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REV. J. K. MASON, D. D.
BORN: BETHEL, ME., SEPT. 20, 1817. This gentleman received his education in Bowdoin College and Bangor Theological Seminary, and was ordained a Congregational minister in 1849. He was married the same year to Miss Susanna R. Twitchell, by whom he has several children now grown to
Waste it not in idle dreams;
For the moments
Swiftly passing, Bring you to th' Eternal Shore:
Near that Future,
Jesus helps for You will dwell in Evermore.
Thou lamb divine;
Thine - wholly thine!
Thro' life's dark way. Let me behold thy face, And live in thine embrace; Nor fail of thy rich grace.
Be thou my stay!
Till victory's won.
In thine own blood.
Borne for a world! How glorious is the throne, Whereon .. Thou art sat down:" O welcome me, thine own!
Jesus - my Lord.
maturity. The Rev. J. K. Mason has filled pastorates at Hamden Congregational church for sixteen years; Thomaston for thirteen years; nine years at Fryeburg, and is now pastor of the Congregational church at Herndon, Va. This minister has also been chaplain of the Maine State prison; overseer of Bowdoin College for twenty-five years, and also one oi the class examiners, besides serving on other important committees. In 1872 Mr. Mason was the Maine commissioner in the International Penitentiary Congress held in London, after the adjournment of which he made the tour of Europe. He has also been honored with other positions of trust.
What is Life?"
Then improve it;
FOR A LADY'S ALBUM. I'm a book! and I've pages fair, Having lids that are tinted with colors rare; I am white, nor black, nor red, nor green, And shall afford no sanctum for anyone's spleen,
Nor a line for a flatterer's pen. I'm a gift! and I've language true, From a heart transparent as crystal dew. I am yellow, nor brown, nor gray, I ween, And contain no corner for anything mean;
Nor a page for what is vain,
MARY ELLA NOBLE. BORN: LOUISBURG, N. C., JAN. 3, 1865. The subject of this sketch follows the profession of school teaching, and is a resident of Athens, Ga. Her poems bave appeared in
That thrills through my bosom and all my
heart stirs; -
Says to whom 'tis belonging, [hers. And I know the sweet voice and its music are
And I am her vassal
Who lives in this castle, bnd she, my dear sovereign, whose rule can
Her heart is my treasure,-
Will it fall with the gloaming?
With the night that is coming? Oh! Prophet of Amours, Oh! say'twill not be,
For if it fall over,
I pray that it cover,
MARY ELLA NOBLE. the Atlanta Constitution, the New Orleans Picayune, the Richmond Dispatch, and other publications. Miss Noble hopes to publish her poems in book-form in the near future.
A CASTLE IN THE AIR.
My restless brain dances,
Of hopes it is builded,
With dreams it is gilded, This castle of air in the summer sunshine.
Like as perfumed odors
Through ivory pagodas,
That light up each story, [her. And fill all my castle with sweet thoughts of
I see with each vision
[blur: Just one that is perfect without blemish or
It hangs on each ceiling,
Of worshipful feeling,
As silver bells ringing,
THE FAR PASTURE. There are Water-cress and Brindle and Bess, But where is my Bonnie Kate?
Though I am to mind her,
Nowhere can I find her, And now it is growing late. Over the meadows and through the dark
shadows I have sought her long and well.
At last I have found her,
Tall grasses around her, Adown in the fragrant dell. She had gone astray, and had lost her way In the clover-blossoms white:
The cool, sweet clover
Had tempted her over To the pasture far to-night. I tenderly led her, through valley and
meadow,(To lead and not drive seemed but right.)
'Twas the sweet, white clover
That tempted her over, And who of us always does right? And the strangest feeling is over mestealing, And seems through the shadows to come,'.
As beneath the wide bars
And the silvery stars, Bonnie Kate and I go home. The damp dew is falling, dear voices are
calling:I too, have strayed off from the right;
For the sweet, white clover
Has tempted her over, I'm in the far pasture to-night. But oh! will He blame me, or seek to reclaim If I call to him now will He come? [me?
And over the meadows,
And through all the shadows, Lead His poor wanderer home?
MOLLIE MARTIN. BORN: KNAWHA Co., W. VA., Jan. 17, 1844. This lady has written poems on various subjects - sacred hymns, songs of home, temperance and patriotic songs, which have ap
Sweet little brown-eyed Effie,
Her heart with love did glow, She seemed to live for others,
That's why I loved her so. That sweet unselfish being.
Was like a cherub bright, That winged her flight from Heaven,
To guide my feet aright. Throughout the joyous summer
She wandered by my side,
Into my life did glide.
Oh, playmate kind and dear,
Heaven seemed very near.
Along life's rugged way,
One lovely autumn day.
Over her features spread,
On snowy wings she sped.
And stars their vigil keep,
We laid her down to sleep; While I life's storms have breasted
Through all these weary years, My playmate dear has rested
Secure from grief and fears.
ODE TO CHARITY, OR CHRISTIAN LOVE.
Sweet Charity, fair angel guest,
Come in and bide with me,
Bid selfish feelings flee.
Thy peaceful reign begin,
Come in and bide with me.
My heart with pity glow,
Will I thy alms bestow.
The sorrowing cheer and bless,
MY LITTLE PLAYMATE.
Who made my childhood blest
She peacefully doth rest.
Free as the birds of air,
When summer skies were fair.
MY MOTHER. My beloved Christian Mother, Who had trained my feet to tread In the peaceful path of virtue, Now is numbered with the dead; What a pang doth rend my bosom When I see her vacant chair, Then I turn my thoughts to Heaven, For I know my mother's there. Now my pathway will be lonely, Chords of sadness shade my brow; None to share my joys and sorrows, For I have no Mother now. Safely o'er the waves of Jordan Thou was borne on pinons white To that pure celestial region Where the skies are always bright. Farewell kind and loving Mother Since the Savior saw it best For to call thee home to heaven, There to mingle with the blest. When life's toils all are over Then I hope with thee to meet, Where the tree of life is blooming We will join in converse sweet.
HORACE MCINTYRE. QUITE a few poems have appeared from the pen of the subject of this sketch. Mr. Mc
Tenderly another message by his angel
Love is given, Bearing unto him a pressage of that happi
ness in heaven. That 'twas given with assurance of a heart
as pure as rare, Pressed his life beyond endurance, unto
bliss beyond compare. « Hold," he cried, “ your beauty smites me
with a force I can't withstand;" · Hold," my conscience almost blights me;
by your kindness I'm unmanned. -. Why should you to me, a stranger, such
rare sympathy reveal?" Why should you entail such danger as
with wayward souls conceal?" But through tears and smiles she beckoned
Come up higher, you're not lost!” . Time to you my friend is reckoned; but a
dark vale must be crossed.” Then with innocent expression she explain
ed how it was done, And with frankness and confession viewed
her battles lost and won. Then a mist arose before him, for his eyes
were dimmed with tears, And a shadow hovered o'er him, mingling
doubt and hope and fears; And he prostrate fell before her,
joy I look to thee .. Be my guide," did he implore her. But to
Jesus pointed she.
I am, alas, so weak;" “ All my ways she deftly altered, now I die
she will not speak;” Weak and vile and sad, forsaken, broken
hearted, bruised and sore; ..By her hand my faith is shaken, all her
kindness I deplore."
HORACE M'INTYRE, Intyre is a resident of Ainsworth, Neb., where he is engaged in publishing.
THE JOY OF KNOWING. Dark and gloomy were the days, for sad
were his surroundings, When an angel in her ways, touched his
heart to quick reboundings, He could not tell from whence she came, for
silent was her coming, But he softly breathed her name in his heart
song's soulful humming. Eagerly he sighed in wonder at the mystic
message pouring, Soft as zephyrs – deep as thunder - from a
distant storm cloud roaring. Then again to silence lapsing. In his heart a
prayer upheaving, Bore his soul away enraptured – mortal for
immortal leaving. Back again, to earth returning, all, he pon
dered, is not venalAdding fuel to the burning yearning in his
station regal, For, while power to him was granted, all his
mandates would be vain, Save his life be all recanted and at Jesus'
feet be lain.
Chide me not," she faintly pleaded, for
I'm weak as well as you; Moral strength I've sadly needed - Jesus is
my All, my True – ..To his guidance I command you, turn to
him yet while you may, • And my fervent prayers I lend you-will
you not?-I pray you, pray." Silence reigned supreme, but in his heart he
felt that all was well; On his brow the warmest beam of angel sun
shine rose and fell; Tenderly it firmly drew him toward the
Realm of endless day; And the very hand that slew him tunes his
harp and lights his way.