Giving forth to the world its treasures rare,
As a sister, a mother, or wife,
And leading man upward to mystic heights
Through the weary pathways of life.
The gem of all worlds by the Deity wrought,
Woman's worth no man may know [harp-
"Til he stirs the chords of her soul's sweet
When a song of true love will flow,
And swell in music's low, rich tones
With harmonies grandly divine,
Awakening his soul, bringing better thoughts:
O, woman such power is thine!

IN MY ROOM.

"Tis midnight hour, and in my room
The lights are burning soft and low,
The tree that stands my window near
Its leafy boughs waves to and fro.
A babe is sleeping sweetly nigh,
Its tiny arms thrown out in rest
An image of pure innocence,

The truest and the very best.

Alone I sit and think of one

With soft clear eyes and loving smile,
Whose accents linger still with me,
And many weary hours beguile.

I can but think how bleak and drear
My life would be without his love,
Which fills my soul with echoes sweet,
A faint resound from choirs above.

I feel a love as strong and deep,

As full and vast as ocean's tides,
Where every pulse but for him beats,
And all my bosom's faith abides.
I've listened to his 'witching words,
I've listened and 1 have believed;
Into my dreams a voice has come
And told me I am not deceived.
But, oh! I feel that if, perchance,

Should come the hour, with his love fled, The world for me had nothing left,

For all my cherished hopes were dead. But no! I've felt his dear heart's beat, His strong arms firmly 'round me press'd, And when his eye's fond glance I meet My doubting soul finds quiet rest. In this sweet faith I'll firmly trust, Should glad joys shine or sorrows loom, And pray we be unparted when Another life dawns through the tomb.

BIRDS.

EXTRACT.

Birds, sweet birds, of lightsome wing,
How ye sport and spring!
Skimming over bank and brook,
Mossy marge and grassy nook,

Where you sit and sing.

THE REVEL OF THE WINTER WINDS. Hark! how the storm is raging without! In the distance it clamoring swells! All check and resistance it sternly defies, Its voice the fierce contest foretells! The trees shake bare branches in quivering dread

As they bow their tall forms to the blast, Or measure the earth with their fallen length And with swift-drifting snows are o'ercast. Up from the depths of the darkness it comes With a wail and a sobbing shout, Whispering, shrieking and sighing by turnsThe wild spirits of air have come out! With a gusty bound, a rush and a whirl, It tears through the firs o'er the way, With the moanings that only sore anguish might know

Hoarse mutterings like giants in the fray. It piles up the snow in great, ghostly drifts; The moon hides her face in despair;

Not one starry beam through the wild-rifted clouds

Falls athwart the night's keen, cutting air! Now away in the distance it shuddering dies Like the sound of a lost soul's woe;

Then it gathers new impulse and violent

strength

. On its errand to blast and o'erthrow. What way will it take on its long journey hence

To wander o'er lands distant far, With its lion-like roar, or its soft sleepy snore, Or clangor of storm-gods at war? [wild, O'er mountain, and vale and dense forest It hisses and sputters along, Sweeping the heights with impetuous force, Or again sings a lullaby song.

Although with the hoarsest of voices it speaks Where the long roll beats on the drear shore, The wind blasts and waves croon a solemn re

JONAH L. ROBINSON.

BORN: SPARTA, WIS., OCT. 19, 1856. AFTER receiving his education Mr. Robinson taught school for several terms. He was admitted to the bar in 1882. Since 1883 he has maintained a law office at Watertown, Dakota, but has devoted much of his time to newspaper work and politics. He was editor of the Daily Courier in 1884, and has since been Cen

JONAH L. ROBINSON. tral Dakota editorial correspondent of the Minneapolis Tribune. Mr. Robinson was appointed secretary of the Territorial Railroad and Warehouse Commission in 1889 by the governor of Dakota. Both his prose and verse have appeared in the press since his youth, generally under the name of Doane Robinson.

A DAKOTA YARN.

Which this talk of a teown that you mean to survey

All over the kentry for miles around here, Makes me rekerlect what I seed one day, When we struck the big Muddy at the town of Fort Pierre.

For Johnny and me with a big lot of rockets,That's what we boys called the bright nuggets and knots,

Distributed 'bout in our pantaloon's pockets Had come deown from the Hills to invest in

teown lots.

Big teown out there? Well now yer jes' talkin',

ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Behold: the great, light-giving sun Arose above the western hills, While eastern skies, with stars bestud, No promise gave of breaking day. Its glowing face dispelled the gloom And filled the land with light and life; And while its warm breath bathed the earth, Rich harvests, planted in the morn, Were ripened at the midday bell. But trait'rous weeds, grown rank and foul In the dank, dark, late-ended night, Withered and dried beneath its heat. And when the well-spent day was done, The rankest weeds of treason slain, The rich sheaves safely garnered in, The great sun found immortal rest.

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. IDA V. JARVIS. BORN: WASHINGTON, D. C., MAY 20, 1844. THE poems of this lady have appeared in the Gospel Advocate, Nashville Republican and the periodical press generally. She was mar

MRS. IDA V. JARVIS.

ried in 1866 to J. J. Jarvis, a lawyer and banker of Fort Worth, Texas, where she now resides. The poems of Mrs. Jarvis have always been well and favorably received.

SUNSHINE.

There's sunshine o'er the mountain

That drives the mist away,
That pours a flood of glory

Adown the rocks so gray,
And lights each darksome crevice
With many a cheering ray.
There's sunshine o'er the forest

That makes the tree-tops glow,
With light from thousand restless leaves,
Where summer breezes blow,

And glancing through the leafy maze
Lights up the sward below.
There's sunshine on the river

O'er many a gloomy cave,
Where pure pelucid waters
The pearly pebbles lave,
And glowing, glittering glory
Crowns every crested wave.
O'er land and sea there's sunshine,
A beaming, brightening thing,

A free and heaven-born blessing,
For peasant and for king;
As flowers for all in every clime,
Their blooming beauty bring.
There's sunshine glad and glowing,
In this happy heart of mine,
Where voices loving, cheering,

Make all with pleasure shine, And sunny smiles from those I love Their brightest garlands twine. There's sunshine o'er my spirit

That cometh from above,

And oft methinks there comes with it
The holy heaven-sent dove,
That whispers in its spirit voice
That God and Heaven are love.

Thank Heaven for the sunshine,
O'er earth, and heart, and soul,
And may that spirit radiance
In glorious billows roll,
Till every heart with blessed light
Grows warm from pole to pole.

AN INVITATION.

379

Come nearer, sweet warbler, don't stay in the

tree,

Come build in the woodbine and sing here for

me,

Its bright, blooming tendrils will twine'round

thy nest,

And night-winds so sweetly will soothe thee to rest;

They'll rock thee and lull thee through all the night long,

If thou wilt repay them, wild minstrel, with

song.

Then come to the woodbine that climbs by my

door,

Thy voice will bring gladness till summer is

o'er.

The dove, ever plaintive, may stay in the

grove,

Too sad in her lay, and too murmuring her love;

Though sweet the low cadence, there's grief in

her song

As if 'twere bewailing unkindness and wrong. Each heart, when she sings, can but echo her sadness,

But songs such as thine ever fill us with glad

ness.

Then come to the woodbine, red berries and flowers,

Will shade thy loved nest through the long summer hours.

Though others may boast of a plumage more bright,

Though colors more gorgeous may dazzle the

sight,

Thy swift wing's too somber to glow in the

sun,

Yet thou art still peerless, thou musical one. With voice rich as thine not a hue can compare,

As it gushes in song so bewild'ring and rare. Then come to the woodbine, 'twill make thee a home

So blooming and lovely thou'lt ne'er wish to

roam.

Come on, sweet enchantress, no longer delay, The woodbine is beckoning this bright sum

mer day

Just see how it spreads out its long, trailing

arms

And offers a shelter abounding in charms. Then when the bright May flowers in loveli

ness come,

The clematis, too, will creep up to thy home. "Twill twine with the woodbine full many a bloom,

And yield thee for incense the rarest perfume.

Then come to the woodbine that climbs by my door,

Come with thy gay carols, again I implore, Come sing 'mid the vine-leaves,- too long you've been roaming,

Come haste to my lattice and sing till the gloaming,

Then when the pale night queen in beauty shall shine

Thou'lt warble her praise from thy home in the vine.

Forever, sweet minstrel, I'd have thee here

sing,

Forever I'd have thy wild melodies ring.

THE WATER LILY - QUEEN OF THE
LAKE.

On the limpid glassy waters,
Sheltered in by many a brakelet,
Reigns the queen of Flora's daughters,
On a crystal inland lakelet,
Where the bending, weeping willow
Forms a canopy of green,
There on many a mimic billow
Floats the fairy water queen.
Rules she in her waxen beauty
By the magic power of love;
All her subjects pay their duty,
'Round about, beneath, above;
Bend to her, who in the sunlight
Cheering them with beaming smile,

Breathing fragrance through the dark night,
Does their slumber soft beguile.
Where the babbling water gushes
By the damp and miry banks,
Thickly 'round her stand her rushes
With their spears in serried ranks-

Watching there to ward off danger,

From her in the willows shade,
Quick to pierce the daring ranger
Who her kingdom would invade.
Rushes, such as guarded Moses

From the current of the Nile,
As the thorns protect the roses
From the spoiler's crafty wile.
See behind her in the distance,
Basking on a floating log,
Quick to bring his queen assistance
'Gainst marauders from the bog,
Basks a scaly alligator

Borne along above the flood,
Fierce as Roman Gladiator
Thirsting for the sight of blood.
In this monster we discern a

Likeness to the Hydra dire
Which, within the Marsh of Lerna,
Hercules destroyed with fire.
Or the Dragon who would grapple
With the hero in his might,
When he stole the golden apple

From the daughters of the Night. 'Round her feet are fishes gliding

Through the liquid glassy waves,
Who through all the night were hiding
In their silent, darksome caves.
How they make the wavelets quiver,
Bearing messages afar,
Flashing outward toward the river,
Flashing like a shooting star.

Butterfly with wings all glowing

With their spots of beauty bright, Comes while summer winds are blowing, Glancing in the mellow light, Bearing words of love and greeting From the blushing hill-side rose, Then some gay-hued comrade meeting O'er the meadow green he goes. Hark! there came a southern minstrel, Who, when winter's reign is o'er, Comes to praise in song his mistress, Like some gallant troubadour; Clad in dazzling, glittering plumage Borrowed from the southern sky, Rivaling in brilliant colors

E'en the rainbow's richest dye.

Cloaked in green and crimson vested,
Came the love-struck humming bird,
And upon her bosom rested
Breathing many a loving word.
Telling her of all his travels,
Why he thus had tarried long,
And his tales of love unravels
With his tireless wing of song.
See the cow so sleek and glossy
Lowing homeward o'er the lea,