Gems In Verse

What do we plant when we plaat the tree? We plant the ship whlch will cross the sea; We plant the mast to carry the sails; We plant the plank to withstand the gales - The keel, the keelson and beam and knee: We plant the snip when we plant the tree. What do we plant when we plant the tree? We plant the honses for you and me; We plant the rafters, the shingles, the floors; "ie plant the studdlng, the lath, the doors, The boaius, the sidin, all parts that be; We plant the house when we plant the tree. What do wo plant wlieii we plant the tree? A thouwand things that we daily see; [ilant the spire that outtowers the crag; W" [tlant the staff for our country'a flag; plant the shado, f rom the hot sun f ree; We plant all these wlien wo plant the tree. - Henry Abbey. Over the Rlver. Over the rlver thcy betkon to tne, Loved ones who've crossed to the other side; The Rleam of their snovvy robes I see. Hut thelr volees aro drowned ín the rushing tide. There'3 one with ringlets of sunny gold. And eyes tw reflection of heavt-u's own blue. He croased in the twilight ray and cold, And the pale mist hid him froin mortal view: We saw not the angela who met him there, The gates of the city we could not see; Over the river, over the river, My brother ötaniLs waiting to welcome me. Over the river the boatman pale Carried another- the household pet; Her brown curls wavud in the gentle gale- Darling Mlnniel I see her yet. She crossed on her bosoin her dimpled hands. And fearlessly entered the phantom bark: We watched it glido from the silver hands. And all our suusuine gruw strangely dark. We know she ia safe on the farther side, Where all the ransomed and angels be; Over the river, the tnystic river, My ehUdhnod'a idol is walttng for me. For none return from those quiet shores, Who cross wtth the boatman cold and pale; We hear the dip of the golden oars. We catch a gleani of the snowy sail. And lo! they have passrd from our yearning heart; They cross the stream and are gono for ayel We may not sunder the veil apart That Lides from our visión the gates of day, Weonly know that their barks no more May sail with us o'er Life's stormy sea: Yet somewhero, I know, on the unseen bhore, They watch and beckon and wait for me. And I sit and 1 hink, when the sunset's gold Is flushing river and hilland shore, I shall one day stand by the water cold, And li.st for the sound of the boatman's oar; I shall watch tor a gleam of the ftapping sail; I Bhall hear the boat as it gains the strand, I Bhall pass from sight with the boatman pale To the better bhore of the spirit land. I shall know the loved who have gone before; And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, When over the river, the peaeeful river. The Angel of Death shall carry me. -Nancy Priest Wakefleld. Criss Cross. If you stick a stick across a stick Or stick a cross across a stick Or cross a stick across a stick Or stick a cross across a cross Or cros" a cross across a stick Or cross a cross across a cross Or stick a cross stick across a stick Or stick a erossed stick across a crossed stick Or cross a crossed stick across a cross Or cross a crossed stick across a stick Or cross a crossed stick across a crossed stick, ' Would that be an acrostic? - Christian Union. Oíd Thinga Are Best. Old things are best. We wander So strangely and so lonely From here to that world yonder, Why not grow fonder and fonder In tried affections only? Old friends are best. Their faces Each year scem dearer, dearer. And glow with new found graces; Then, ah! these vacant places But bring the living nearer. Old homes are be.st. The laughter That tells of chüdhood's ileasures Beneath the ancient rafter Surpasses all that's after And all of manhood's treasures. Old love is best. lts sweetness Makes pleasant sorrow's chalice, And, spite of Time's dread fleetuess, It gains in calm completeness And laughs at AKe's malice. Old faith is best; the teaching Of heart enshrined mothers. What proiits subtle preaching, Or blind and eager reaching For doubt that raocksand smothers? Old waysare best; the gladness Of simpler lives and fitter, Ere wealth had come with madness, Or folly left its sadness. And sin its lessons bitter. Old things are best. The glimmer Of age forbids new choices. Oh, as mine eyes grow dimmer. Faintly across tho shimmer Waft me tlie old, sweet voiees 1 - George Horton. Dlemory. Sweet are the rosy memories of the Ups That first kissed ours, albeit they kiss no more; Sweet is the sight of sunset-sailinc; ships, Although they leave us on a lonely shore; Sweet are familiar songs, though Music dips Her hollow shell in Thought's forlornest wells. -Owen Meredith. Bolltode. If the chosen soul could never be alone Ia deep midsilence, open-doored to God, No greatness ever had been dreamed or done: Among dull hearts a prophet never grew; The nurse of full grown souls is solitude. -James Russell Lowell.