JOHN WESLEY COUCHMAN.

Mr. Couchman was married in 1882 to Miss Myra M. Dibble, and is now a resident of Richmondville, Pa., where he is well known and highly respected.

CONFESSION.

You came with wondrous light,
Dark eyes, dark eyes unto me,

Till the large world grew bright-
Dark eyes, ye did undo me -

Strange such untutored things
As soft eye-dallyings.

Should flutter wings, and wing the feverall

through me!

Still, all the flutter never once alarmed meWith all your light you came, dark eyes, and

charmed me,

Dark eyes, dark eyes you charmed me.

You came with wondrous strength,

Gray eyes, gray eyes toward me; Gray eyes, you came at length, Gray eyes, and found me:

Ah, true! the quiet power
Of many a trystful hour

Sorrow, I know thee!

Thy form appears Dim-litten, slowly,

Clothed with tears.

What is thy quest, O thou

Crowned with the pensive brow?
What dost thou bring me now,

Daughter of fears?

Sorrow, shall thy form betray me?
Sorrow, shall thy sweet self stay me?

Sorrow, in thy bosom sway me —
O, sleep sleep!

Sorrow, I hear thee!
Thy falling tears
Flatter me nearly,

Burn, my heart sears.

Oh! thou from depths of sea,
Speak thy full quest to me!
I am inclined to thee,

Sister of tears.

Sorrow, shall thy form betray me.
Sorrow, shall thy sweet self slay me!

Sorrow, in thy cradle sway me-
O, sleep sleep!

Sorrow, I wait thee!

Where the sweet years Kissed me so lately,

Sow thy the tears.

Be thy deep-hiding mist,
Feeling my forehead kissed,
All thy sad song I list,

Mother of tears.

Sorrow, shall thy form betray me? Sorrow, shall thy sweet self slay me? Sorrow, in thy bosom sway me

O, sleep, sleep!

774

GEORGE E. MARKHAM.

BORN: BROOME CO., N.Y., 1849. THE poems of Mr. Markham have appeared quite extensively in the periodical press. He was married in 1874 to Miss Marion A. Davis

GEORGE E. MARKHAM.

with whom he now resides in Weeping Water, Neb. He deals in musical merchandise, and is a teacher of music, having now about forty scholars.

THAT DEAR LITTLE HOME.

The night is cool, the sky is clear, the stars are bright and all is cheer.

A little group of faces fair, are beamy round their mother's chair.

The work is done and all can rest, or stories tell, which they love best.

Their Papa's step is heard to sound, and faces bright are turned around.

Then comes a rush for the first kiss
Such greetings are a world of bliss.
They all receive a word of love
"Tis heaven reflected from above.

My friends, how does this picture take, 'Tis heaven asleep, and heaven awake. We all can have those homes so dear, For home is what we make it here.

FROM THE CRADLE TO THE GRAVE. Was it distant music or the rustle of a wing? Only the voice of a little babe an angel came to bring.

We now can see a gentle mother's tender love and care;

We'll watch her as she guides his feet away from every snare.

As years pass by, we look again and see that little boy,

With curly head and rosy lips and eyes so full

of joy.

And now a heavy hand is raised to deal the child a blow,

Because some mischief it has done,-stop! brute, don't stoop so low.

We'll rush to stay the angry blow, and treat it with disdain,

You shall not harm a single hair; don't raise that hand again.

The curtain falls and time flies by. Behold in

manhood how

The little boy that was so weak, is strong and noble now.

The mother now, so weak herself, looks on her son with pride,

The noble man now guides her feet, as down life's walk they glide.

We now pass on to other scenes, forgetting as we go,

That time goes rushing, whirling by, and brings the winter's snow.

Alas, once more our eyes behold the harvest time of years,

Our babe, our boy, our noble man, once more to us appears.

His curly hair is white as snow, his once straight form is now bowed down, An angel in the clouds appears and holds for him a robe and crown.

Breathe gently now and hear again the rustle of a wing;

The golden harps are touched once more and heavenly voices sing.

'Tis over now and all is still; the earth moves on the same,

And all that's left for friends to love is memory of his name.

MRS. JOSEPHINE B. CRUMP.

BORN: BLOUNT CO., TENN., SEPT. 13, 1841. THE poems of Mrs. Crump have appeared quite extensively in the local press. She was married in 1866 to Col. G. J. Crump, who now

MRS. JOSEPHINE B. CRUMP. follows the profession of an attorney at Harrison, Ark. In person Mrs. Crump is a little above the average height, rather robust, with light-brown hair and blue eyes.

THE SECRET.

When timid lips shrink back from words
That frame in prayer, the soul's desire,
When utter weakness wards off speech
That interchange of thoughts require;
When all we cannot understand,
The sudden grief, the staggering blow
May just be left in the kind hand

That finds a blessing in our woe.
The soothing sense of this dear way
Marked out by him who loves us best,
Must needs be full of love and faith
In attitude of gracious rest.
And the full value of this hush,

The confidence that baffles speech Is more of eloquence to him

Than human ken can ever reach. The unseen pulsings and heart throbs, Are not disguised from divine eyes, But with his talismanic touch

Expand in more than speech implies,

And as the human soul communes

In silence with this courtly Guest, The baser self is ushered out

The message brings its promised rest.

THE GREAT REPUBLIC.
With its mission banner flying
In love's service to and fro,
This grand boat with prow uplifted,
Breaks the rippling waters flow
As it laves the Mississippi,

While the waves on either hand
Kiss the banks that dimly mirror,
Charm of shore or shining strand.
On its track of mercy driving,
Sound of oar and splash of wave
Blend in harmony with voices
Long immured in living grave,
As the spirits seeking Balsam,
That kind nature hides so well
In her shady haunts and woodlands,
Are relaxed by pleasure's spell.
On it bounds with freight and tonnage,
Gathered from life's lowliest ways,
Steering to the goal where Freedom
Like a psalm is sung in praise,
In the odor of the flowers,

In the witchery of the wood, Where the trees in mock defiance Have for ages grandly stood. We who woo the morning zephyrs, And with dewdrops glad our eyes, Never dream how bare existence, In brick wall and pavement lies, Where the chirp and song of warbler, Where the leaping of the stream And the breath of nature's wildings Fill alone the feverish dream. While we laud great deeds of power, That have quelled the Giant Wrong, Let this mission of the hour

Swell with fullness every song, For the hands that dare to rescue Victims from misfortune's blast, Stamp (by time not even canceled) Records sealed by heaven at last.

A MOTHER'S SOLILOQUY.

EXTRACT.
Then I watched the bud of your spirit
Unfold, as hour by hour

It developed in beauty and sweetness,
And rich in the promise of flowers.
Then I caught your soft, soothing prattle,
And laughed at your claiming as right,
With hands all dimpled and outstretched
Everything that came in your sight.

MRS. ELIZABETH R. AMIS.

BORN: HILLSBORO', N. C., 1840.

THE poems of Mrs. Amis have appeared extensively in the periodical press, and she is

MRS. ELIZABETH R. AMIS.

now engaged in writing serial stories. She was married in 1867 to Louis E. Amis, and now resides in her native state in Granville county.

WAITING AND WATCHING. On the shore of a lonely island home

In the Mediterranean sea,

Each night for many a month there shone,
A beacon light over the lea;

And many a wight who saw that light
Would wonder what it could be!
And the struggling ship on the stormy sea
Thro' the surging waves would ride
Safe into the port-for the light would be
A steadfast and faithful guide;
And the sailors would bow from the good
ship's prow,

And say, 'twas the storm-king's bride! But they knew not the fate of the desolate heart

That watched by the light on the shore; And each night would kindle the fire that she thought

Would her brave sailor lover restore. But never again would he come o'er the

main

He had gone from her sight evermore.

But she would not believe that her lover was lost,

Though years had gone wearily by, But ever at nightfall would glide to her post, While the light from her watch-fire rose

high;

And still every night on that desolate height Shone the beacon light out on the sky.

And thus, age after age, through affliction's dark night,

Like the maiden that watched by the sea, Shall the church of God wait, with her faith's beacon light,

For the footsteps that trod Galilee.

And the faithful, who stand on the world's borderland,

How glorious their welcome will be!

For the Master will come in his own good

time,

Though disheartened his watchers may be. And years may roll by and ages may pass. Still the footsteps that trod Galilee

Will in majesty stand on the earth's borderland,

And all heaven and earth shall see!

MORNING.

Softly and quietly comes the dawn,
When the sable curtain of night is drawn,
And the day is slowly, surely born!
The night-bird shrieks her last good-bye,
And the answering cock doth shrilly cry,
For the day-time swiftly draweth nigh!
The sleeping world now yawns and wakes;
And drowsily its shoulders shakes,
And the coming day its burden takes.
Low in the east a golden sheen
Along the horizon is seen,

And the mighty day god leaves his queen!
And now the dawn of toil and mirth
Proclaims the safe and joyous birth
Of light and day thro' half the earth!