LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. For all your bloody fields proclaim ..Ye must be born again." Your task is greater now than when O may ye build a new Mayflower Then saints would put His armor on O. for a Garrison to lead This moral movement on, To stand and wait for God to work, Some great propelling power? Men see this wrong from age to age, O, sluggish soul arise and work You may not live to see The victory of the Prince of peace. * Written in 1880, when the theological, if not all lineal descendants of the Pilgrims, in their then late Council at St. Louis had chosen a committee of twenty-five to prepare a creed or interpretation of the Bible. THE QUAKERS. A sincere purpose to do right A walking by the Inward Light George Fox, the Friend, built on this rock, The building stands secure; They sought the Heavenly Father's care, 71 Though men of peace they charged upon The citadel of sin; Moved by the Holy Spirit on, They conquered foes within. They make no compromise to gain The world's admiring throng; O, Prince of Peace, O God of Love, MRS. HARRIET T. TRACY. BORN: TURNER, ME., MARCH 7, 1817. THE greater part of the life of this lady has been past in California, where she now resides at Sacramento. Her poems have appeared quite extensively in the periodical press. TO MY BIRDS. Little Tam O'Shanter, Oh, why cannot you sing A wee sweet little song Before in comes the spring? The day is so gloomy, And I am so sad, Oh sing me a song To make my heart glad. Yes, when it comes spring And my throat is all right, I will sing merry songs From morning till night. And little brother Fred Will join in my song, And other little birds Will then come along And join in the chorus As we hang by the tree, We will sing of our love To the birds that are free. MRS. JULIA M. KAUTZ. BORN: BETHANY, N. Y., Nov. 16. 1825. GRADUATING at Le Roy, N. Y., in 1849, she took charge of the young ladies department in Logansport seminary. In 1850 she was married to the Rev. W. P. Kautz of the Pres MRS. JULIA M. KAUTZ. byterian church, by whom she has two daughters. Mrs. Kautz has written more or less for a number of years. She also read the C. L. S. C. course and graduated with the class of 1887. THE WEST WIND. From golden orange groves, on fluttering wings, Magnolia-scented, laden rich with balms, When Ev'ning whispers soft to waving palms, Thy spirit comes and thro' the forest rings; Away upon the eastern shore in glee main. O, West Wind! Tell to me of mountains old Whose brows are hid in clouds; whose sides are bare, Why in their hearts are hid the shining gold, And sparkling gems, and mines of silver fair? Why should we care for fame and wealth un told? Do whistling winds to us a message bear? HARMONIES. The green has left the rustling corn, And dying leaves on winds are borne; Sweet songsters trill 'mid southern bowers-- Sad echoes of their songs are ours. The lily's form, beneath the mould LAWS. Distilling the attar destroys the rose, 'ring here, The red wine which sparkles in limpid light, LOCAL AND NATIONAL POETS OF AMERICA. MARY PEARLE. BORN: IRELAND, NOV. 23, 1849. EDUCATED in Dublin, Mrs. Mary Pearle has filled many important positions in different schools and missions, and was held in high regard in the best society in the land of her nativity. In 1881 she came to America with her So shine on me, thou guiding star, And should one doubting cloud arise JUNE ROSES. Red roses of June, in your beauty sweet, I wish you could bloom forever; In shady arbors, where lovers meet. 73 When moonbeams o'er dead leaves quiver. White roses of June, that smile upon all With that far-off look of wonder, Some fairer clime you fain would recall From depths of azure yonder! Say farewell" to the earth, arrayed anew As you shed sweet balm around like dew How best to fill life's transient day Give me the key-note of heavenly love. Then up and away, we may meet above, THE CHILD AND THE LILIES. Threw its shadow o'er her face, Then with a skeptic's logic She questioned soft and low: "How can we consider the lilies, Now they no longer grow?" And I saw a teardrop glisten O'er the sunshine of her eye, Like the rainbow's transient glory On the blue of April sky. ..We recall their sweetness, dear one, And learn from them to grow Each day more meet for heaven In earth's garden here below; And when we are apt to murmur Over the clothes we wear; "Tis well to consider the lilies, Of which the Lord takes care." WILLIAM A. TAYLOR. BORN: PERRY CO., O., APRIL 25, 1837. COMMENCING to write prose and verse at the age of fifteen, Mr. Taylor taught school at intervals for the following six years, at the same time being editor and part proprietor of Perry County Democrat. At the age of twenty-one he was admitted to the bar, practiced law for four years in connection with editorial work, and was also state's attorney a part of the same time. He then became one of the editorial writers of the Cincinnati Enquirer. Mr. Taylor served in the army of the Potomac during the war, after the close of which he resumed editorial work on the Enquirer. He was chief editorial writer of the Pittsburg Post for eight years subsequent to 1868. He next was employed successively on the New York Sun for two years; then on the New York World for a period; next was managing editor of the Pittsburg Telegraph for nearly two years; and then became editorial manager of Columbus Democrat and Times for several years. He is now again with the Cincinnati Enquirer as staff correspondent and general political writer. Mr. Taylor has declined a number of tempting positions, including a secretaryship of legation under President Cleveland, preferring journalism and literary work to political promotion. ALL IN FOUR LINES. Love's labor of life Is to live and let live; Life's labor of love To forget and forgive. THE CURSE OF GENIUS. ON A PORTRAIT OF T. D. JONES, SCULPTOR. The friendless pioneers of Mind. And purified the waiting land. Old Homer begging in the streets Of seven cities, sang in vain; Each thrust him out of gilded gates A hunger forth the arid plain. Old Homer lying in his grave A god was worshipped-turned to dust, And madly fought for, where his songs Gained not the vagrant's dole of crust. This is life's curse-its crowning thornThe ill to which the good is turnedMen gild the lamp when life is gone, Who never trimmed it while it burned; Pile granite over pulseless dust, That died upon the cruel stones Of hunger's threshold, while the trump Is sweeter than Parnassian rills, Where hungering genius droops and dies, Amid the plenty of the hills. What though God paints the bended skies, And clothes the earth with song and sheen, If he who copies dies athirst Amid the glory of the scene! This is the curse of life- to live At the sharp point of mortal strife, To find neglect more keen than scorn, And death a bald burlesque of life. To fill a maus'leum's stately crypt, Blazoned with that which gave not bread The meed of life in mockery, Heaped on the cold, unheeding dead. WILLIAM M. PAXTON. BORN: WASHINGTON, KY., MARCH 2, 1819. EDUCATED for the law in his native town, he removed to Platte Co., Mo., where he still resides. In 1850 he removed to Platte City and spent twelve years in mercantile pursuits. Later he resumed the practice of law, and for twelve years prospered; but in 1872 he became hard of hearing, and it was necessary for him to give up his lucrative practice. Having, WILLIAM M. PAXTON. however, a complete abstract of titles of real I estate of Platte Co., he still, at the age of seventy-one, is industriously employed in the business of abstracting and examining titles. In 1881 he published a small volume of poems of 135 pages, In 1884 he compiled a genealogy of his mother's family, a work of 425 pages. In 1888 Mr. Paxton published a book of poems containing 452 pages, which has attracted universal admiration. THE ROGUISH GIRLS. The girls are dainty rogues, 'tis true, And full of fun and art, sir; For when I first met cunning Sue She sweetly stole my heart, sir; And when the parson came and tied The pleasant nuptial band, sir, The crafty Sue stood by my side And slyly stole my hand, sir. And then she stole my house and farm; It was, indeed, a shame, sir; She made them charming, bright and warm, And even stole my name, sir. Upon the street I used to roam, And nightly drink and play, sir; But now she's fixed so nice a home That there I'm bound to stay, sir. She keeps the house too nice and neat, And everything too clean, sir; And when she makes me wipe my feet I think it very mean, sir. On rocking chairs I have to sit, And back and forth I sway, sir; And when I'm forced to cough and spit, A vase is in my way, sir. I am a prisoner every day, With cords of love I'm tied, sir; For Sue has pilfered everything. And now she's stolen me, sir, But makes me happy as a king, And wealthy, proud and free, sir. HOW ADAM DIVIDED PROPERTY WITH EVE. When man rebelled and was expelled From Eden's vales and groves elysian, He said to Eve, "You now must leave; But you shall have a fair division. So, as your half, I'll give the calf, And keep the cow, whose milk I'm needing; The colt is thine,-the mare is mine; - The calf and colt are broke to leading. "The lambs for thee,- the ewe's for meThe wool is what I've set my heart on; I'll take the hog, and you the dog, And these are all we've got to start on. With sweat of brow you'll have to plow, And earn the bread that's so much needed; Now do not stay, but haste away, For tears are vain and won't be heeded." The calf was brought,- the colt was caught, And in Eve's arms the lamb was taken; With failing heart she made the start, And seemed by God and man forsaken. She stopped to tell her last farewell, In voice subdued and full of feeling,When Tray, the dog, attacked the hog,Who rushed to Eve, in terror squeeling. The cow and mare and ewe were there, And heard while feeding at their manger; Of course they flew as mothers do, To save their offspring when in danger. To Eve they clung, who held their young, And as she went they followed after. Her tears were gone,- she hurried on, And nearly split her sides with laughter. |