JOHN LANDOR KRYDER. BORN: NEW BERLIN, OHIO, DEC. 22, 1833. By self-study, application and observation, Mr. Kryder gathered the rudiments of his education, and at the age of nineteen taught his first school. For several years thereafter he was engaged in teaching and studying medicine. In 1858 he commenced the practice of medicine, and has been engaged thereat JOHN LANDOR KRYDER. until the present time. He has written considerable poetry from time to time, more as a recreation when not engaged in the more arduous duties of his profession; these poems have appeared in many leading newspapers and magazines. Dr. Kryder is six feet tall, weighs 150 pounds, and now resides at Cedarville, Ind. SOMETIME, SOMEWHERE. I think to-night of drifted years, Of life's pages, written in tears, Torn and scattered, sometime, somewhere. I hear the night-wind's mournful sob, Low murm'rous voices speak to me, O'er blurr'd past, and wonder if we, The ears and hearts of brave and fair. And all the wrecks, that they have made Restored again, sometime, somewhere. And wild humors, of idle hours, That filled the eye with castled air, And painted rainbows, thro' the showers, Unfold again, sometime, somewhere. Will broken loves, and severed ties, That strew dead seas, with wild despair. In realms of peace, 'neath azure skies Be reconciled, sometime, somewhere. Fair hope inspires; the eye of faith Invites the wish, and builds the pray'r, Love, there shall rule, instead of wrath, Sighs change to smiles, sometime, somewhere. Yes, on the verge where two worlds meet, And that far shore of prophetic dreams Will be disclosed, when best it seems, BY-PAST TIMES. There are treasures in mem'rys urn; Embalmed with the loves of the past, And we have lived, to know aud learn, Their joys were too fragile to last: Yet while affection's ties remain, Those by-past times come back again. Forever o'er the sea of thought, Like gentle swells of peaceful waves That hide the wreck and ruin wrought, By tempest when it fiercest raves, A heart-calm to unrest and pain, Wonderful sea, Oh! changing tide, MEMORIAL DAY. Tenderly strew over cach grave to-day, The perfumed blossoms of balmy May. And the nameless mounds" by stream or lake, Bedeck them for mother's or sister's sake. What matters it now whether friend or foe, Lies mould'ring to dust in the tomb below. Spread sweet charity's mantle o'er the brave And cover with flowers each hero's grave. Known or unknown, Oh! how many to-day, Grieving, are wond'ring where their loved ones lay; Weeping and wond'ring, they gladly would know, If tribute to their's, some hand will bestow. Bright flowers shed their fragrance o'er the brave, Think, some sad heart, that is far, far away; Think Mercy's Angel will hasten away, Gray. How it would solace the sorrow of years, tears. A JUNE DAY DREAM. This sweet June day Where care cannot my peace betray; Where fairer scenes my senses greet. My footsteps seek O'er looking lake and crystal creek; Of castled hall, So clear and free There comes to me, Soft cadence of past melody; As 'neath the trees, I lie at ease, And listen to the whispering breeze. Each regal note, From silver throat, Of song-birds reach, near and remote; And lend joy to this solitude. Not far away The new mown hay, Sends forth richest, royal bouquet; Makes restful this enchanting scene. The anchored fleet, Where azure skies and landscapes meet, On island rising from the deep; Intrudes with form, or creed, or fear. This temple grand, Perfection shows, at his command; Sweet prelude of Elysian bliss. Drink in, my soul, From heaven's free, o'erflowing bowl; At Nature's shrine, EXTRACT. Again the days are growing long, 'Tis the halcyon month of May, Hail, hail, all hail! "Tis nature's gala day, Ye nymphs of the mountain, Ye sprites of the fountain, That dance 'mid the leaflets green: Come out from your bowers, With garlands of flowers, And welcome your fairy queen. Hail! fairy of spring! Scatter thy flowers o'er hill and dale, And soft be thy touch in the woodland vale, Hail! beautiful queen! Deck with thy blossoms the branches bare, And thy golden smiles bestow; Paint with thy pencil the flowers fair, But while thou art queen thy reign is sweet, And before thy grotto the fairies meet, And the elfins dance with glittering feet, Then spring, bright spring we bid thee hail, For thy brightest beams e'er long will pale, When the violets droop in the woodland vale, And withering, fade and die, For the golden harvest-time will come, And the reapers with sickles keen, Will bring to the flowers their only doom, And lay them low in their earthy tomb, The mouldering sod between. But after the winter snows are past, And gone are the sleet and rain; Scatter thy flowers the woodlands o'er, Cold are the winds of Annandale; But never a cheek is blanched and pale, January's bitter cold; But sprightly youth will scarce grow old, And pine away before its time, If, committing the so-called crime Till they look like stars on a frozen lake, The shout of the coaster-Oh! sport most rare! Little we heed how the buttons go, Till our bosom throbs with fleeting fears; O ye, that sit in the halls of state, That rule our country strong and great, In the halls of the nation may yet be found. Then hip, hurrah! for King Winter cold, The youth and the maiden perchance do meet, And fly o'er the ice with the wind so fleet, O rudest wind! to be so bold, As to kiss those lips with a touch so cold; On the creaking limbs that sway and nod. O Winter King what a royal sway, But the time will come when thy throne will melt, And no longer thy chilling breath be felt; SECOND. Oh! the groves of Annandale! Through whose trees with a whisper low, The summer winds so wearily blow, As when once they were kissed by the wind so bold. They set them down by a running stream, - But here let me say, when they flew apace Who laughed at love when the Winter King Now, no more howls the chilling blast, DECEMBER. Child of the grand old winter, And the ground without is bare and white And we see the oaks with their branches bare, For the loving Prince of earth and Heaven, Then hail! grand old December, We welcome you are9 more! For the memory sweet of a night you bring, That came in the days of yore. |