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Whose oil-blotched waters flow between Tow'ring hills that drop upon her mirror.
Adorned in His own holiness,
Who first .. fulfilled all righteousness," True disciples of the Great Exemplar,
Came here to show their love to Him,
By burial in the crystal stream:
The trees that emulative rose
Displayed to their enraptured eyes
A thousand tints of richest dyes, Varied in sweet autumn's gorgeous beauty.
A hymn flowed o'er the water, still,
And echoed on from hill to bill;
Their praise to Him their hearts believed, Even Christ, with whom their souls had risen.
Down into the flowing river,
Lo! the Lamb of God we see,
Take the cross and follow me.
Let me sink beneath the wave;
Hence alone to God I live.
O'er the holy Son of God.
Of his sin-atoning blood.
Now I sink into the grave,
By the life of God I live.
As I merge from human sight,
That the blood has washed me white.
In this ordinance to show,
Even whiter than the snow.
He wills that men should offer prayer,
His humble saints then meekly bowed, Amid the awe decorumed crowd, Richly favored by His loving presence.
Then one by one were downward led
And numbered with the sainted dead, Pilgrims happy in the Lord's approval.
Anew the spirit of their God
Bore witness to the cleansing blood, Making lofty hills with praises vocal.
But some that stood beside that stream
Recalled to mind another scene.
Thirty years had fed along unceasing,
As flows the water o'er that spot,
Where red intemp'rance left a blot
A husband, father, genial friend,
But demonized by liquor fiend, Deeply by this maddening viper bitter,
Unto his home near by this shore,
Then came rum-fired as oft before: Driving thence his own in terror stricken.
Three daughters fled adown the ledge,
And spied the skiff at water's edge. Boarding this they rowed into the river.
To utmost strength they plied the our,
And bastened to the farther shore; Praying God from wrath and waves deliver.
The frenzied came with angry mien,
To drown his children in the stream. Breathing threatening, stagg'ring 'mid the
billows, The madman heedless onward surged
Till in the depth at last submerged: Drowning there, a warning to Alis fellows.
Behold the contrast 'twixt the scenes!
The first in mem'ry sadly gleams,
As flows the water o'er that spot,
Where dread intemp'rance left a blot, Time and tide have passed yet unerasing.
Baptized in spirits from the still,
Led captive by the devil's will,
From thence raised up a lifeless clay
His spirit fled in wild dismay,
But these immersed in Heaven's light,
In garments pure and spotless wbite, Follow joyful down into the river,
The steps of him who died on earth,
To give their souls a Heav'nly birth;
He, dead in sin and lost in woe,
His name dishonored floats along,
They rise to sing redemption's song, Praising Him who gave their spirits freedom.
He builded there a monument
They leave upon that sacred shore
Footprints of Him who went before, And His blessing leaves a brilliant halo.
Behold two ways divide our race,
The road of sin, and path of grace. Choosing this, or that to thee is given.
Both these ways dip in death's cold tide,
And judgment sits on yonder side, Bending that to hell, and this to Heaven.
OBADIAH BAYLY. Born: DEARBORN Co., InD., Aug. 7, 1833. In his youth Mr. Bayly lived on a farm. In 1860 he was married to Miss Cornelia Buck. He then spent a number of years in teaching,
But all through life we find,
Though the mills of life grind slow, Two classes, there are, they always grind;
The lovers of fashion and show,
As wandering too and fro
That conquer and charm as they go.
As higher the gold he piles,
While riches his soul beguiles.
Just like a spider's net,
And now her trap is slily set.
And joined in hand for life
Naught else but care and strife; What then can wean the soul away
From such rude çares as these? The proud, the rich, the gay
Can nowhere be at peace and ease. Gold can not give such share,
Nor yet can knowledge buy,
Such precious treasures hie?
Such high and holy aims,
Though riches wisdom claims. The christian's heart doth yield
Such priceless jewels rare, A fragrant flowering field
Of thoughts both pure and fair, To stir us up to deeds of worth
And garnish our minds like leaven, To wean our souls away from earth
And guide our footsteps up to heaven. Kind reader, do not pass with slight
The thoughts here roughly hewn, For mind and soul with heavenly light
Should have their alleys stored and strewn; Then death though dark and stormy too
You'll welcome with delight, These lights will then be set to show
That heaven is in sight.
THE YEAR'S LAST NIGHT.
A faithful warning sound.
How fast the years roll round.
That slumbered long and low, That earth's last treasures must be bought
With measured beat and slow.
Till busy scenes of life
With broils, tumults and strife,
page That leads us to the goal, That gives us strength with age
To vitalize the mind and soul.
In high and lowly stations,
This enemy of nations.
To thrust at his distillery,
As part of our artillery.
LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA.
NATHAN C. HORTON.
BORN: CHESTER, N. J., Nov. 2, 1869. MR.HORTON taught school when only sixteen years of age, and later graduated at the State Model School at Trenton, N. J. In 188 he entered the law department of the university of Pennsylvania, and for a short while was the
Burst forth and tell, to hill and dell,
The resurrected dead.
With joy be bright and gay;
This happy Easter Day.
THE VIOLET. Sweeter than the lips of Venus,
Fairer than the wood-nymphs are, Is the modest flower that blossoms
In the wild-wood near and far. Kissed by dews and rocked by zephyrs,
Sweetest flower that woos the day, Scarce before we know thy fragrance
Thou hast died and passed away. Hidaen half by leaves, thy perfume
Gentle breezes to us bring, Tenderly we stoop and pluck thee,
First and fairest love of spring.
NATHAN C. HORTON
city editor of the Advance of Middletown. In the spring of 1889 he graduated and received the degree of bachelor of laws. Mr. Horton is now editor of the Insurance News of Philadelphia, but he expects to follow the profession of the law. His poems have appeared in many of the leading publications.
JUST OVER THE STREET. I think it was just before twilight,
As I sat in the parlor alone, I was musing, my thoughts were at random,
Apd all but my fancy bad flown. When a vision appeared at the window,
At the window just over the street,
A maiden exquisitely sweet.
This maiden just over the street,
That enclosed her hull-bidden retreat.
Were as black as the blackest of jet, And the dimples played sweetly and softly
By the mouth of this lovely brunette, Her features were those of a Venus,
With a smile more of heaven than earth, Her cheeks were rose-tinted and tender,
Her face was all radiant with mirth. And her eyes had a wondrous lustre
As they coyly glanced over at mine,
A creature almost divine.
If ever and how we should meet,
Than to see her just over the street.
EASTER DAY. 'Tis Easter Day. Come strew the way
With early springtime flowers; Let peace and joy, without alloy,
Fill up the sunny hours. ur griefs and pains, 'midst rueful strains,
Were buried long ago;
And hearts with joy o'erflow.
In token of the day;
Are out in rich array.
In Nature's 'wakening bed
MRS. A. G. BENNETT.
BORN: WARNER, N. H. Nov. 8,1848. WHILE at school this lady was considered quite a poet, but nothing of importance appeared from her pen in the press until the year of her marriage in 1877. At that time she furnished holiday, anniversary and special poems as occasions demanded, and soon
O sweet the air that summer day
And sweet the wild-bird's singing! But sweeter than the roundelay
Which through the woods came ringing, Was the shy voice so sweetly heard
of one who, with me faring, Was timid as the wild-wood bird,
As wary of ensnaring.
Our skiff was deftly hollowed -
The skimming songsters followed.
Upon its bosom floating!
Which went with me aboating.
No shadows o'er us casting!
It was not everlasting.
APPLES OF SODOM.
Replete with surfeit of all earthly joy,
Bereft of power once potent to decoy, Deemed life a bubble burst, a shore-spent
wave, Too burdensome to bold, too poor to crave,
Mixed as it was with cankering alloy. Lead, trusty Faith, and when time shall de
stroy And blight the buds which once sweet pro
mise gave, Bear us triumphant from the alien shore Where bounteous Nature bears no grateful
boon, And tropic richness chains the sense no more
And rouse us with a grand, inspiring tune, As onward speeds the bark and dips the oar; The way is short! Be bravel Christ cometh
MRS. ADELAIDE G. BENNETT. achieved quite a reputation as a local poet. The poems of Mrs. Bennett have appeared in the Chicago Advance, Interior, Brattleboro Household, Good Housekeeping, Wide Awake and nearly a hundred other prominent publications, from which they have been extensively copied by the local press from Maine to California. She is now a resident of Pipestone City, Minnesota.
A PICNIC DETOUR.
And with the crowd we wended
Alone by nature tended.
So winsome was the weather-
We found ourselves together. We strayed among the leafy trees,
Where constantly were trilling Clear bird-notes wafted on the breeze, Our eager senses filling.
THE PRAIRIE LARK.
LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA.
With one glad, rapturous rush of song
CARRIE GNAGA. BORN: LINDEN GRANGE, IND., JUNE 16, 1867. AFTER attending high school for two years Carrie began her career as a school teacher at
THE BATTLE ABOVE THE CLOUDS. A darkening cloud surcharged with mist,
And chill November rain,
Where erst the foe had lain.
A battle high in air,
Could see no action there.
Of crashing thunder loud,
Above the darkened cloud.
Shot through the purple haze,
With, fearful, anxious gaze.
Upon the frosty night,
Stood victors on the height.
Upon the rocky crest,
The white star on their breast.
How typical thou art
Which rent the nation's heart.
Saw but the war's dark cloud,
Low hanging like a shroud;
Of mighty armies led
With steady martial tread.
Stood Liberty unseen
With set, determined mien.
On the dark night of woe,
And vanquished was the foe.
The white-starred flag beneath!
But leave the sword in sheath.
CARRIE GNAGA. the age of twenty. Her poems have appeared in the local press; and she has also written several short stories, which she hopes soon to publish. Miss Carrie Gnaga is well known for her many accomplishments, and numbers among her acquaintances many ardent admirers.
All our remorse, our care, our grief,
main, And the sorely-tried spirit find a sweet re
After awhile. After awhile the sun will shine,
And the rain cease to fall in a pitiless beat, Life's water's taste less of the salt sea brine, And the thorns grow fewer 'neath the weary
But wait till it comes, as it surely will, There'll be an end of sorrow, sin and crime, Of misery, hatred and human ill,