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MOODY CURRIER. BORN: BOSCAWEN, N. H., APRIL 22, 1806. GRADUATING in 1834 with high honors from the Dartmouth college, this gentleman has since received from his alma mater the degree of LL.D. For a number of years he practiced law at Manchester, N. H., and since 1848 has
No, 'twas not companions leaving;
No, 'twas not the sweets of home: Which was in my bosom heaving,
'Twas the thoughts of thee alone. Could I leave thee, vainly striving
To conceal what sighs might tell? Not without the keenest anguish,
Could I utter, .. Fare thee well."
HOPE, . Mary, the night may look black
With clouds, with tempest and storm; But hope cheers the traveler's track,
With the speedy approaches of morn. Mary, the shadows of woe
May threaten to burst on our head; But sweeter the transports shall flow,
When the anguish of sorrow is fled. Mary, mis!ortune may spread,
O'er the prospects of youth, its dark shroud; But hope in its brightness will shed
Its sweet beams of joy o'er the cloud. Mary, th' affections of youth,
And the soft smile of friendship may die; But hope, like the fountains of truth,
Flow down from regions on high. Mary, though life, like a flower,
May wither and fade in its bloom; Hope points to a bright sunny bower,
Through shadows that hang o'er the tomb.
MOODY CURRIER. been a prominent banker. Mr. Currier was the governor of his state in 1884 and 1885 and has filled many other prominent political positions. In 1881 a neat volume of poems appeared from the pen of this gentlemen, entitled Early Poems, which has bad a wide sale and has received the enconiums of the press throughout the United States.
What the tears of anguish spoke,
As they gave the parting look.
Feelings such as none can tell,
Falt'ring sighed 1, ..Fare thee well."
Where my infant lot was cast,
Thoughts of friends and pleasures past;
Where my childish moments flew;
Weeping, sighed I that adieu.
IF I WERE A CHILD. If I were a child I'd sport and play;
I'd rove through woods and fields;
And drink the sweets they yield.
As the zephyrs passed along;
And mock the red-breast's song.
And cbase them from morn till noon:
And catch the rising moon.
I'd find where the streamlets run: (grow, In the meadows I'd find where the fox-gloves
The tall wild grass among.
I'd rise at the break of day,
And drive the hawks away.
As light as the lightest feather;
In the bright and sunny weather.
To prattle and laugh and play; (knee, Then at eve to be rocked on my mother's And sleep my cares away.
LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA.
REV, JAMES H. EDWARDS.
BORN: COLUMBUS, IND., MARCH 16, 1839. REARED on a farm, James continued on it until 1862, when he entered the Union army, serving in the Army of the Tennessee about three years. He then went to school and taught in the schools for about ten years. Afterward Mr. Edwards entered the ministry, and ever since has been actively engaged in it, serving
And feel not to him 'tis wrong,
Shameful wrong, who, turning Quick away with soulless song
From the anguish burning,
Feeling naught of pity?
Debts of sun-lit Sympathy!
CHRISTMAS CAROL. Do you hear those silver chimes,
Ringing out so loud and clear! Yes; 'tis merry Christmas times,
Gayest times of all the year:
Sing the songs that Christmas brings;
Over Santa Claus' things.
Cheery words to them be said, Blessed joys their spirits own,
As they dance in happy tread: Once a year these gladsome scenes
Bring to them their welcome cheer. Drive away what intervenes,
If it mar their pleasures dear: Be one day in every year
Consecrated to their glee. Christmas be the children's cheer,
Cheery as glad cheer can be:
REV. JAMES H. EDWARDS. some of the prominent churcbes of the Disciples in Indiana and elsewhere. In 1885 he received a call to a congregation in the city of Melbourne, Australia, which he accepted and served for thirteen months. Returning home via Adelaide S. A., Aden in Arabia, Egypt, Italy, England, Ireland and New York, Mr. Edwards thus circumnavigated the globe.
BETTER THAN A ROSE. A little rose came forth one day, And blush'd in hues of early morn; Its odors sweet were borne away, Where lay one feeble and forlorn. Its beauty made the spirit glad, And help'd to cheer a lonely hour: Its fragrance sooth'd away the sad And dreary gloom with silent pow'r. A fretful wind broke off its stem, (Its hues impal'd, its odors ceas'd,) And, dropping down, it soon became, of things that were, the very least.
Wrung from hearts forsaken;
When the soul's o'ertaken
See the sets of jewel,
From a cause so cruel;.
Wrings when hearts are broken; Witness rising up the flame
Which conscious guilt betoken;
So, too, a little child was born,
ELWOOD ELDENNE SMALL.
BORN: MARSHALL, Mich., JULY 22, 1869. ATTENDING the high schools of Marshall and Valparaiso, Elwood later took a literary course in the University of Chicago, which institution conferred upon him the degree of Bach: elor of Literature. A printer by trade, Mr. Small drifted into journalism and has pub.
And a woman fair,
With golden hair, My wife, who is watching, half-beck'ning me. And I do not mourn that I leave her there,
Away from the dust and heat Of the path I trod, with my burdensome load
Of trouble and pain,
While my throbbing brain Aches, as I plod on with faltering feet. No. It is far better as it is.
My life may be lonely and drear;
From far above,-
And turn its treasures o'er,
To days of the happy yore.
I find, -Oh, pity me,
I ne'er thought more to see.
Pinned to a parchment white,
Expect me by to-night,
Your Harry.” That is all.
At Love's impassioned call!
Again that summer day,
Which I thought would last alway.
Forgotten long ago,
Oh, God! The pain and woe.
Worth more than love, true and pure, And in the pride of vanity, bowed
To the tempter's golden lure.
ELWOOD ELDENNE SMALL. lished various periodicals. His poems bave appeared in the Chicago Times and InterOcean, Cosmopolite of Cincinnati, and other prominent papers. In 1880 a small collection of the poems of Mr. Small were published under the title of Rhymes with Reason and without, a work which received favorable mention.
THE MIGHT HAVE BEEN.” Oh, the .. Might Have Been" is a lovely path,
Decked out with the sweetest flowers; It leads from the dust of the world's highway,
Thro' eternal blooms
And sweet perfumes,
But the Might Have Been" path is fair. Soft breezes blow o'er its pleasant length,
And on either side
The lilies in pride Raise their lovely heads in the fragrant air. As I plod in the heat of the common way,
A wondrous vision I see In the .. Might Have Been" of a dainty home,
But I would not that his pretty wife
Should know the heart and vow
For she may be happy now.
Lest, some day, in my ear,
And I be tempted to hear.
From his passionate words away, For the lesson learned in that hour of pain
Cannot be forgot in a day.
GEORGE F. NUTTING.
BORN: MASON, N. H., DEC. 18, 1821. The poems of Mr. Nutting have appeared for the past quarter of a century in the Fitchburg Sentinel, Watchman, and various other
Gift most supernal, may your rays
GEORGE FRANKLIN NUTTING. publications. He has followed the occupation of train inspector and car painter for over thirty-five years. The poems of Mr. Nutting have been well received.
ACROSTIC. Here now I wait, with staff in hand, Encamped quite near the beulah land, Near life's evening twilight, wbich seems Reflected from some land of dreams. Yellow and sere - I now appear Worn and weary. Seventy-fifth year At length comes round. These rolling years Re-echo back their joys and tears. Deep in my heart, a deeper joy Sits there enthroned, than when a boy. Within my heart, e'en then, I found, Oft croppiug out a rhyme, most drowned, Revive afresh, when manhood came, Till rhymes and poems led to fame. Her honors yet I never sought, Led thus along, dame nature taught, Or muses fair, to wield my pen, Not sword or sabre, killing men
A SERENADE. Not a sound was heard, nor a bugle-horn
note, As on a fair cot a fair couple were sleeping, Save, now and then, a snore from the throat of the bridegroom, and bride in his keep
ing. 'Twas a hot summer night, and their screen
ing was thin, And the gauze window curtains much thin
er, The window was up, and here they came in,
This serenade band, now led by a sinner. He now bids them halt, and then sails around, Takes notes, sings a song, and then up and
kisses The bride -- singing anon she hears not the
sound, Nor the band in its chorus of blisses. By a toot of his horn, the singers advance The ramparts unguarded, the sleepers are
snoring ; They strike up a march, as this couple in
trance All the while this sweet music ignoring. Like the zephyrs, they sing the best on the
wing, (I venture, their wings do the singing) On their arms, on their face, in their ears they
will sing, And kiss with their bills, while chorus is
ringing. Oh! sweeter than nectar that Jupiter sips, These honey-moon sleepers -oh! goodness,
Saint Peters! John! look at my arms, my face and my lipsWe're covered completely with bites of mer
We have cries, we have laughter: The phantom that haunts us
Comes silently after. This Ghost-lady follows,
Though none hear her tread; On, on, we are flying,
Still tracked by our Dead; By this white, awful Mystery,
Haggard and dead.
A FLIGHT SHOT.
We'll watch, how since the morning rain The spider sitteth at her loom,
To weave her silken nets again. I know a field where bluets blow
Like frost from fingers of the night, And in a sheltered coppice grow
Arbutus trailers, blush and white.
THE RAINBOW. We are akin, dear soul:
Akin as are the rainbow in the sky, The runnel on the knoll;
We are akin in spirit, you and I. Ah! how serene and bright!
You stand with shining feet,
And lustrous arch complete
You catch the light of heaven and repeat
But I am like the stream
As changeful as a drepm; As restless and as wild
As an impatient child: Yet thankful, dear, if in some tranquil space, I may reflect the radiance of your face.
We were twin Brothers, tall and hale,