Yard Sale Poem

Poem from 1877 that I found at a Yard Sale in 1987

Last Sunday, as I went around a corner towards a yard sale, I recognized those front steps and the steep bank. This was where I found a poem, years before, among other letters in a box of old papers. The box was laid out with other yard sale items.

Because the poem was written by a Hancher and was with Iowa items and from the midwest, I thought of the Writers' Workshop and decided to mail it to Marvin Bell. This is the poem as I copied it into a diary in 1987 - Found today (8/30/87) at a yard sale to mail to Marvin Bell at The Iowa City Writers' Workshop

This world seems cold seems sad & drear,

It seems a sea of temporal woe.

Perhaps the Lord hath seen "twere best,

That I immortal joys should know:

All Else than Him seems but a blank;
Life's rugged road seems dark & drear;
It seems as if 'twere - ah! too vain!

To try to think of aught to cheer.

The past has been to me, a blank?

Ah no! Then I was filled with hope;

The present come & seems so drear,

I can but in the darkness grope;

But Lord in thee I'll put my trust,

Whatever evil may betide;

And when my mission here is done,

I trust that thou my soul wilt guide

Into the haven of the blest
Where all is joy, and peace, and love;

where sickness comes not neither death:

Oh! There I'll rest with thee above!

An hour has passed! A ray of hope

Springs on my path, my heart to cheer.

Oh! That the darkness of this hour,

Would cease; and untold joy appear:

Twould bring relief to one who sits,

And watches me with anxious heart;

Who longs to see those joys appear;

And all this misery depart.

Ever yours

J W Hancher
Summerfield, Ohio

1/12/1877

Last Sunday, August 14th, 2011, I reminded the homeowner, a lady, about the letter I had found, years before. That evening I located the event as August 30th, 1987, during my first year in a large one-room apartment with a galley kitchen.

Because of the name Hancher and the midwest location I addressed it to Marvin Bell at the Iowa City Writers' Workshop. In 1987 there was a Sunday pickup at the mail box near the pharmacy. I still remember that the letter hit the bottom of an empty mailbox with a lonesome thud. The mail had already been picked up, it would have to wait overnight.

Then remorse set in. Had I been impetuous to just put on a stamp and mail it, should I have sent it registered mail?

On the phone on Thursday to the International Workshop, which transferred my call to the Writers' Workshop with no letter found, I tried directory assistance and called Marvin Bell at home. He said he tried to call me. I probably was doing the laundry.

He sent the poem to acquisitions at the university library where they would decide if they wanted it or if it should be sent to Iowa Wesleyan. Iowa Wesleyan was the choice.

The yard sale in 2011 was again a treasury. The theme here was beautiful knick knacks, and they were wonderful. When I spoke to the lady, while I was looking through some Nancy Drew books, an old pot-holder weaving frame, she remembered me. I had brought a copy of correspondence I had with Iowa over to her at that long-ago time.

She said on Sunday that eventually they had arranged for more of the correspondence to be sent to Iowa to a Greek living community, a fraternity or sorority.

The return to this same yard sale from twenty-four years before took me across thoughts into the times I have known since then. I lived in five apartments in four old buildings in the two neighboring historic districts from 1974 to 2004 - thirty years of Historic Tacoma. Presently I am in yet another historic Tacoma Neighborhood.