The following letter appeared in a Dear Abby column on October 25, 1999:
DEAR ABBY:
My husband, James Patrick Kinney, wrote the poem “The Cold Within” in the 1960’s. It is gratifying to know that he left something behind that others appreciate. He submitted it to The Saturday Evening Post; however, it was rejected as “too controversial for the times.” Jim was active in the ecumenical movement. His poem was sent to the Liguorian, a Catholic magazine. That was its first official publication to my knowledge. Since then, it has appeared in church bulletins, teaching seminars and on talk radio, listed as “Author Unknown.” If that is done for legal protection, I understand. My family is always happy to see it appear, but we do think the author should be given credit.
James Patrick Kinney died at 51 of a heart attack on May 23, 1973. His content has survived, albeit mostly as “Author Unknown.” However, through the love, devotion, and diligence of his family, the world continues to be reminded of his proper attribution some fifty years after he penned it and nearly forty years after his demise…
The Cold Within
By: James Patrick Kinney
Six humans trapped by happenstance
In bleak and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood
Or so the story’s told.
Their dying fire in need of logs
The first man held his back
For of the faces round the fire
He noticed one was black.
The next man looking cross the way
Saw one not of his church
And couldn’t bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes.
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy shiftless poor.
The black man’s face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from sight.
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.
The last man of this forlorn group
Did naught except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.
Their logs held tight in death’s still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn’t die from the cold without
They died from the cold within.
The Lord sends a command to earth,
His word runs swiftly!
Thus snow is spread like wool,
frost is scattered like ash,
Hail is dispersed like crumbs;
before such cold the waters freeze.
Again He sends His word and they melt;
the wind is unleashed and the waters flow.
The Lord also proclaims His word to Jacob,
decrees and laws to Israel.
God has not done this for other nations;
of such laws they know nothing.
Hallelujah! Psalms, 148:15-20
Have an AWE-full Weekend!
William “Bill” Bacque