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With the boys in blue to the front, often
times forsaken; The war over, for better or worse, Nellie was
taken. The first name was appropriate to the very
letter, In search of another, and for the want of a
better, Since for a girl a royal name is difficult to find, Liza Ann given to Batchelder's arts much
study in mind. Clarinda Jane Bartlett appears along in the
train, Fraught with such a name, will ever work
with might and main; With a heart as broad as the name, Cupid
from above For a Sanborn filled with sweet nectar, the cup of love.
(sire, Records old and poets many, sage alike with Gleaning for names, the spell was broken,
Laura Maria Sounded forth, and before the last maiden
corner passed, Tailoress she was, a Taylor truly is at last. Exploring the realms of the dead, the living
inspire, Sir John Franklin, Jr., explored no farther
than the choir, Perchance, charmed with Helen, a fair daugh
er of these lands, Has music enough, since they joined hearts
and hands. Giving many mechanics, the smith and the
wheel-right, But none skilled in oratory, nor teachers of
the right, To this sacradotal office was given George
Henry, Who associated with him in this portion, Jen
nie. Charles Albert, a mighty prince over his house
doth reign; To Frankie, his idol joined, forever to re
main, Not to a heathen God, all hallowed blood of
fering, But at liberty's altar, for freedom laboring. From the royal line of gubernatorial fame, Levi Woodbury, honest and true, derived his
name, Wandering far and wide over western prair
ies vast, Roamed till satisfied, concluded to take Tillie
at last. The parents before the altar consecrate a
teacher, And christened a circuit rider, Holman Kel
ley, the preacher.
The writer, to exalted fame no high claims
can lay, But to parents and Phie, ever grateful tribute
рау. . Myron Lincoln, from Abe's own bosom with
genius full, The thunder and roar of engine and throttle
pull His bighest glory; and Maggie his fond admir
ation, Now flying on his steed o'er plain, sweeping
in rotation. The seventh son in row, failing in a name
more renowned, Almon Curtis, for his Addie, much preference
abound. The Doctor most aptly and potently applies
his skill, The old homestead in Bristol town, ever dear,
to till. Dear parents, of all your long and respectable
train, Only four of your own in old New England
remain; Six are scattered thoughout the great west for
a short time, And one is abiding in Florida's sunny cline. In this world of conflict and change sundered
must we be, But God grant that all may be gathered be
yond the sea. With devout thankfulness, not one is counted
to-day, With the sacred dead, consigned in mother
earth to lay. Sail on thou storm-rocked bark with thy sil
vered locks like sails Floating in the autumnal breeze, borne from
heaven's gales; Thy knitted bows, dew bedecked and all
wrinkled with age, Gemmed with many stars; thy soul's eternal
love engage. May it never tempest-riven be, or caused to
strand Till thy lives in snowy whiteness gain the
glory land. Thou hast almost gained the heavenly port:
Sail on! Night a little longer, then 'twill be eternal
morn. Once more dear ones we turn and linger in
the old home, While our hearts and minds arise to heaven's
dome, That in this dear home your children you may
often view, Till this spot and each other on earth we bid
MRS. FANNY SPEAR YOUNG.
BORN: KEMPER CO., Miss., OCT. 6, 1844. THE poems of this lady appeared quite extensively in the periodical press. She was married in 1866 to Capt. W. F. Young. She has
When th' faith we trusted wags its head. From out that mouth, iny lovely child,
Speak words of wisdom, gentle, mild, O, brow! with intellect abeam,
May thought and act and effort teem With good, and thus commend the ways
Of Him whom Heaven and angels praise. 0, time! deal gently with my jewel,
And safely through temptation's cruel And thorny pathway, lead my child;
Oh! lead her past each wicked wild. I wonder now and strive to see
What in the future thou wilt be, O innocence! it can't be true,
That crime thy heart will e'er imbue, Forebodings vain. My prayer shall be,
My God! I trust it all to thee.
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
EXTRACT. A father looks upon his boy with pride, With prospect bright the future lures his joy And admiration. His intellect he prunes, And with his own strong arm he leads him up The rugged hill to manhood-gives the world His second self, a noble scion, and then, In quiet content, he hails the sweeter calm or life's adieu.
MRS. FANNY SPEAR YOUNG. written both prose and verse from an early age. Mrs. Young resides with her family at Longview, Texas, where she has become very popular,
Old ocean wafts No lullaby so sweet as mother's words, The winds no language whisper half so pure, The brightest flower boasts no fadeless
bloom; And yet a mother's love endures forever. No cruelty, or absence, or frowning horde Of ills can break this tie of adamant, A mother's love is earth's one plant from
TO MY BABY'S PICTURE. O, image! dearer far to me
Than costuiest gem in earth or sea, Than diamonds, brighter, and aglow
With love, those eyes that glad me so. Those lips of coral, bathed in love,
Breathe sweets that lift my heart aboveThis mother's heart such transports share
That every care some bliss doth wear. O, eyes! may never sorrow blight
The sweet young joy that makes your light. May naught e'er dim those eyes with tears, From wrong. O Fate! guard well her years.
Alas! how bitter 'tis to feel
That woe to us is other's weal. Oh! may'st thou ne'er have foes assail thee, And th' ties thou deem dst could never fail
thee Prove broken faith. Our joy is fled,
FAITH. Faith soars aloft on eagle wing,
Undaunted e'er and sun-ward;
In majesty 't moves onward.
It mounts, the highest, the fleetest;
Faith finds a calm the sweetest.
Of mighty God Jehovah,
With joy it spreads earth over.
Where mind and soul are blended Where light and love are joined and blest
In wisdom's feast unended.
MRS. ANNIE H. MAGEE.
BORN: CANADA, DEC. 14, 1850. DURING a busy life Mrs. Magee has occasionally found time to court the muse, and her poems have frequently appeared in the local
Dream on for soon enough thou'lt wake to
stern reality; Be not impatient,- lagging time ere long will
use his wings, Then watch – for only active hands can catch
the good he brings! And, little maid with beaming face and softly
glowing eyes, In which a child's unconscious grace and wo
man's power lies. The path that thou art treading now is fair
with budding flowers Enjoy their bloom, they'll vanish soon with
girlhood's care-free hours.
But life is growing real.
The dreaming youth's ideal.
In earnest, thoughtful mood,
The task of womanhood. 'Tis thus life's springtime slips away, Till, flying fast, each summer day
To man and woman calls; (Time's sands, how swiftly now they run!) Let summer's work be quickly done, Before the autumn falls!"
MRS. ANNIE H. MAGEE.
press. She hopes to publish a book at no distant date. Mrs. Magee is now a resident of Michigan at Golden-Rod Place.
PART I. Just merging from the simple walks of child
hood's merry ways, The youth and maiden, peering forth with all
impatient gaze, The fields of man and womanhood, in glowing
color see, And long to pass the border line,- to solve
their mystery Time passes all too slowly now, scarce seems
to move at all, While o'er the youthful senses, dreams of fu
ture blessings fall: For that future in the distance, ever fair and
tempting lies, Youth fain would overleap all bounds and
seize the glowing prize. 0, thou whose boyish mind is filled with visions
fair to see!
See the aged come!
They are almost home. Through the changing scenes of life, Fraught with joy - with sadness rife, Past the dreaming, past the strife,
Seed-time, harvest gone; Backward turn the dimmed eyes, Back to where the life-work lies, Deeds of light or darkness rise,
Past recall, - they're done! Memories happy, memories sad, Bright or gloomy, good or bad, Noble acts or errors made
Each and all abide; While time's stream flows softly on, Bearing to the land unknown, Sage and infant, - every one,
On its ceaseless tide.
MRS. CLARA M. A. SHORES.
Born: PARSONSFIELD, ME., AUG. 1, 1827. The poems of Mrs. Shores have occasionally appeared in the Sunday School Times, Mother's Journal, and the local press generally.
I AM LOOKING.
Which, stretching far away,
And dims the light of day,
That mist with richest dower
For this lone twilight hour,
Old Ocean's murmurs come,
Joyfully sailing home;
And I were on that sea,
My home once more to see, With my loved ones to be.
MRS. CLARA M. A. SHORES. She has written simply for the pleasure of it. Mrs. Shores resides with her husband and children at West Bridgewater, Mass.
SONGS AND SINGING.
of a thrush or linnet in the dewy morning? Nay immortal is its power, Life on earth is but an hour
(ing. of its endless inspiration, its eternal dawnWords of joy, or sobs of sorrow, Love's enchantment, hope's bright morrow, Calm of peace, or thrill of pleasure Will o'erflow in rhythmic measure, While the soul bas glad existence in worlds
of divine adorning. When thou hast almost crossed the ocean, Passed its heaving, wild commotion, Almost reached the restful, quiet haven of
thy quest, When Jerusalem the golden” In the twilight is beholden, Faintly gleaming through the amber, au
tumn heavens in the west. Take thy lute again for singing, All thy youthful fire upspringing,
Like the swan's thy last song be thy best.
And looking o'er the snow,
Are gliding to and fro,
of that Reaper cold and strong, Who is gathering in his harvest
Night and day the whole year long. To some he seems an angel,
With face of heavenly light; To others grim and fearful,
With countenance of night; But I have only seen his shadow
Fall o'er the loved ones gone, And I've shuddered at his footsteps
As I've heard them stealing on. And yet my heart oft prayeth,
Let the sbadow fall on me; 'Tis not because so radiant
Is that changeless smile I see On the still face stamped forever,
Of the pale earth-freed one, 'Tis not because the sorrowing
And toiling all are done.
My soul desires to win
'Tis freedom from all sin; For those who sleep in Jesus
Are free from earthly stain, And when the shadow falleth
They'll know no sin again.