From 1876: Farewell Sermon of Rev. J. Hazard Hartzell

The following is from 135 years ago today, published in the Hartford Courant on October 2, 1876. It appeared under the heading STATE CORRESPONDENCE.
Hartzell was a published poet, the portrait and the poem below the historical reprint are from his volume, Wanderings on Parnassus, published by Thomas Whittaker, 2 and 3 Bible House, New York, 1884).
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MIDDLETOWN. The Rev. J. Hazard Hartzell closed his ministry here Sunday with a very eloquent sermon characterized by high and ennobling thought, rare beauty of diction, impressiveness and earnestness. His large audience was deeply moved by his pathetic, heartfelt farewell. Dr. Hartzell has been here three years, and has won not only the hearts of his own people but has drawn around him the cultured of all denominations. He goes immediately to New Orleans to assume the pastorate of an independent society. The people of that city are to be congratulated in securing the services of a genial gentleman, an earnest worker and most eloquent pulpit orator and exemplary divine.
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OCTOBER PICTURES.
by J. Hazard Hartzell
1884

The lone woods change from green to gold,
When sunshine fades and browns the wold;
While Summer goes with flowery train,
And Autumn comes with yellow grain,
And takes the vacant throne,
Where changing winds have blown.

The restless leaves of every name,
Are gently fired and soon in flame;
Whilst through the swing of mellow days,
The vales and hills begin to blaze,
Where gone are beak and wing,
And brooklets smile and sing.

These pictures from the master hand,
Are thrilling to the thoughtful land,
As on their glowing charms they gaze,
Beneath the noiseless flow of rays,
Which bring forth, clear and bold,
Their wealth of stain and gold.

Behold, how gorgeous and sublime,
these pictures in the Halls of Time;
Where Inspiration moves the springs,
And Poetry spreads her plumes, and sings
In language pure and free,
Voiced in the minor key.

O Painter great and Artist grand!
While through the hourglass flows the sand,
Till months are crowded into years,
And smiles are washed away by tears,
May we thy works admire,
And strike the tuneful lyre.