The Village Blacksmith
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands
The smith, a mighty man is he
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands
His hair is crisp, and black, and long
His face is like the tan
His brow is wet with honest sweat
He earns whate’er he can
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With a measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low
And the children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughters voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees its close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
I was assigned to read this poem in my English 231 class at Lenoir-Rhyne. I of course was totally upset. I hate poetry, period. I have never liked it and I never thought I would until I read this particular poem. The first thing that popped into my head was my granddad. I thought of seeing my granddad work in the Christmas trees and of a particular story about him I had once heard. It was the story of the farm that he lived on in North Carolina. I had heard the story many years earlier. The story goes that Grandaddy had to quit school because of the need to plow the fields of the farm he lived on. He had to work every day for sometimes more than eight hours a day to have the fields ready for the planting season. This was no simple task. In case you haven’t been to Avery County, North Carolina lately it’s not very flat land. Their was no tractor to be found, just a plow and two horses. This is where the Kuhn work ethic was forged. Sunup to sundown my grandfather worked the field. This field was not just used to sale crops but it also produced the food for the family. He had no helpers during the plowing stages, but during the planting and harvest he had helpers. It was the land, almost 60 acres, and himself. To accomplish this task took a very special man with a work ethic that can be rivaled by no one. I have heard stories about how hard it is to plow a field. I can never imagine doing over 60 acres by yourself. I think my teacher received a pretty good analysis paper by me on this poem. She simply wrote “Wow” on the paper. I began to think more and more about my family and where we had come from. Little did I know that this would lead to a ton of research and a sense of pride in the name Kuhn that I will never lose.
I decided to trace the name Kuhn back as far as possible. All the way back to Europe if possible. I began to pester my dad about taking me to see Grandmommy and Grandaddy in order to just listen to what they had been through in their lifetime. I finally went to visit and became hooked on the history of the Kuhn family. I was given a book, “The Hendrix Family of Carter County Tenn.” by Violet Hendrix that they had in order to get me started on researching the family. The book proved to be one of my most valuable resources for discovering the secrets of my ancestors. The Kuhn family married into the Hendrix family way back when William married Katherine. This book took me all the way back to this date. It also contained a will where the Kuhn family is given a certain piece of land in Tennessee. It also talks about when the Kuhns left for Kentucky. So far I have traced our history back to the late 1700’s to my great great great great great grandfather and grandmother. Their names are William Kuhn and Mary Katherine Kuhn. I was able to complete what the woman who published the book I had received was unable to do. She could not find Mary Katherine’s husband. I’m not bragging because I had the internet at my disposal whereas she had a typewriter. Anyways this that follows is a summary of what I have been able to learn. I have included stories and everything I can possibly find about the following people. Truly what follows is something to be proud of.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands
The smith, a mighty man is he
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands
His hair is crisp, and black, and long
His face is like the tan
His brow is wet with honest sweat
He earns whate’er he can
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With a measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low
And the children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughters voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees its close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
I was assigned to read this poem in my English 231 class at Lenoir-Rhyne. I of course was totally upset. I hate poetry, period. I have never liked it and I never thought I would until I read this particular poem. The first thing that popped into my head was my granddad. I thought of seeing my granddad work in the Christmas trees and of a particular story about him I had once heard. It was the story of the farm that he lived on in North Carolina. I had heard the story many years earlier. The story goes that Grandaddy had to quit school because of the need to plow the fields of the farm he lived on. He had to work every day for sometimes more than eight hours a day to have the fields ready for the planting season. This was no simple task. In case you haven’t been to Avery County, North Carolina lately it’s not very flat land. Their was no tractor to be found, just a plow and two horses. This is where the Kuhn work ethic was forged. Sunup to sundown my grandfather worked the field. This field was not just used to sale crops but it also produced the food for the family. He had no helpers during the plowing stages, but during the planting and harvest he had helpers. It was the land, almost 60 acres, and himself. To accomplish this task took a very special man with a work ethic that can be rivaled by no one. I have heard stories about how hard it is to plow a field. I can never imagine doing over 60 acres by yourself. I think my teacher received a pretty good analysis paper by me on this poem. She simply wrote “Wow” on the paper. I began to think more and more about my family and where we had come from. Little did I know that this would lead to a ton of research and a sense of pride in the name Kuhn that I will never lose.
I decided to trace the name Kuhn back as far as possible. All the way back to Europe if possible. I began to pester my dad about taking me to see Grandmommy and Grandaddy in order to just listen to what they had been through in their lifetime. I finally went to visit and became hooked on the history of the Kuhn family. I was given a book, “The Hendrix Family of Carter County Tenn.” by Violet Hendrix that they had in order to get me started on researching the family. The book proved to be one of my most valuable resources for discovering the secrets of my ancestors. The Kuhn family married into the Hendrix family way back when William married Katherine. This book took me all the way back to this date. It also contained a will where the Kuhn family is given a certain piece of land in Tennessee. It also talks about when the Kuhns left for Kentucky. So far I have traced our history back to the late 1700’s to my great great great great great grandfather and grandmother. Their names are William Kuhn and Mary Katherine Kuhn. I was able to complete what the woman who published the book I had received was unable to do. She could not find Mary Katherine’s husband. I’m not bragging because I had the internet at my disposal whereas she had a typewriter. Anyways this that follows is a summary of what I have been able to learn. I have included stories and everything I can possibly find about the following people. Truly what follows is something to be proud of.
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