166 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. MRS. MARGARET A. CROWL. BORN: CANADA, SEPT. 14, 1849. THIS lady was married in 1869 to Amos T. Crowl, and now resides at Merriam Park, Minn. Her poems have appeared in the Pio MRS. MARGARET A. CROWL. neer, Tracy Trumpet, Republican and the local press generally. Personally Mrs. Crowl is about the average height, rather slender, with black hair and gray eyes. NETTIE. Just a score of happy summers Have passed over your dear head; And you've brought us naught but blessing May you thoughts of self lay down; SNOWFLAKES. Oh! ye tiny little snowflakes Through his hour-glass sure and slow, Leaving not a trace of footprints Of our pilgrimage below. All are mighty! yet how gentle! We can here a lesson find; In the paths of love and duty, Gently work with willing mind. Work! until Life's sands have fallen Through the hour-glass, the last time; And our hearts has ceased its beating, And the bell tolls its last chime. Work until the gentle dewdrops Water flowers above our dust; And the Autuinn winds are sighing A low requiem over us. Then may gently-falling snowflakes Wrap us in their snowy sheen; And our sleep be calm and peaceful Till the Morning" dawn serene. TWENTIETH ANNIVERSARY. In a quiet village Down among the hills, Two hearts were united To bear life's joys and ills. And was cold enough to snow, Some twenty years ago. Their cup of joy has oft been full, And as the years fly swiftly by, That might hunger's keen pang release; The many shall not bow to the tyrannous few, But all men be treated as men! [ing sue--When the poor for their lives shall not kneelO, when is that time? tell me when! Yes, there is a land where the weary can rest, A home for the grief-laden heart; [pressed, A time when true manhood shall not be opNor groan under poverty's smart: [come, A clime where no grief and no sorrow can Where riches all shall alike share! To reach it, with Christ we must enter the tomb; With Him we must pass it,-'tis there. POSTHUMOUS APPRECIATION. Had crushed it to the ground, Lo! when 'twas crushed it fragrance shed, And filled the air around. Men marveled that to plant not fair Such fragrance had been given; Nor dreamed, till crushed, it was so rare And held incense of Heaven. GEORGE RUDDELL. BORN: UTICA, IND., APRIL 1, 1868. REMOVING to Paola, Kansas, at an early age George was there educated, and later attended the Baker university at Baldwin City, passing examination in that institution two years later. About this time George commenced teaching school, which avocation he has since followed. LIFE IS A RIVER. If our cause is what it should be And we'ell find our path clear'd homeward 170 LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. Why should I care for those who gaze. Who never once have passed me by. For human sympathy oft yearns; Yet that in which deception lurks My whole soul rises up and spurns. For peace and truth and love are mine, And wheresoe'er these powers are known 1 walk serene, content to know That I am never all alone. But human eye a limit has Which may not penetrate the heart; And so I clasp my faith more close, And patiently I walk apart. For well I know there'll come a time When I'll no longer walk alone, For in the home that is to be My heart shall know and claim its own. THE ANGEL WIFE. Death's mystery is hers at last. Through mystic portals she has passed Into the limitless unknown,-- The journey each must take --- alone. What was the secret dying brought? How was that icy stillness wrought? What were the visions, floating far, That greeted her from the gates ajar?" For with that heavenly smile of peace, When her pure spirit found release, Bright angels in the azure dome Were sent to guide her safely home. Now to my waiting ear there seems A voice to come, as in my dreams; These are the words I seem to hear From the beautiful soul that hovers near: ..Life in the spirit world is sweet, But needs you, dear, to be complete; Grieve not for that frail form of clay Which mother earth enfolds to-day; ..Nor think that I am gone from you To a far-off heaven, beyond the blue; Thought cannot bind this world, so fair, It's many mansions' are ev'rywhere. And do not think, because your sight Is wrapped in earth's gray mist of night, That I forget my promise, dear, 44 To come again your heart to cheer. .. With soul to soul, and mind to mind, But here we know as we are known!" |