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: Resurrected in His life forever. The trees that emulative rose From bank to summit's high repose, Waving in the sunlight's golden glory, 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 hill; Rising upward to the throne of Heaven, This was the song that sweetly breathed 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, There he speaks in clear example, Take the cross and follow me. CHO.- Gently buried with my Savior, Let me sink beneath the wave; Crucified to earth forever, Hence alone to God I live. Now the sacred waters cover, Thus he washed me in the fountain I am dead to sin forever, Here I witness a confession, As I merge from human sight, That the blood has washed me white. O how sweet to follow Jesus, In this ordinance to show, To him who said that every where, 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 fled along unceasing, As flows the water o'er that spot. Three daughters fled adown the ledge, The madman heedless onward surged But these immersed in Heaven's light, The steps of him who died on earth, To give their souls a Heav'nly birth; Buried deep in Jesus' love forever. He, dead in sin and lost in woe, They, dead to sin and white as snow, Both were buried in this river's bosom. His name dishonored floats along, They rise to sing redemption's song, Praising Him who gave their spirits freedom. He builded there a monument Of liquors black and fiendish bent; Casting on that tide a gloomy shadow. 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. LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. 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, and is now engaged in farming in Mitchell county. Kansas. Mr. Obadiah Bayly is also an inventor, having patented in 1857 the first burglar proof time lock ever invented in the United States. THE YEAR'S LAST NIGHT. The dying year wakes up a thought That slumbered long and low, That earth's last treasures must be bought With measured beat and slow. The echo dies not on our ears Till busy scenes of life With joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, Have caught the thought from mem'ry's page That leads us to the goal, That gives us strength with age To vitalize the mind and soul. But all through life we find, 517 Though the mills of life grind slow, Two classes, there are, they always grind; The lovers of fashion and show, And the lovers of cupid's fine arts, As wandering too and fro They search for his wonderful darts That conquer and charm as they go. But luck toils hard with hands raised high, As higher the gold he piles, With heavy breath and sweat and sigh While riches his soul beguiles. And love is building castles tall, Just like a spider's net, She plans to catch him and his all, Can nowhere be at peace and ease. Gold can not give such share, Nor yet can knowledge buy, Though riches wisdom claims. Of thoughts both pure and fair, And garnish our minds like leaven, To wean our souls away from earth And guide our footsteps up to heaven. These lights will then be set to show EXTRACT. Come men of worth through all the earth, Come help us fight with all your might, Now all good song has value strong, Then let us choose the poet's muse, 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 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. EASTER DAY. 'Tis Easter Day. Come strew the way Our griefs and pains, 'midst rueful strains, Now love and life and hope are rife, And hearts with joy o'erflow. In sweet perfume the lilies bloom, The roses, too, with life anew, And every shoot and tiny root Burst forth and tell, to hill and dell, The resurrected dead. Let hope arise, let gladsome eyes THE VIOLET. Sweeter than the lips of Venus, 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, When a vision appeared at the window, A maiden exquisitely sweet. She was fair, was this beautiful maiden, Were as black as the blackest of jet, As they coyly glanced over at mine, And I sat and I thought and I wondered I sit and I muse in the parlor, But I sit and I muse not alone, For I now have a jolly companion, Who quaffs with me all of life's foam. And she is the self-same maiden Whom I erstwhile had longed to meet, But she is now, forsooth, no longer, The maiden just over the street. LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. 519 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 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. We left the dull and dusty streets, We left the busy, bustling crowd- We found ourselves together. O sweet the air that summer day And sweet the wild-bird's singing! As wary of ensnaring. The skimming songsters followed. APPLES OF SODOM. One Tristam pensive, melancholic, grave, 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 hold, too poor to crave, 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 brave! Christ cometh soon! THE PRAIRIE LARK. A carpet reaching far abroad [soars, With one glad, rapturous rush of song O sweet-voiced bird! in joy we stand, THE BATTLE ABOVE THE CLOUDS. A darkening cloud surcharged with mist, And chill November rain, Hung low o'er Lookout's rocky crest, There two contending forces waged A battle high in air, And watchers in the vale below Could see no action there. Only a long, incessant roar, Of crashing thunder loud, Came from the strong held mountain top, Above the darkened cloud. When from the west, a sunset shaft Shot through the purple haze, All eyes were turned upon the foe, With, fearful, anxious gaze. But when the clear white stars shone out. Upon the frosty night, The fair-haired, brave Potomac boys Stood victors on the height. They placed the star-gemmed banner there Upon the rocky crest, The white stars shining overhead, O battle waged above the clouds, Of that o'erwhelming civil strife Saw but the war's dark cloud, To victory or dire defeat, With steady martial tread. And when the morning broke at last, O Goddess, hold thou still the height, Place thou the white-star on our breast |