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MY "MEA P ATRIA" IB SO =^==^194D North Dakota State Library Bismarck, ND 58501 BY RDBERT T. ARVIDSDN r\mepif.a Samuel Francis Smith (1808-1895) My country 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing! Land where my fathers died; Land of the pilgrim's pride; From every mountain-side Let freedom ring! My native country! thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love, I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills, Like that above. Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees, Sweet freedom's song! Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake, Let rocks their silence break— The sound prolong. Our fathers' God to Thee, Author of liberty, To thee we sing! Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light, Protect us by Thy might, Great God, our King. MY hATIVE LAMD [MEA PATRIA1 A STORY OF UXBRIDGE TOWNSHIP BARNES COUNTY, NORTH DAKOTA with supplement by ROBERT T. ARVIDSOM ft^JfrA*, %*<0- Americo lirst 1880 1940 Assurance and hiealitij North Dakota State Library Bismarck, ND 58501 America, I he Deaufitul Katharine Lee Bates (1859-1929) O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain! O beautiful for pilgrim feet, Whose stern impassioned stress A thorough-fare for freedom beat Across the wilderness! O beautiful for heroes proved In liberating strife, Who more than self their country loved, And mercy more than life. O beautiful for patriot's dream That sees beyond the years Thine alabaster cities gleam Undimmed by human tears! America, America, God shed His grace on thee, And crown thy good with brotherhood, From sea to shining sea. Copyright 1940 ROBERT T. ARVIDSON TTTST ropwupil Oliver Wendell Holmes was once asked when the education of a child should begin. "Two hundred fifty years before he is born," was the reply of that witty and kind philosopher and poet. Uxbridge township may well be proud of the fact that her foundations were laid by men and women whose lives and backgrounds were firmly rooted in the rudiments of true fortitude and stability. Yet, it is true that this township has passed through eras of darkness and eras of light.. Times have not always been hard nor have they always been prosperous. A people must learn to gird against adversity and to stand prosperity. Uxbridge township is a comparative example of this fact. History has revealed and exemplified again and again what happens to peoples and nations that allow wealth and pride to run their course. This probably may be best understood by quoting a few lines from Oliver Goldsmith's poem, The Deserted Village. "Ill fares the land, to hast­ ening ills a prey, where wealth accumulates, and men decay; princes and lords may flourish, or may fade: A breath can make them, as a breath has made: But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, when once destroyed, can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, when every rood of ground maintained its man; for him light labor spread her wholesome store, just gave what life required, but gave no more; his best companions, innocence and health; and his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train usurp the land, and dispossess the swain; along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose; and every want to opulence allied, and every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, those calm desires that asked but little room, those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, lived in each look, and brightened all the green: These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, and rural mirth and manners are no more." A spirit of adventure and service out of all proportion to any hope of personal gain must at times possess an individual. I have tried in this brief outline to give all their proper space, yet knowing that that could not be done, I have attempted to treat everyone with malice toward none and with kind consideration for all. In so brief a summary it is not possible to bring forth all that has happened throughout the past few decades. The unfolded Record of Time will paint and engrave the lasting memorial to the undaunted pioneers and builders of Uxbridge. At this time, I want to thank all that have contributed to this work, and as a bibliography would be too extensive, I want it here known that many have generously helped to make this outline possible. R. T. ARVIDSON A Letter \ ome James W. Foley (1874-1939) (North Dakota's Poet) Like to come and see you, daddy, and perhaps I will some day; Like to come back East and visit; but I wouldn't care to stay. Glad you're doing well, and happy; glad you like your country best, But for me, I always hunger for the freedom of the West. There's a wholesomeness about it that I couldn't quite explain; Once you breathe this air you love it and you long for it again; There's a tie you can't dissever in the splendor of its sky— It's just home to you forever and I can't just tell you why. It's so big and broad and boundless and its heaven is so blue, And the mettle of its people always rings so clear and true; And its billowed acres quiver like the shudder of the sea And its waves roll, rich and golden, in upon the shore for me. Why, your farm and all the others that we used to think so fine Wouldn't—lump 'em all together—make a corner lot of mine; And your old red clover pasture, with its gate of fence rails barred, Why, it wouldn't make a grass plot in our district school house yard. Not a foot has touched its prairies but is longing to return, Not an eye has seen the sunset on its western heavens burn But looks back in hungry yearning, with the memory grown dim, And the zephyr of its prairies breathes the cadence of a hymn That is sweet and full of promise as the "Beulah Land" we knew When we used to sit together in the queer, old-fashioned pew, And at eventide the glory of the sun and sky and sod Bids me bare my head in homage and in gratitude to God. Yes I love you, Daddy, love you with a heart that's true as steel, But'there's something in Dakota, makes you live and breathe and feel; Makes you bigger, broader, better; makes you know the worth of toil; Makes you free as are her prairies and as noble as her soil; Makes you kingly as a man is; makes you manly as a king; And there's something in the grandeur of her season's sweep and swing That casts off the fretting fetters of your East and marks you blest With the vigor of the prairies—with the freedom of the West! Jmzdlcatlon To my dear mother, who so patiently and tenderly cared for me; to my beloved father, whose untimely death made life a challenge to me; and, to the youth of America, I humbly dedicate this work. Anonymous Unroll the map of the world. A gay riot of color tumbles down before our eyes. It is cool green, pink, yellow, and watery blue. Perched on top of the green, pink, and yellow patches, which are the continents and islands, most of us spend our entire lives. Like busy ants on pieces of bright linoleum, we crawl around on these patches, while the .water — the blue of the map — washes the edges. Often we think our dry domain is very large, but the blue areas of the map cover three-fourths of the earth's face. Between the continents where we live the water fills yawning valleys, some deep enough to swallow the highest mountains. Up the low edges of the land creeps the water, forming gulfs, bays, and inlets. Even on the high surface of the pink and green spots on which we pass our days, water collects in basins to form lakes. And over the rugged face of the land, water constantly runs. It flows in tiny brooks, great rivers, rushing cascades, and roaring falls, down the grooved cheeks of continents to fill again the broad seas. For ages man feared the moving wastes of water. Perhaps he thought that beneath the dark surface lurked evil spirits or strange monsters. But as his mind grew, his courage too in­ creased. Finally he learned to make a boat, and on Saturday afternoons perhaps he would take his family for a picnic up the river or along the sea. And then he ventured out of sight of land to fish, explore, make war, or seek a better home. \Pabilam You ought to love your native land Uxbridqe Pioneers JACOB KNECHT 1 listoricnl Keview 01 Uxbridqe I ownship In opening this brief word in the great volumes of history, it is but fitting at this time to begin with a quotation taken from the drama, As You Like It, written by the great English dramatist, William Shakespeare: "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts." This history is, as are all histories, a story of human life.

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