Gems In Verse

Are yqu sick at the heart and (iiscouragea, my man? , Do yon try to do more than you honestly can? Have you overexerted your body and brain, Byploddingand striving with might and witu mam? , . , Take thou a phial Of Self Denial! Has dyspepsia claimed you for one of its own? Does neuralgia threaten your wits to dethrone? ís there on your whole system a terrible dram? Have you never a moment of f reedom from pain? . ... ... Turn your mmd's dial Toward Self Deniall Are you nervous and restless and never at Is youThead all aflre while your ankle joints freeze? Does your spinal arrangement seem breakfng in twain? Do you feel justas though you were going InBane? , , Give it a triaL, ïliis Self Deuial! - Addison Fletcher Andrews. Just Coinmon Folks. A hundr-ed humble songsters trill The notes that to their lays belong, Where just one nightingale might fill The place with its transcendant Bong. And thus Fame comes, and with its smile A soul with lastinpr greataess cloaks And leaves a thousand else the while To be for aye just common folks. If only sweetest beüs were rung, How we should miss the minor chimes! If only grandest poets sung There'd be no humble Httle rhynces. The modest, clinging viuas add graca Unto the forest's giant oaks, And 'raid earth'a mighty is a place To people with just common folks. Not they the warriors who sball win Upon the battlefleld a name To sound above the awful din; Not theirs the painter's deathless fame, Nor theirs the poet's muso that brings The rhythmic gift his soul invokes; Theirs but to do the simple things That dutj gives just common folks. They are the multitudes of earth And mingle ever in the crowd, Elbowing those of equal birth, Where none hecause of caste is proud. Bound by the meshes of a fate That sometimes a decree revokes; Above the lowly, 'neath the great, Are millions of just eommon folks. Fate has not lifted thern above The level of the human plain; They share with men a brother love. In touch with pleasure and with pain. One great, farreaching brotherhood With common burdens, common yokes And common wrongs and common good, God's army of just common folks. - Nixon Waterman. The Way of It. rhis ia the way of it wide world over: One is beloved and one is the lover, One gives and the other receives. One lavishes all in wild emotion, One offers a smile for a life's devotion, One hopes and the other believes. One lies awake in the night to weep. And the other drifta off into a sweet, sound sleep. One soul is aflame with a godlike passion, One plays with love in an idler's fashion. One speaks and the other hears. One sobs, "I love you," and wet eyes show it, And one laughs lightly, as says, "I know it," With smiles for the other's tears. One lives for the other and nothing beside. And the other remeinbers the world is wide. Tbis is the way of it sad world over: The heart that breaks is the heart of the lover. And the other learns to forget. "For what is the use of endless sorrow? Though the sun goes down it will rise tomorrow; And lifo is not over yet." Oh! I know this truth, if I know no other, That Passionate Love is Pain's own mother. -Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Silent Help. For the faith that is not broken By the hurden of the day; For the word that is not spoken (Dearest words are slow to say): For the golden draft unproffered To the thirst that thirsteth on; For the hand that is not offered When the strugglingstrength is gone; For the sturdy heart that will not Make a pauper of my need; Friend, I mean sometime to thank thee, From my soul, in truth and deed. Waitl someday, when I am braver, I will do so- say so. Now (Oh, be tender!) I am tired; I have forgotten how. -Elizabeth Stuart Phelpa. Tho Old House. I passed tonight the old house standing lonely, The windowa closed. the rooms all dark and drear, The porch deserted where, my love. together We sat in the old sweet days, with no one near. The autumn night wind bitterly was blowing, The old trees on the roof their branches trailed, The long grass in the yard was waving sadly, The tall white pillars iu the moonlight paled. Ah, love, like that old house, my heart is lonely. Sinoe those glad times it has been closed and cold. . . Sweet memories now long dead are buried m ït, Old thoughts, old longings I have never told. But here tonight, with this old house bef ore me, There comes to me a fancy strange and sweet- Suppose those darksome rooms once more were opened. And liglit and life and love again might meet. How joyous would the old house ring with laughter, How gay the scène, with youth and beauty bright, . And though outside the autumn wind is signing, The hearts within are beating gay and light. So if to me you ever should return, love, Then you would open my drear heart again, And with the light of your sweet presence njar me My life would smile, forgetting yearsof pain. -Thomas Longstreet Wood. Not Thon, bat I. And so it comforts me, yea not in vain, To think oí thy eternity of sleep, To know thine eyes are tearless though mine weep; And when this cup's last bitterness 1 drain, One thought shall still its primal sweetness keep - Thou hadst the peace, and I the undying pain. - Philip Bourke Marston. At Last. Wlien flrst the bride and bridegroom wed, They love their single selves the best; A sword ia in the marriage bed, Their separate slumbers are not rest; They quarrel and make up again, They give and suffer worlds of pain, Both right and wrong, They struggle long, Till some good day, when they are old, Some dark day, when the bells are tolled, Death having taken their best of life, They lose themselves, and flnd each other; They know that thoy are husband, wife, For, weeping, they are father, mother. -R. H. Stoddard. The moacst Lover. When Charles caüed on nia iove, one night, He iound the maid engaged in weeping. And though cngaging was the sight, He deeraed it soinewhat out of keeping Because she wiis engaged to hiin. And so he asked her way she cried, And she, with oyes both moist and dim, Drew forth her 'kerchief, and replied: "Dcar Charles, I had to cry, you see, Be-because my mird was in a whirl; Snp-sup-pose you never had met me. And gone and loved some other girl? Suppose, dear Charles, you'd m-married hei Be-before our courtship had begun; Ju-just such a course you might prefer, B-but, darling, what would I have done? ' Charles stood and twirled nis mustache tipa, And rose in his own estimation, Then bent and kissed her on the lips, The vainest lover in creation. "You've got me," said he, with a sigh, Then gave the tips another twirl; "So, dearest, if you've got to cry, Just do it Lor that other girl!" . - Brooklyn Life. My Best. I may perform no deed of great renown, No glorious act to millions manifest; Yet ia my little labora up and down I'll do my best. I may not paint a perfect masterpiece. Nor carve a statue by the world conf est A miracle of art; yet will not cease To do my best. My name ia not upon the rolls of fame; 'Tis on the page of common Ufe imprest; But I'll keep marking, marking just the same. And do my best. Sometimes I sing a very simple song. And send it outward, to the east or west; Although in silentless it rolls along, I do my best. Sometimes I write a very little hymn, The joy within mecannot be represt; Though no oue reads, the letters are so dim, I do my best. And if I see some fellow traveler rise Far, far above me, still with quiet breast I keep on climbing, climbing toward th skies And do my best. My very best, and if at close of day, Worn out, I sit me down awbile to rest, I still will raend my garments, if I may. And do my best. It may not be the beautiful or grand, But I must try to be so careful, lest I fail to be what's put into my hand, My very best. Better and better every stitch must be, The last a little stronger than the rest. Good Master! Help my eyes that they may seo Todomy best. -Julia H. May. Man. Oft rulcd by veoman, though themselves are kings; Grandly keroic, vain in smaller thmgs; They do great deeds- and great rewards they claim; They live for money, if they die íor fame. Mastored by passion, changing íor a freak, Their hearts are soft, but very seldom break. Each for himself creates a mimio throne, And claims a court to worsliip him alone. Their larger minds despise the meaner sins; They strike with swords, they do not pick with pins, Brave to the world, they face home trials UI- They eat the fruit and blame the woman still. - Dorothea A. Alexander. The Day'8 Work. Do thy day's work, my dear, Though fast and dark the clonds are drifting near, Though tiíne has little lef t for hope and very much for fear. Do thy day's work, though now The hand must falter and the head must bow, And far above the failing foot shows the bold mountain brow. Yet there is leít for us, Whoon the valley's verge stand, trenibling thus, A light that lies far in the west- soft, f amt, Dut luminous. We can give kindly speech. And ready helping hands to all and each. And patience, to the young around, by smiling silence teach. We can give gentle thought. And charity, by life's long lesson taught, And wisdom, from old faults lived down, by toil and iailure wrought. We can give tove, unmarred By selflsh snatch at happiness, tmjarred By the keen aims for power or joy that make youth cold and liard. And if gay hearts reject The gifts wo hold- would fain fare on xmchecked On the bright roads that scarcely yield all that youna eyes expect- Why, do thy day's work still. The calm, deep founta of love are slow to chili; And heaven may yet the harvest yield, the work worn hands to flll. -All the Year Round. Reward for a Dream. Lost, in the month of December, An uxquisite Drearn and Belief; It either was dropped on Life's highway, Or stolen by Time, the aren thief . If found, please return to the owner- lts valuo is small save to her: As reward, all her earthly possessions She offers without a detnur. 'Tis so small that the owner eould hold it In one human heart's litlla spaoe- So great, all earth shone wl' '- brightness And looked lik e a. glorip e. If found and relurned i" ,fdor The offerert veward aid: But the Bndor is car Kint delay- Dreams exposé iv wi :i.'iimesfadei j . jieldV Washington. I cali her "Quoeu"-thci la.ly of ui y love- Since, that in all n; scepterless may claim Of true nobility tu suit the name, She is right rojal, and dotta so approve My lovins liomage. All that painter's art And poet's fantasy delight to ünd In queenliness is hers- the noble mind, The statoly bearing and the gracious heart; The voice most musical; the brow serene. And beaming benediction- like a queen; And oh, sueli peerlaes beauty, that I swear (Eecalling eacb fir face that loud Renown Hath found or feigned beneath a jeweled crown) I flatter queens to cali her "queenly fair!" -John G. Saxe. A Thouglit. Hearts that are great beat never loud, They muffle their music when they como; They hurry avvay f rom the thronging crowd With bended brows and Ups half dumb. And the world looks on and mutters "Prond." Bat when great hearts have passed away, Men gather in awe and kiss their shroud. And in love they kneel around their clay. Hearts that are great are always lone, They never will manifest their best; Their greatest greatness is unknown- Earth knows a little- God the rest. - Abrain J. Ryaa. New Men, New Liglits. It is not enough to win rigkts from a king and write tliem down in a book. New men, new lights; and thefathers code the sons may never brook. Wnat is liberty now were license then; their freeilom our yoke would be: And eaoh new decade must have new men to determine its liberty. -John Bovle O'Reilly. One in love- Oupid. A Parisian sensation- Dynnmite. Flowery fools- Blooming idiots. "Lookina; backward"- Cknealogy. Up to lifs old tricks- The magician.