Gems In Verse

i want no stars m beaven to prulilo me, I nood no moon, n. smi tu shino, VThile I have you, gweetheart, l.oshlome, Wnlle 1 know that yon are mine. I Deed not fcar wnate'er 'lotulu me, For straight and sweet my pathwny lies; I want no stars iu heaven to guido me Whilo 1 1,'azo in your dear oyes. I hcar no hirds at twiüght calling, I catch no musió in the streams, Whlle your t'olden worda are falling, Whüe you rhlsper iu my dreams. Every souud of joy eüthrallinR, Bpeaks in your dear volee alone, Whlle I hear your fond Ups oalllng, Wliilo you speak to me, mino own. I want no klngdom where thou art, lovc! I want do tlirone to make me blest, Whilo witliin thy tender heart, love, Thon wilt tako my heart to rest. Elnga must play a woary part, love, TIn-ones must ring wiiíi wilil alarma; But tho klngdom of my heart, love. Lies withiu thy loving arms. - Frederic E, Weathcrly. "Teamster Jim." It ain't Jest the story, parson, to teil in a crowd like this, Weth the virtuous matron a-frownin' au1 chidiu' the piiiglin' miss, An' the gootl old deaoon a-uoddin' in timo weth hia patiënt snores, An'the shocked aleetof the capital stalkin' away through the iloora. But then it's a story that happened, an' every word of it's triie, An' Bometinit we can't help talkin' of the thintis that wesoiiu times do, An' thoiiüh good society coldly shots its door onto "Teamster Jim," I'm thinkin' i here's lots worse people thet' better known than him. I mind the day he was married, and I danced at the weddiu' too, An' I kissed the brido, sweet Maggie, daughter of Beo JlcGrew. I mind they set up housekeepin', two young, poor, happy fools, When Jim's only stock was a heavy truck an' four Kentucky mulea. Well, they lived along contented, weth their little joys an' cares, An' every year a baby come, an' twice they come in pairs, Till thu liouse was full of children, weth their shoutin' and playin' and squalls, An' their singin' and laughin' an' cryin' made bedlam wethin its walls. An' Jim, he seemed to Hke it, an' he spent all hia evenin's at home; He said it was full of musió an' light on' peaco from pit to dome. He joined the church, an' he used to pray that his heart might be kept from sin- The stumblin'est prayin', but heads and hearta used to when he'd begin. So they lived along in that way, the same from day to day, With plonty of time for drivin' work and a little time for play, An' growin' around 'em tho swcetest girls and tne uveiipst, nianliest boya, Till the oíd gray heads of the two oíd folka was crowned with the homeliest joys. Eh? Come to my story? WclL, that's all They're livin' just Uke [ said, Only two of tho girls is married, an' ono of the boys is ÜL-ad, An' they're honest an' decent an' happy, an' the very best Christians I know, Though I reckon in brilliant comp'ny they'd be voted a leetle slow. Oh, you're pressed for timel Excuse you? Sure, VA sorry I kept you so long. Goodby. Now. he looked kind o' bored-Uke, an' I reckon that I was wrong To teil sech a rommonplace story of two sech commonplace lives, But we can't all git drunk an' gamble an' flght, an' rúa olí with other inen's wives. - R. J. Burdette. , Afterward. There is no vacant chair. The loving meet- A group unbroken- smitten. Who knowa how? One sitteth silent only. In nis usual aeat We gave him once that freedom. Why not now? Porhaps he is too weary and needs rest. He needed it too often, nor could we Bestow. God gave it, knowing how to do so best. Which of us would disturb him? Let him be. There ia no vacant chair. Ií he ivill take The mood to listen mutely, bo it done. By his least mood we crossed, for which the heart must ache. Plead not nor question! Let him have thia one. Death is a mood of life. It is no whim By which life's Giver mocks a. broken heart. Death 13 life's reticence. Still audible to him The flushed voice, happy, speaketh on, apart There is no vacant chair. To love is still To have. Nearer to memory than to eye, And dearer vet to anguish than to comfort, wiU We hold him by our love, that shall not die. For while it doth not, then he cannot. Tryl Who eau put out the motion or the smile? The old ways of being noble all with him laid by? Because wo love he is. Then trast awhile. - Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. Perman ency. A lover carved upon a bed of stone His lady's name, and set thereto a rhyme; And on the rock were niarks beside hia own, Scratched by a glacier in primeval time. And yet the p;ussion that hia spirit stirred, The while he cut her fond aud fleetingname, Methinks was more eternal than the word The ice age spoke- tiine's snow against love'a - Richard E. Burton. A Contrast. Ho lovod her, having feit his love begin With that flrst look, as lover oft avers. He made paje flowera his pleading messengors, Impressed Bweet musio, drew the springtime in To serve his suit: but when ho could not win, Forgot her face and those gray oyes of hers. And at her name his pulse no longer stirs. And life goes on as though she hal not been. She never loved him, but she loved Love so So reverenced Love, that all her being shook At his demand, whose entrance she denied. Her thoughts of him such tender color took As western skios that keep the afterglow. The words he spoke were with hertillshêdied. -Helen Gray Cono. One Seashle Grave. Unmindful of the roses, Unniindful of tbe thorn, A reapef tired reposes Among his gathered corn; So micbt I, till tlie morn. Cold as the cold Deeembers, Past as the days that set, While only one rememberg And all the rest forget- But one remembei's yet- Christina G. Rossetti. Alan. O little ant toiling along the ground! You cannot soe tlio eagle oo the wind Soaring aloft; nnd so you go your round And moasure out the earth with your small line, An inch for all inflnityl - Constanco Fenimore Woolson. The DifTerence. Some weep because they part. And Umgulah bi-oken hearted. And others- O my heartl- Iiucauüu they never parted. - Tlioimia Unilev Aldrich. A beautilul Inyout- Flowor beds. Must make a tumblí - The cascade.