SICK-ROOM MUSINGS.

Many dreary years have vanished,

Many friends lie cold and dead,

Since affliction heavy handed

Laid me low upon this bed.

Oh, the work these years have witnessed!

Lisping children, babes unborn,

Now I see as happy parents,

Passing from life's dewy morn.

When in strength I last went walking,
All the land was dark with strife,
War was raging, cannon roaring,
Brothers seeking life for life.
High the star of peace has risen,
Twenty years we've known her rule;

Oh to tread familiar pathways With the friend I love so well; Guided on some sunny morning By the music of the bell.

ABRAM BENNET BREES.

BORN: MEDINA, MICH., DEC. 30, 1841. THE poems of this gentleman have appeared in Signs of the Times, Spencerville Journal, Ohio Democrat and various other publications. In 1874 he was married to Miss Harriet Wilson. By occupation Mr. Brees is a farmer, at Spencerville, Ohio. Mr. Brees was ordained to the Baptist ministry in 1869, and travels extensively preaching the gospel.

HOW I MEET A MAN.

As I meet a man I wonder
What the motive of his heart,
Whether honesty of purpose
Doth its hallowed grace impart.
Whether his good salutation

Is as free from selfish aims,
As his words are full of praises,
When he calls me honored names;
Whether his professed affection
Long will bear the test of time,
And his earnest resolutions

Prove themselves in acts sublime;

Whether truth or whether folly
Will direct his future state,
And his aims be mean and lowly,
Or his acts be good and great.
What the choice of his companions,
Whether frivolous or good;

If, in public life and private,

All his ways are understood;
Whether, when at church in worship,
Vain conceits his mind control;

Or a pure and sweet devotion,
Animates and lifts his soul.

Hush! My Muse, and let me ponder

O'er the lesson thou hast taught; Have I time to judge and censure, If I labor as I ought?

God, I know, hath wisely hidden All the hearts of meu from me; 'Tis enough if I can profit

By the vanities I see.

If the evils of my nature

Cause me deep and constant grief, Greater pain, through greater knowledge, Were a bane without relief.

"Tis enough that men are proven
As their heart and faith are tried;
'Tis enough that God hath promised
That his truth shall be my guide?
Let some holy Censor guard me,
Criticise each act and thought,
That my life and love and labor,
May employ me as I ought.

MRS. MAGGIE MAY DANEHY.

BORN: FAIRFIELD, OHIO, JULY 5, 1862. GRADUATING at the high school in 1880, Maggie four years later was married to Mr. Dan Danehy, a rising young barrister. The poems of

Love thee? Canst thou ask me still If, in truth, I love thee?

Ask the breezes, if you will,

Ask the stars above thee.

Nightly, daily, on the air

Passing soft before me, Breathe I not thy name in prayer To the heavens o'er me?

Naught but breezes fond could tell,

Naught but stars give token
Of those words they know so well,
Ne'er to mortal spoken.
Waking, dreaming, near or far,
Gay, or when I'm lonely,
Of but one my dreamings are
Thee and of thee only.

Life and love are now but one,
I had known them never,
Till with love was life begun,
To live on forever.

Came a presence strange to me,
Never to be banished;
Brighter as it grew to be

Slow all others vanished.

Many footsteps 'round me fall
One alone I'm learning;
Many voices to me call

One alone discerning.

Many eyes there are, I own,

Shedding true love through them; Strange - but just one pair alone

Draw my own unto them.

Many lips unto me speak,
Friendship's faith repeating;
Lips of one alone I seek,

With their gentle greeting.
Many hands there are, I learn,
Fain would truly guide me;

But I only care to turn

To one hand beside me.

What were life, if love were gone?

Love if life should sever?

Life and love will still be one

In that vast forever.

SONG OF THE FOREST. Friend of my friends, the poets true, To thee, in humble verse, I sing, With this my theme, so old yet new No fitter thought the Muses bring. Old, yes, because what year gone by, Caressed by breath of summer morn, Aloft unto the smiling sky

Has not its wealth of verdure borne? And what new year hath other power To sway with sweeter charm than these The trembling leaf, the opening flower, The grandeur of its noble trees? Oh! who is there within whose heart The love of noble manhood dwells, Who feels the thrill of pleasure start When other tongue the story tells Of deeds sublime? with true eye sees The beautiful in art and thoughtDares stand before God's stately trees, Declaring that he loves them not? Companions of our childhood days!

Companions still though grown we be!

, Still through thy leaves the light breeze

strays,

Whispering the same old song to me. And from beneath thy cooling shade Methinks I hear a well known tread Alas! that dreams should ever fade The footsteps of our honored dead. Those who, with calm and thoughtful brow, Communed with thee in days of yore,

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Whose forms, when seen beside thee now, Fond memory doth alone restore. Protectingly thy broad arms bend

Above the cool and waving grass, Nature's fair guardians that attend

The place where they were wont to pass. To-day once more the birds rejoice,

The murmur of the winds I hear, Imagining some gentle voice

Commingling with those sounds so dear. 'Tis here, beneath thy branches free, Spirits of old again appear, Not elsewhere speaketh unto me

In language half so sweet or clear,

The words that fell from poet lips,

In years gone by true words of power, That we imbibe as sunbeam sips

The dewdrops pure from earthly flower. Dear forest! Down thy aisles dim

Soft sweeps the zephyr's light caress; Worthy indeed art thou of Him

Who made thee in thy loveliness. Long may thy graceful branches wave, Piercing with pride the balmy air, Harm ne'er would come if I could save Fit objects of our love and care. But though erect each noble form, As year by year rolls swift along, Thou too, like man, must face the storm, And fall or live to be more strong.

Forever, upward, day by day,

Just as one who, idly wandering
In some forest pathway lone,
Gathers here and there a flower

Chance into his way has thrown.
Stoops, in pleased surprise, on finding,
'Mid the dead leaves at his feet,
Some sweet favorite of the wildwood,
Hiding in its dim. retreat.

Climbs the mountain side to capture,
Where the rough rocks cheerless frown,
Some rare blossom he had noticed
On his pathway smiling down.
Pauses by the sparkling waters,
From the trembling waves to bear,
Some shy water-maiden nodding

'Mong the green leaves floating there.

NELLIE LINN.

BORN: MINONK, ILL., FEB. 26, 1861. THIS lady has written quite extensively for the local press, and has published a little pamphlet of Temperance Poems and Other Recitations. She is a little below the medium height, with auburn hair and blue eyes, and has a wide circle of admirers; she now resides in Liberty, Nebraska.

LIFE'S MORNING.

My heart is light, from sorrow free;
Time's hand hath not yet creased my brow,
I'll dance and sing in merry glee:

The present mine! I'm happy now!
While other's fret, I'll not complain;

Gay thoughts of joy doth fill my heart; -Away, away, all thoughts of pain! Within my life they have no part. Talk not to me of toil and care, That wait for me adown the road: "Twill be enough for me to bear, When I must lift the weary load. So I will laugh while yet I may,

If sorrow then shall come at last I can endure the coming day,

For joy was mine in days of past. Then let me laugh in merry glee!

Away with grief! from me begone! Although we know the night must be; We still enjoy the early dawn.

WANTED.

Men of honor, men of might;
Men who boldly stand for right;
Men who scorn to tell a lie;
Men whom money cannot buy;
Men who never take a drink,
But from liquor always shrink;
Men who never learned to smoke;
Men who do not always croak;
Men who know just what to say,
Where to say it and the way;
Men whom politics won't spoil,
And their reputations soil;
Men who do not cringe to power;
Men - they're wanted every hour.

EXTRACT.

I'm nothing but an outcast,
No mother, home or friends;
My father is a drunkard

And all his money spends For liquor or in gambling, While I am left to roam Why don't some one take pity And give to me a home.