Pepperell Historical Society was given a copy which our vice president, John Matley, kindly transcribed. The original printing was not copyrighted that I have found and printed in pamphlet form by H.S. Turner, Printer, Ayer, Mass. The poem was probably published at the time in the local newspaper. I found the poem to be an amazingly accurate assessment of the town's personality, even though it was written over one hundred years ago. -- Susan J Smith, Pepperell Historical Society

Lorenzo Prentice Blood, a well-known educator and the historian of Pepperell, was born in this town July 25, 1824, son of Noah Blood and his wife, Hannah Prentice (Chase) Blood. (Ancestry.com)

By Lorenzo Prentice Blood

Kind friends and kindred, neighbors, all,

Who've answered to our Home-Week call,

We welcome you with cordial cheer

To this our love feast of the year.

Of all the Jewetts, Bloods and Shattucks,

Who took up here their Yankee paddocks,

But few are left who bear the names

By which their fathers held their claims.

Fortune has not, the fickle dame,

Given us many men of fame.

In the ministerial profession

We have not made so great progression

Along the course as was expected

At the time the goal was first erected.

In medicine, as well as law,

We have few names of great eclat;

In music, literature, and art,

We've mostly played a minor part.

Even Prescott, the historian,

Cannot be claimed a Pepperell man;

By strictest rule of orthodoxy

The claim is good only by proxy.

Of statesman, we have never furnished

A governor, nor even burnished

"The knocker of his big front door."

Nor ever had on Congress' floor,

A single member, we have sent

Our principles to represent.

That we've never had an average poet,

You may have guessed, perhaps you'll know it.

Yet we're not wholly second-raters,

We've had some astute legislators,

And also some smart politicians,

Who'd gladly served in high positions,

But were content in humbler way,

To "roll the logs" for lesser pay.

And we have one who surely can

Beat th' record as a selectman.

But not alone does wealth or fame

Insure the greatness of a name.

The honest man of moderate means,

Who always recognizes beans,

Has good horse-sense, knows how to use it,

Can hold a trust, and not abuse it,

Who always greets you with a smile,

In which there is no latent guile,

Is shrewd and thrifty without greed,

Such are the men that we most need.

To bring true credit and renown

Unto the people of a town.

A name that's built on sham and shoddy

Is of little worth to any body.

With holidays we seem supplied,

What can we hanker for beside.

Thanksgiving in its early days

Was meant for worship, prayer and praise,

To thank the Lord for all His mercies,

And pray exemption from reverses.

Tho' now it mainly seems to be

Reunion 'round the family tree.

Christmas in its original

Was once a pagan festival,

Which Christians in their pious way

Transformed into a holy-day

In mem'ry of their risen Lord,

To whom all praise they did accord.

But now by course of slow decay

It's changed into a holiday,

And celebrated in some sections

With punch, egg-nog, and rich confections,

Our New Years dawn with happy wishes

For life and love, for luck and riches,

With many a gift and friendship token,

And new resolves for old ones broken.

Of February days we must claim one

For due respect to Washington,

Whose name's enrolled on history's pages

As a great hero of the ages.

On Memorial Day we honor those,

Who saved our country from her foes.

We tell again the thrilling story

Of all their sufferings and their glory,

And place upon each soldier's grave

Our floral offering to the brave. 

June 17th was long the day

When Pepperell made her grand display,

And serves to keep in memory still

The hero of Old Bunker Hill;

For Prescott is our greatest name

That's writ upon the scroll of fame.

Our July 4th with all its noise

Is ushered in by obstreperous boys,

Who fain in red the town would paint

With racket that would vex a saint;

Who ring the bells, who tin horns toot,

And all day long fire crackers shoot,

And close at night, the noisy vandals,

With rockets and with Roman candles;

Which serves to give us their idée

Of freedom, law, and liberty.

Now this does not complete the list,

For several minor ones I've missed.

There's Patriots' and Arbor day

And Labor day, which meant for play,

Seems by a queer metonomy

To be from labor wholly free.

There's the Cattle Show, which yearly strives

To show the Farmers' Club survives,

And which for cattle, crops and stuff

Proposes premiums' most enough

To compensate the trustful swain

For the getting of them home again.

Tho' latterly it's had recourse

To th' crowd-compelling trotting horse,

And thus has kept within the traces

The people that are fond of races.

To be continued next week.