiled, pleased at the discovery, "since when did Fuzzy begin to give Bibles to his friends?" For a moment Mr. Stanton's keen eyes penetrated me as if searching for a trace of irony in my question-and then, smiling, he replied, with unusual emphasis for one of his gentle nature, "The Bible is the greatest literature in the world, and God never made a better man than Fuzzy Woodruff!" 
Mr. Stanton now became more serious than I had ever seen him before, or have seen him since-and I write this at midnight, sitting alone in the room with his dear, cold body-a smile on his face (Oh, I forget: there's "Witty," on the rug before the fire, gazing back, piteously, toward the bed!) 
"You see," began Mr. Stanton, in a wholly different key, when I had resumed my seat, Bible in hand, "I've not been so well of late and I may not be able to pull through to my next birthday. I wanted you to come over tonight and explain something to me." Ignoring my suggestion that he had probably hit upon the wrong man, he went on, "It's that book of Job. Over there in the seventh chapter Job says to God, 'I shall sleep in the dust; and thou shalt seek me in the morning, but I shall not be.' Is Job getting funny with God?" 
While I was trying to explain that Job evidently had reference to the physical body, and not the spirit, a mischievous, school-boyish 
39 
 
 smile spread over Mr. Stanton's genial face, and he continued, "Now, look over there at the forty-first chapter, where Job asks, 'Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook?' Well, I been fishin' all my life, an' I ain't never caught nothin' like that'" 
"Now," said he, "I like to think of God as my mother taught me back there in South Carolina when I was a little boy; but Job says, over there in the thirty-eighth chapter, that when the young ravens' cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat.' My mother's God was more merciful than Job's." 
"Over there in the fourteenth chapter, fourteenth verse," continued Mr. Stanton, without giving me time to agree with him and his mother, "there is the greatest question of all: 'If a man die, shall he live again?' Why did Job, who at times was on such intimate terms with Heaven, leave this question as a puzzle to subsequent ages? If he knew the answer, why didn't he give it?" 
Here there was a moment of absolute silence, except a sort of whimper from one of the tiny white, woolly puppies. "Little feller's dreamin," smiled Mr. Stanton, sadly, and then he went on: "When I was a small boy over there in South Carolina and my mother used to sing me the old hymns of the Wesleys and Isaac Watts, it was all clear enough to me that a man who dies SHALL live again; but during a long life of rubbing elbows with the world, doubts have crept in. It is these doubts I want cleared up before I start on the long journey, som'ers else." 
At the end of three holy hours I said good night. I, too, had forgotten "dog." During those three hours I had spoken, possibly not over 50 words, none of them explanations, but when I was leaving . Mr. Stanton said, "I thank you so much for taking the time to come over and explain it to me. It is all very clear now." 
Yes, "Witty," it is all very clear; now I can answer the inquiry in your sad eyes. While you and I watch, faithfully, at the bedside of your master's body, his sweet spirit has gone home to his mother in the skies. Listen "Witty," to the echo of an angelic chant-growing dimmer, dimmer, "Just a-wearin' for You," and see the innumerable multitude of little ones, all "Mighty Lak' a Rose," cuddling up to the sunny soul whose lullabies eased their earthly pains; and see those other hosts, crowding around the throne of God, eager to greet the spirit whose simple songs cheered them in hours of gloom and helped them through dreary, mortal years. 
Yes, "Witty," it is all very clear now! 
-From The Atlanta Constitution. 
40 
 
 TRIBUTE TO STANTON 
In 1927, the year Frank L. Stanton found the Heaven he often wondered about and sang of, his daughter, Marcelle Stanton Megahee (the Marcelle of one of her father's sweetest poems), compiled and published "Just From Georgia," a book of poems and "sayings" that had appeared in Mr. Stanton's column in The Atlanta Constitution, during the almost 40 years he was on the staff of that paper. 
James A. Hollomon, a life-long friend of the Stantons, and for many years chief editorial writer on The Constitution, wrote "A Preface and a Tribute" for this book, as follows: 
" ... All of us who had for years been associated with Frank L. Stanton knew of his ability, of his big heart, of his genius. 
"We knew of the great service-unselfish, and inspired only by his love of human kind-that he did through the happiness and cheer that he carried to otherwise cheerless hearthstones, and through the simple 'logic of the masses' that made people better, and that made brighter the dark corners of life- 
"But it took the call that carried him home 'over the river's foam' to bring us to a full realization that he was the one great singer of the world who had the touch sufficiently magnetic to put the prince and the peasant on the same plane of democracy, the rich and the poor on the same pedestal of human appeal. 
"Born in the dark hours just preceding the Civil War, he spoke the language of the simple folk because through it he appealed for a fuller understanding of those whose hearts he unbosomed. 
"The language of the upland negro he used to concentrate about him the sympathy of those who had been taught to despise him. The language of the native 'cracker' he used because he carried with him a simple but impressive philosophy that, for others, made life's burdens the easier to bear, its problems easier of solution. 
"And then again he would rise to the very peaks of the classic, and sing in that faultless voice that would have graced the throne of Elizabeth. 
"Marvelous man! A poet born, not made! An interpreter and a salvager of human emotions! A poet laureate by the governor's commission-an honor never (similarly) conferred in America before! 
"His 'Mighty Lak' A Rose,' and other songs that have for a generation stirred the souls of men and women wherever music soothes, rang out from church, the theatre, the home-from across the vast spaces of the radio's circumference-as melodious tributes to a stilled but worshipped heart. 
41 
 
 "God bless him! He was the poet of the children, and on their angel wings was lifted to heaven in their praise; the poet of the lowly, whom he cheered and made happier; the poet of the mighty whom he impressed with the duty-and the responsibility of power and of service; the poet of the trenches, whose boys he spurred on to patriots' victory; the poet and the philosopher of everybody-he who dissipated the clouds, and brought to the surface of the earth the full glow of the sun to bless humanity with its universal light and warmth." 
For years and years the readers of The Atlanta Constitution opened their morning paper to find a word of cheer at the head of Stanton's column. The following is typical of the Stanton spirit: 
Honey, don't you worry Bout de trouble what's in sight; 
De sweet word fer you is: "It'll all come right." 
QUESTIONS ON STANTON 
1. What is a Poet Laureate? 2. Why was Stanton chosen to be Poet Laureate of Georgia? 3. Was Stanton an optimist or a pessimist? 4. Is the spirit of poetry pessimistic or optimistic? 5. Where was Stanton born? 6. Where and how was he educated? 7. What part did Stanton's mother have in making him a poet? 8. Where did Stanton live - in Georgia? 9. Why did Stanton use "Cracker" dialect? 10. Why did he use Negro dialect? 11. What evidence have we, in Stanton's verse, that he loved children? 12. That he loved Georgia? 13. That he loved the nation? 14. What is Stanton's philosophy of life? 15. Why did Stanton sing of simple things? 16. What similarity is there between the poetry of Stanton and that 
of James Whitcomb Riley? 17. What was Stanton's attitude toward the unseen and the future? 18. Why is Stanton's birthday celebrated in the schools of Georgia? 
42