CRUSH OUT THE LIE.

Ah! one noble thought may crush many lies,
And teach the untaught to aim at the prize,
The richest and brightest that ever was won
By the greatest of mortals under the sun.
Yet what is the prize held out to all men?
And can it be seen by mere human ken?
For without clear sight how can any take aim?
Whether it be gold or a virtuous name?
Boundless possessions of both land and sea,
Or greater still to be absolute, free?
If all men are equal by nature and birth,
Gracious God, look down on this much-cursed
earth!

FOR MOTHERS. EXTRACT.

My sweet little baby, I love you so well!
Hear, listen my sweetest to this little bell,
Oh, how much I love you, no mortal can tell.
Dear me! how much I wish you could even
now spell.

JAMES BUTCHER MARSH.

BORN: ENGLAND, DEC. 14, 1815. THE poems of this writer have appeared in Frank Leslie's Magazine and other prominent publications. He follows the profession of phrenologist, and resides at New Castle, Pa.

BOSS AND KID. BOSS.

And wouldst thou leave me, oh, foolish kid?
You tried to skedaddle, you know you did,
To your shanty home, where the dirt lies
thick;

While mine is a fine two-story brick,
Where folks admiringly gaze as they pass,
And the home is heated with natural gas.

KID.

I know that our shanty is built of slabs;
But my brothers are there catching suckers
and crabs;

And they watch the rabbit and squirrel play,
And go hunting or fishing every day;
And at night they sit by the wood-fire's glow;
Why, boss, I should snicker, I want to go.

BOSS.

Be content, poor kid, 'neath my mansard roof;
Your hut's neither wind nor water-proof;
Besides, we have music of every sort:-
Organ, guitar and pianoforte,

And canaries and many a singing bird
That about your shanty were never heard.

KID.

My mammy, at night, in her corner so snug, Sings "Old Dan Tucker" and Little Brown

Jug,"

And my brothers dance and shout whoop

de-do,"

Thy brothers, poor kid, are away in a ship;
They got into trouble and had to skip.
Stay with me in these rooms fitted up so rare,
With Brussels carpet and sofa-chair;
Such hangings and pictures - perfect daisies,
And marble statues that cost like blazes.
KID.

Have they all cleared out? Is the shanty bare?
But the turtle and bull frog still are there,
And the 'possum still climbs the rocky hill,
And at night can be heard the whippoorwill,
And the owl still shouts "teho-ho-hoo"-
There's no use talking, I'm bound to go.

464

With freshening wind, when laughing is the sky,

And perfumed breath from distant flowers is telling

Of isles enchanted that before thee lie.

Give me thy hand.

Give me thy hand

In storm; in calm, forever,

I have thy heart fast hidden in my breast, For God long since has joined our souls together,

He beckons only on to heaven and rest.
Give me thy hand.

TRUSTING.

Here on this neck of land

I stand.

The ocean breaks with sullen roar,

Its white-capped waves dash on the shore,
And parting, sink to rise no more.
A stormy, restless sea
Taunts me!

On either hand skies, waters meet,
Without one sail my eyes to greet,
While rising tides wash o'er my feet.
I walked with backward tread.
He led

Me through the stretch of fertile land,
Through barren wastes of rock and sand,
And here I wait: wait his command.
Waiting, his love I fully trust.
I must!

I know his hand will set me free,

And though the way I cannot see
I know his love is guiding me.

JAMES BALLARD.

BORN: ENGLAND, JUNE 5, 1837.

THIS poetical lecturer has written about fifteen thousand lines in rhymes, part of which has been published in pamphlet form. He emigrated to Canada in 1856 and settled in America three years later. Mr. Ballard is located at Red Oak, Iowa, engaged in gardening in summer; but in winter he generally goes on a lecturing tour.

WOMEN'S RIGHTS.

In Women's Rights, good poets delight;
They cannot do otherwise;

Many are so kind, and so refined,

How can they rights despise.

Women's Rights is good, and it always should By heroes be defended;

For weaker vessels, wise men wrestle

Wrestle till wrongs are mended.

Wrongs in laws, is one great cause;

Some think they are inferior:

But in many things, their judgment rings
In tones out far superior.

If their judgment then, is equal to men,
And rights men wish to enhance,
Do not dispise, if you love your wives,
But give them an equal chance.
An equal chance will pleasure enhance,
And in pleasure good folks delight;
Then work together, to enhance pleasure,
And uphold women's rights.

TILLING THE SOIL.

When I am dead, and out of sight, The wise will read with great delight;

Some useful rhymes I've written:
And even foes will change their plan,
And say the author was a shrewd man;
And feel conscience smitten.
After years of toil and grievance,
I've found out from long experience;
Since tillage I have watched:

That one acre well tilled,
And with a crop well filled,

Is better than ten botched.

I never gave it such deep thought,
Until poor crops the lesson taught;
That till less land I'd better:
And till it well and at the right time;
And let it have frost and sunshine;

And keep off it rainy weather!

If tillers heed what I do say,
They will find in time that it will pay
To plow land in the fall,

Instead of waiting until spring.
And plow in the rain to get crops in;

Or else not plow at all!

By plowing in the fall, the frost will shake, And again early in the spring, it will clods

break,

And the land will get warm as well: Whoever this poem should happen to read, Will do real well if they take heed; And also their neighbors tell!

THE LARK.

When I was quite a little boy,
My father's pet and mother's joy.
I've laid down in the bright sangfoy;
And listened to the lark in the morning
As he flew out of the sangfoy,
And sang his notes without alloy;
It filled my heart with sweetest joy;

As I listened to the lark in the morning.

I've watched the lark with great delight,
Soar higher, and higher, till out of sight;
But never saw him soar at night,
But often in the morning.

THOMAS H. EVANS.

BORN: GREAT BRITAIN, MAY 16, 1846.

MR. EVANS through the greater part of his life has followed the occupation of a miner. He has dabbled somewhat in journalism, and

THOMAS H. EVANS.

also written quite a few meritorious poems that have received publication. Mr. Evans will most likely follow the profession of journalism in the future.

KNIGHTS OF LABOR TRUE.
Hear the voice of labor ringing,
'Tis the circle freedom bringing,
To the millions weary toiling,
Knights of Labor true.
Noble men are meeting,
Women too are greeting;
And the bands of slavery vile,

To atoms it is going.
Fiercely now the battle rages,
To redeem the rights of ages,
Now being written on the pages,
Knights of Labor true.

Knights, now raise your banners, rally,
To repeal the tyrant's sally;

And with justice as your ally,

Fight for labor's right.

Fight for wife and mother,

Sister, home and brother,

And for justice to our cause,

And equal laws to govern:
Sharpened lance and brightened saber
To defend the Knights of Labor,
And no longer despots favor,
Knights of Labor true.

THE AGITATOR.
Pioneer of labor s freedom,
Nobly leading in the van;
Cutting down the hills mishappen,
Which obstruct the rights of man.

Straighten out the crooked pathway;
By the ancients made to snare,
And they fight the beast of passion
Back into its loathesome lair.

Vile injustice is the monster,

Which aloft its head doth hold;

Threatening us with death and danger,
In its cruel sting folds.

But the heroes in the vanguard,
Fights it with a giant will;

And though wounded in the battle,
They are fighting bravely still.

Though oft stung by foes relentless,
On the front and from behind;
Yet they battle on resistless,

Justice for their cause to find.
Oft they suffer jibes and jeering,
From the ones who would assist;
Oft with ancient eggs they're pelted,
When injustice they resist.
But their march is ever onward,
Elevation is the plan,
Education is the handmaid,

To obtain the rights of man.
Noble heroes, names immortal,
As bright stars forever shine,
And the ages of the future,

Freedom ever will be thine.

EXTRACT.

All hail! to the labor forces,
United firm and strong.

All hail! emancipation

From tyrannies grievous wrong,

All hail! to the bursting fetters

Of party and its wiles,

Hurrah, for the glorious freeman,
While liberty on him smiles.

Then gather ye hosts of Labor,
And marshal your forces in line,
To save from the despots' power,
The glorious ninety-nine.

Cast your vote without fear or favor,
From tyrant or hireling knave;
'Tis better to die as a freeman,

Than to live as a cowardly slave.

466

VIOLA VIRGINIA PRICE.

BORN: BARNESVILLE, OHIO, DEC. 12, 1855. GRADUATING from Mt. Union college in 1878, Miss Viola later received the degree of M. Ph., and in the summer of 1887 she took a course in the study of poetry and literature at Martha's Vineyard. Following the profession of teaching, Miss Price has had charge of the

Sweet as old songs of which we never tireSweet as fresh hymu from morn-awakened lark;

Sweet as low strains that purled from Tasso's lyre,

Her symphonies made Phoebus e'en to hark. The songs of this rare bird were sweeter far Than melodies of heavenly harpers are.

WHEN LEAVES GROW GOLD.
When leaves grow gold and north winds blow,
October's brush makes landscapes glow;
Decks monarch oak in cloak blood-red,
Her graceful elms chrome-yellow spread,
Through ivies green makes ruby flow.

And gentian blue, so loth to go,
Greets golden-rod, while to and fro

Soft fringes wave. Bowed sunflower's head
When leaves grow gold.

In wealth of nuts, glad squirrel chirps low,
Midst sigh of leaves caws luckless crow,
And sad our hearts when comes the dread
Cold snow as swift departs the tread
Of autumn fair - all loved her so,
When leaves grow gold.

A VIOLET.

Your cheeks are so pink

The peach bloom must have kissed

them.

Cupid lurks on the brink

Your cheeks are so pink

VIOLA VIRGINIA PRICE.

department of English in the Normal School of Kansas, at Emporia, since 1881. This lady is a member of the Western Authors' and Artists' club, the Social Science club, and acting president of the State Academy of Language and Literature. She has also written several popular lectures which have been favorably received.

JENNY LIND.

As birds of heavenly plumage soft and rich Tell by bright hues they came from fairer climes,

So Jenny Lind with artistic skill would pitch Her melody to seraphim's sweet chimes.

As pink shells murmur of the far-off sea, Her voice trilled sweetest native Sweden's airs.

Yet such inspiring matins breathed she

That love for her a world entranced still

bears.

With blushes that shrink,

Who wouldn't have bit them?

Your cheeks are so pink

The peach bloom must have kissed them.

SPRING FLOWERS.

O! sweet and charitable friend
Your gift of fragrant bloom
Has brought the spring-time and the woods
To cheer my lonesome room.

It rests my weary aching eyes,

And soothes my heart and brain;
To see the tender green of the leaves,
And the blossoms wet with rain.

For I love and prize you one and all,
From the least low bloom of spring;
To the lily fair, whose clothes outshine
The raiment of a king.

And when my soul considers these,
The sweet, the grand, the gay,

I marvel how we shall be clothed
With fairer robes than they.