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BORN: ENGLAND, JAN. 17, 1822. In 1864 Mr. Parker settled in Pennsylvania at Mabanoy City. He there edited the Anthracite Monitor, the organ of the miner's and laborer's association of Pennsylvania. In 1872 he bought the Mahanoy Valley Record, which he
Than live by rapine proud or guile. Thou'rt useful to the world, and thou Can'st well afford to lift thy brow. Hold up your head!- move boldly on,
To right or left-turn not aside; Keep honor's beauteous path and shun
The devious ways of worldly pride; Then those who may thy actions scan Will say: "Behold an honest man!"
Their lowering clouds so dark and drear; How sweet it is to feel – to know,
That friendly hearts are beating near,
Are mixed with ours — that other eyes
That friendly breast will heave with sighs When ours pulsate with pain or grief, And share the load or give relief. Friendship?thy genial smile doth throw
A beauteous radiance o'er life's path; Makes pleasures greater, lightens woe,
And gilds the dreary hour of death With heavenly beams that softly shed Their light around our dying bed.
JOHN PARKER. published as a weekly paper until 1877, when it was changed into a tri-weekly, of which he is still the sole publisher and proprietor. Mr. Parker has taken an active part in all labor movements, and served four years in the Pennsylvania senate, from 1878 to 1882.
'Neath the old oak tree; Little, laughing fairies,
Ever blithe and gay,
Fritter life away.
That hang upon the flowers; Swinging on the green leaves,
In the shady bowers; And when smiling morning
Sends the night away, Deep among the rose leaves,
Sleeping through the day. Happy, sportive creatures,
Free from every care; Life to them is joyousness,
Ever bright and fair. Oh, to be a fairy!
Frolicksome and gay, Underneath the moonbeams
Dancing life away.
HOLD UP YOUR HEAD. Hold up your bead! what need to cower?
Hold up your face to view the sun; For tho' your worldly wealth be poor,
You've got the glorious form of man. Let that not bend, but proud and high, Erect your head toward the sky. Hold up your head! that gaudy thing
With all its gorgeous pomp and show; That bears the tarnished name of king;
To which base slaves bow down so low. Without the toys that gild it now, Is only flesh and blood like you. Hold up your head! 'tis no disgrace
To show a visage marked with toil; Far better sweat-drops wet thy face
JESSIE LOVE. Oh, sweet art thou my Jessie Love,
As flowers that grow in May; As birds that sing at early dawn Upon the pearly spray:
And pure art thou, my Jessie Love,
No skeptic's vapid reasoning can give the key As evening's fallen dew;
To the wondrous alchemy of wind, and And as the sun that shines above,
rain and sun; Thy gentle heart is true.
No power is there that holdeth this great No ornamental dress, my love,
mystery, Sets off thy maiden charms;
Except that power which dwells upon the No diamonds shine upon thy breast;
throne. Nor bracelelets deck thy arms,
With thankfulness we recognize the Hand; But in that simple dress of white,
Rejoicing ever in His love we reap and sow, Dear maid, thou art to me
And over all this fair unshackled land, Like to some angel goddess bright,
.. Praise God from whom all blessings flow." Some pure divinity.
This anthem, like an incense, swells today,
The hearts of a people, above all other peoMRS. JOSEPHINE WILLIAMS. ples blessed:
And surges like the waves of an unbounded BORN: OTTO, N.Y., JUNE 26, 1849.
sea, THE poems of Mrs. Williams have appeared in
Across our fertile country's grateful breast. Arthur's Magazine and the local press gen- From coast to coast we can hear it throb
along The myriad thankful hearts that join to
raise, Without one broken note, this sacred song,
In our Creator's constant, fervent praise.
have alway;" We are not guiltless if we lighten not our
brother's woe. And he would have us share our joys to-day And thus, - Praise Him from whom all bless
ings flow." Ah many hearts are sad and sore, and searce
can wait, Impatient of the years that lie between, For the summons to that Holy Land, whose
Whose faces wear the light of Heaven's
glow, erally. She is at present engaged in photo
Whose voices echo from an unseen shore, graphing at Centralia, Wash., where she is
Praise ye the Lord from whom all blesswell known and highly respected.
ings flow." THANKSGIVING.
Oh, when our Father's garnered sheaves shall A holy convocation by Divine command,
prove A Sabbath of the year - a jubilee
Our fruitful or unfruitful labors here, An altar offering - at His feet we stand, May we be treasured as disciples of his love,
To tender willing sacrifice on bended knee. And meet the reaper-death-without a fear. The pregnant soil hath travailed – given No .. withered leaves" foretell a dread decree, birth,
No outer darkness"and no depths of woe, The golden harvest yields us as we sow; But with the throngs of Heaven's own minResounds this tribute now through all the
Praise God for aye from whom all bless.. Praise God from whom all blessings flow." | ings flow."
EMILY W. PEAKES.
BORN: HARMONY, ME., DEC. 1, 1847. This lady graduated in 1874 from Westbrook seminary. She follows the profession of school teaching, in which she has always been
Why do they wait? There's one little creature
clover, A strong, tall man; see! he lifts her over The heads of the group that round him stand And she breaks the branch with her chubby
hand. What was I saying?- I open my eyes; . Why, I am the teacher supposed to be wise; One instant ago 'twas a six-year-old Who smelled of the lilac, and my father's
hola Was strong around me; the years and death Were swept away by the lilac's breath.
MRS. N. ELVIRA NELSON.
BORN ABOUT 1848. IN 1883 Mrs. Nelson published in conjunction with her sister, Mrs. Sarah King-Marine, The Garland, a little volume of poems of superior merit and talent. At the age of twenty-one this lady was married to George Nelson, who served in the union army; and with whom she now resides, with a splendid family of two sons and one daughter.
IN SCHOOL- A PERFUME. I close my eyes, and the lilac's perfume Has borne me away from this crowded room. Under northern skies where the flowers are
late And this plumy branch for the June must
wait. A farm-house stands from the road aloof, With the mountain-ash against its roof. There's bridge in front that crosses a brook Where the spotted trout hides away from the
hook; And a winding road, with a double ridge Of grass, comes down the hill to the bridge. Close by the door twine lilac-trees Breathe a sweet good-morning to every breeze. A group of children with happy look Are lingering here with basket and book.
AFTER THE WEDDING - A REPLY. Be still my heart - be still and think,
And hush this fruitless sighing;
The present is replying:
Since on that fatal morning
Without a shade of warning.
Were full of love's repining!
That through my heart are twining.
Around the bridal altar?
That bade my spirit falter?
My graceful, grand ideal -
But now the sad, sad real!
Despite their golden glimmer;
I've seen their dying shimmer.
Let friendship be the key-note That it shall echo back to me, And may the music sweetly float Like sunlight on the sea.
MRS. EMMA E. H. DIEBOLD.
BORN: EAST TROY, WIS., MARCH 35, 1844. The poems of Mrs. Diebold have appeared in the Record, Gazette, and the local press gen
Ah, yes, could I have seen him die,
My heart would cease its weeping; Not even one rebellious sigh
Should chide the grave's cold keeping.
And leaves a friendly token;
And holds my idol broken.
While yet their sweets are budding, Than hide the wounds the thorns have made,
While grief the soul is flooding.
Behind the amber ceiling,
And smile to hide the feeling.
The woeful ache of keeping
Would bathe my heart with weeping.
The coffin in my bosom;
As though 'twere joy to lose them.
Ten years of vainly hoping,
On which my soul is groping.
For thoughts are insurrection -
And waits no resurrection.
MAGGIE CALDWELL. IN 1888 this lady published a little volume of poems entitled Bird Notes from the Mountains. Her poems have appeared in the periodical press, and have received complimentary notices.
MRS. EMMA E. H. DIEBOLD. erally. She resides with her family at Seneca, Illinois.
MY LIFE. Not a single ray of light
Shines into my lonely heart, My life has ever been a night
Into which no sunbeams dart. My past is a desert waste,
Where not a flower blooms, Over which my spirit hastes
Into a land of darker gloom. The future! ah! what is my future?
A wild Plutonian way Where I alone must wander
In this dark and cheerless day.
THE CENTURY PLANT. On the top of the mountain, By the brink of the fountain, I keep record of ages gone by. Around the graves of the dead I oft stretched my head, And can tell every year Of their life till they die. In old Adam's race I have smiled on his face, And I am numbered in the Late generation; Yet few do me know, Though they oft speak my name, And yet I create a sensation. I'm old and I'm rare, Then I am young, and then fair, Yet seldom I young do appear. Then my bloom it goes down With my youth to the ground, Yet on earth 1 shall ever be here.
TO A FRIEND. On memory's golden harp I shall try to touch a string, And wake within your heart, Music that will forever sing;
MRS. HANNAH CORNABY.
BORN: ENGLAND, MARCH 17, 18:22. The poems of Mrs. Cornaby have appeared in the Deseret News, Woman's Exponent and the periodical press generally. She was married
The promptings of her woman's soul,
Is all the law she hears..
By our great Parent's hand,
Woman in every land.
Woman to vindicate.
E'en in this fallen state.
For I have understood,
Compared with being good.
OUR NATIVE FLOWERS. The favored flowers of other lands
Have claimed the poet's powers;
Of Utah's native flowers.
From canyon's rugged side,
And from the benches wide.
And, growing side by side,
Our pleasure and our pride.
climes And placed them near these gems, Their mingled lustre far exceeds
The costliest diadems. The flowers thus brought from dis tant lands
Suggest the thought so sweet,
Together here may meet.
Improve this sacred soil,
Repaying care and toil.
Thou hast so freely given,
To make this earth a heaven.
MRS. HANNAH CORNABY. in 1851 to Samuel Cornaby, who is now a notary public at Spanish Fork, Utah. She published in 1881 a volume entitled Autobiography and Poems, which has had a fair sale.
To wear the robes of state,
The famous or the great.
Nor ever had a fear, But that if woman sought, she'd find
Her own, her proper sphere. I know that woman's mission's great,
Yet comprehends the small, The tiny, trifling things of life,
Important to us all.
Her happiness complete,
With whom she chance to meet. What need for her of Congress' halls,
Or legislative cares,
WHEN I'M HAPPY. Shall I tell you when I'm happy?
When life to me seems very sweet? It is when evening shadows fall,
And we around the fireside meet. "Tis when the children gather home,
From school, from labor and from play; When little tongues all are telling
What they have done or learned to-day. When each want and wish is cared for,
Or little sorrows put to flight, Their childish troubles all forgot,
And every little heart is light. .