« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
THOMAS' F. PORTER. THE WILL IS MORE THAN HALF THE
The claim I make is strong and bold,
The men who scale the heights of fame,
Leaving the aimless throng below,
Are those alone who will it so.
To see by what mysterious skill
Will find that it is force of will.
Aids men some great work to fulfill.
Determination, courage, will.
To paint those forms wbich live for aye,
Deathless in marble, bronze or clay.
To suffer for the true and right;
Or armed a chieftain for the fight.
And yet disprove the same who can,
The care and comfort you can give,
Despite their country or their creed,
Despite the land in which they live.
Are dimmed by sorrow, pain and grief; in Odd Fellowship, and is a Mason, and has
And carry to such souls relief. held numerous positions of trust. He is now principally engaged in real estate and insur- Thy neighbor he whose bleeding feet
Need shelter from the winter's cold ance at Lynn, Mass., where he is well known.
Who gives such shoes or bread to eat
Have a reward worth more than gold.
Who is thy neighbor? she whose way
With thorns and brambles sharp are fraught. I with joy your songs have heard
Go! smooth that hard rough road to-day
And both to heaven were nearer brought.
And soon must fall to depths belowWhy have you so long been spared? Haste! snatch him from that awful brink Please reply; I wish to learn.
And angel bands thy deed shall know.
Thy neighbor he whose honest name
The thrusts of scandal deep have slain -
Fly to him, and in love proclaim
That this world's hate is heavenly gain.
Who is thy neighbor? all who need
The care and comfort you can give;
Despite their country or their creed,
Despite the land in which they live.
LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA.
Born: Boston, Mass., OCT. 9, 1844. When grown to womanhood, Augusta went to Utah with her mother and sister, and was married in Salt Lake City and now has a family of three sons and two daughters. She has been very prominent in young ladies mutual improvement associations, and has been recording secretary of twenty-four associations
Thou, who alone didst watch my bed
Of sorrow, pain and fear:
And death seemed all too near.
When, resting in thy care,
Upon the charmed air?
(As leaves float on the wind,
Its way at last did find.
With all its memories dear?
Life's holy mission here.
Love on its heart had worn,
Treasure alone the thorn?
A loved face turned away,
E'en in that perfect day.
All vain to turn away;
Who walk the narrow way.
Thou wilt not answer no;
For I have loved thee so.
The city spreads its streams of busy life
Unto my watching, dreaming eyes replying, at one time. Mrs. Crocheron has been an oc Banishes loneliness and hushes strife, casional contributor to the Woman's Expon Sense of companionship without its sighing, ent, Juvenile Instructor and other periodicals. Hearts rest from scenes with vexing quesIn 1881 she published a volume of poems en
tions rife. titled Wiid Flowers of Deseret, and in 1884 Re Just within sense of life's sincere endeavor, presentativeWomen of Deseret,a biographical
Just within sight of art's creations rare, work. Mrs. Crocheron has taken three gold So comes the life draught welling up forever, medals and cash prizes for Christmas stories.
As breezes wand'ring through the sunlight In addition to her poetical writings, she has
air, two volumes of prose which she hopes to pub- Gather the freshness from the flowing river, lish at an early date. Mrs. Crocheron is still And scatter perfumes culled from everya resident of Utah in Bountiful.
Mountains that yet are white with winter's ESTRANGED.
snowing, And hast thou shut and locked thy heart Shut out the fair world from my blest reAgainst me? Nay, not so.
treat, Whom once I loved, I ever love;
Out through their riven side a stream is flowI cannot let thee go.
ing. Thou, who hast dwelt within my love,
Chanting a psalm the rocky walls repeat, Winning thy place so well;
'Till in the valley with warm sunlight glowAh! must we say good-by to bearts?
ing I cannot say farewell.
Breaketh its voice to ripples low and sweet.
LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA.
JOHN DOBSON CARROLL.
BORN: MAGNOLIA, N.C., SEPT. 3, 1870. MR. CARROLL is now the editor of the Florida Hawkeye, published at Branford. His poems have appeared in local papers of North Carolina, Georgia, Virginia and Floridy. Mr. Carroll was married in 1889 to Miss Georgia McDonald, of Atlanta, Ga.
Sheltered from winds adown a dimpled hol
low, Earliest suns have waked the leaves of
spring; Here come the robin and the glancing swal
low, Here comes the lark to build her nest and
sing, And here as soon as bud and perfume follow,
Loiters the butterfly on idle wing. Here is my home, low roofed against the
sweeping Of winter winds that spend their strength
in vain; Here may I listen, wakened from my sleep
ing, Close overhead the music of the rain; And with the morning light a welcome keep
ing. Flowers are nodding 'gainst my window
pane. Here are my trees, each has its separate mean
ing, These were for shelter, these for beauty
bought; From far and near my search was long in
gleaning These most befitting the eyrie I had sought, Drawing from out my fancy's farthest screen
ing The real, living, picture here is wrought. Here come the few, one is not long in finding Those who will deem it worth their while and
НОРЕ. . Hope is the guiding star of life
Which leads the luckless wand'rer on, Nor disappointinent, pain nor strife
Can conquer till all Hope is gone; And, with the sanguine, Hope will last
Till human hearts are still'd in death The hopes of life are never past
Till drawn is our last fleeting breath. We hope for greatness, wealth or love,
With all the strength of earnest hearts We hope for life and joy above
And ne'er till death this Hope departs. We never stop to count the cost
Of disappointment, or the pain, But strive to regain what was lost,
And fight our battles o'er again. Thus may it ever be with me
May hope frustrated give me strength My weakest fighting points to see,
That I may conquer fate at length! I'll live in Hope and bless the day
Misfortune made me weep or wail. Success will come to me some day
With Hope there's no such word as fail.
To thread the pathway up the mountain wind
ing, Catching the rapture of the upper air, Worship and joy with sacred friendship bind
ing In a sweet charm the soul may inly wear. Here come the loved, the dear ones who've de
parted, Softly their arms my drooping form en
twine; Here come the sacred, great and noble heart
ed, Softly their spirits cheer and beckon mine; Have I been dreaming? Hide the tears that
started. Ah! would that this ideal home were mine!
THE REASON WHY. Dark-eyed beauty, proud and peerless,
Why should you my heart beguile? Why should I, so cold and careless,
Seek so anxiously your smile? Why should I be always thinking
of your sweet and pretty face? Why am I forever sinking
Into dreams of your rich grace? Why should sleep be fill'd with visions
Sweet and dear, because of you
Such as mortal never knew?
Watch you, even when afar?-
Be the bright and morning star?
Think of nothing else but you
In the darkness, pure and true.
For the reason I can prove -Cupid, with his bow and arrow,
Has pierced my poor heart with Love!
EXTRACT. Say, where hast thou wandered, sweet spirit?
I've missed thee for ever so long; Thine absence and frown did I merit
That I've waited in vain for thy song? Did I wrong thee when, leaning beside me,
I slighted thy voice in mine ear?
My homage when last thou wert near?
Fame built upon by it, MRS. ELLA H.STRATTON.
This sturdy, bull dog grit! BORN: CARIBOU, ME., MARCH 26, 1849.
Your ancestors may have been noble and In 1867 this lady was married to Albion w.
great, Stratton, who served with honor throughout And their virtues may fall unto you. the civil war. Although Mrs. Stratton is chief. These cannot avail if but idly you prate, ly known as a writer of short stories, she has And leave the work which you have to do.
Genius is tame to it,
ALTHINE F. SHOLES.
Born: GOSHEN, N. H., FEB. 10, 1857. This lady is a young writer who has already achieved success with her pen, and gained a creditable place among the poets of the Granite State. Miss Sholes is still a resident of her native place.
MRS. ELLA HINES STRATTON. written numerous poems of merit, which have appeared in the Woman's Magazine, Portland Transcript, Youth's Companion and other publications. She still resides in her native state on a farm at Washburn.
And the plains that 'round them lie,
Outlined against the sky.
As the seasons come and go, (and ward,
Above the world below.
The Frost-king there abides,
That clothe their rugged sides;
In golden summer time,
In majesty sublime.
Or the pleasant sunlight fall,
That resteth over all.
With everlasting youth;
Unchangeable as Truth.
Of noble human souls,
And dark the storm-cloud rolls?
Of care, and wrong and strife,
And live their patient life.
Oh, may our natures be!
Through all eternity.
THE KINGDOM OF HOME.
page, It's titles are grander than noble or dean,
It's influence greater than poet or sage. This Kingdom of Home is a beautiful land,
Its subjects the truest that ever were seen, If the sceptre is in a wise father's hand,
And a loving mother is the faithful queen.
In the contest for glory o: fame,
Success is won by it,
MOSES H. GREENE. BORN: CHESTER, N. H., MARCH 10, 1843. The poems of Mr. Greene have appeared quite frequently in the eastern periodicals. He has been principally engaged in mercantile pur
While yet one more Stands ready by To join this husband fair. A signet ring Around a bone Of her right hand appears:A token dear Of one true friend, Way back these twenty year. Alas, for man, Inconstant man, How sad is thy career! Remember her Who married thee Way back these twenty years. Dear kindred dust, Peace to thy shades, Man's love is not immortal,
MOSES H. GREENE. suits, and also has been correspondent for various publications. Mr. Greene is now a resident of Haverhill, Mass., where he is well known and highly respected.
IS LOVE IMMORTAL?
UNDER THE LINDENS. We wandered there together In joyous years ago; The linden trees above us Were waving to and fro; We watched the changeful shadows Sweep over hill and plain, But never more together Shall we wander there again. We gazed into the mirror The waters kindly gave; And saw the milk-white lilies Rise with the heaving wave: The forest birds in gladness Poured forth a tuneful strain, But never more together Shall we hear that song again. The other day I sought the path Down by the river side, And sad at heart and weary, I gazed upon the tide; The flowers still were lending Sweet perfume to the air, But I remember only Thou wert not with me there. Around me dark and sombre The cypress shadows fell; And bars of golden sunshine With their sweet magic spell, But the voice that in the old time Made sweetest music there; It was hushed away in silence On the still soft summer air. I breathed thy name in reverence, As the words of an olden prayer; With its sweet soothing memory Came to my spirit there. And now with feet aweary I tread the way alone; And wonder if this darkness Will ever know a morn.