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Gems In Verse

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ïf love were what the ro8e is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together In sad or winding weather, Brown flelds or flowerful eloses. Green pleasures or gray grief- If love were what the rose is. And I were like the leaf. If I were what the words are. And love were like the tune, With doiftle sound and single Delight our Ups would mingle With kisses glad as birds are That get sweet rain at noon - If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune. If you were April's lady. And I were lord in May, We'd throw with leaves for hours. And draw for days with flowers Till day and night were shady And night were bright like day- If you were April's lady. And I were lord in May. - Swinburne. Io Viclis. sing the hymn of the conquered- who feil In the battle of life, the hymn of the woanded, the beaten, who died o'erwhelmed in the strife. Not the jubilant song of the victors, tor whom the resounding acclaim l)f nations was lifted tn chorus, whose brow wore the chaplet of fame - But the hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the broken in heart, Who strove and who failed- acting bravely a silent and desperate part; Whose youth hore no flower on its branches, whoBe hopes burned in ashes away, From whose hands slipped the prize they had grasped at, who stood at the dying of day With the wreek of their life all around them- unpitied, unheeded, alone - With death swooping down on their failure, and all but their faith overthrown; While the voice of the world shouts its chorus - its psean ior those who have won- While the trumpet is sounding triumphant, and high to the breeze and the sun Glad banners are waving - hands clapping - and hurrying feet Thronging after the laurel crowned victors - I stand on the field of defeat In the shadow - with those who have fallen and wounded, and dying, and there Chant a requiem low, place my hand on thelr pain knotted brows, breathe a prayer; Hold the hand that is holplesa and whisper- "They only the vietory win Who have fought the good tlght and have vanquished the demon that temptsus within; Who have held to their faith unseduced by the prize that the world holds on high, Who have dared for a high cause to suffer, resist, fight- if need be to die." Speak History! Who are life's victors? Unroll thy long annals, I say- Are they those whom the world calis the victors, who won the success of the day? The martyrs or Nero? The Spartans who feil at Thermopylse's tryst Or the Persians and Xerxes? His judges or Sócrates? Pílate or Christ? - W. W. Story. I.ike a I.avtiock in the Lift. It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye, AU the world and we two, and Heaven be our stay. Like a laverock in the rift, sing, O bonny bridel All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side. What's the world, niy lass, my lovel what ean itdo? I am thiue, and thou art mine; life is sweet and new. If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by, For we two have gotten leave, and once more we'll try. Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side. Tako a kiss f rom me, thy man; now the song begins, "All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins." When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and Pil dry thine. It's we two, it's we two, while the world's away, Sitting by tho golden sheaves on our wedding uay. - Jean Ingelow. We Build the Ladder. Heaven is not reached at a single bound. But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies. And we mount to the summit round by round. I count this thing to bo grandly true, That a noble deed is a step toward God, Lifting the soul from the eommon sod To a purer air and a broader view. We rise by the things that are under feet. By what we have inastered of greed and galn, By the pride deposed and the passion slain. And the vanquished lis that we honrly meet. We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, When the morning calis us to life and light; But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night Our lives are trailing the sordid dust. We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we pray, And we think that we mount the air on wings, Beyond the recall of sensual things, While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. Wings for the angels, but feet for the men! We may borrow the wings to find the way; We may hope and aspire and resolve and pray, But our feet must rise or we fall again. Only in dreams is a ladder thrown From the weary earth to the sapphire wall3; But the dreams depart and the visión falls, And the sleeper awakes on his pillow of stone, Hoaven is not reached at a singlo bound, But we build the ladder by which we rise From tho lowly earth to the vaulted skies. And we mount to tho summit round by round. -J. G. Holland. Ono of His Names. Never a boy had so niany names; They callea him Jimmy and Jim and James. Jeems and Jarnie: and well ho knew Who it was that wanted him too. The boys in the street ran after him, Shoutingout loudly, "Jim! Hey, J-i-m-ml" Until the echoes, little and big, Seemed to be dancing a Jira Crow jig. And little Mabel, out in the hall, "Jimmy! Jiminyl" would sweetly cali, Until he answered, and let her know Where she might flnd him, she loved him so Grandpapa, who was dignified. And held his head with an air of pride, Didn't believe in abridging names, And made the most he could of "J-a-m-e-s. But if papa ever wanted him, Crisp and curt was the summons "Jim!" That would make the boy on his errands run Much faster than if he had said "My Sou." On the Summits Repose. Talent that's cheapest Affects singularity, Thoughts that dive deepest Rise radiant in charity. No record Art keeps Of her travail and throes; There is toil on the steeps- On the summits repose. -WMlin.mWn.tsnn Memories. A tiny glove of tan chevrette; A little rent where gome one tore it; And I will never quit forget The girl who wore it. Her face was fair, of classic mold; Her eyes now laughed and now gazed uadly; Her hair resembled burnished gold. I love ber madly. We met. She srailed upon me when, Enchantd, at ber side I tarried. I asked her to be mine; but thea She said, "I'm married." So ended all my dream of love; But I will never quite forget The girl who wore the tiny glore Of tan cbevrette. - William Barclay Dunham. Town and Country. Phey's a prejudice allus 'twixt country and town Which I wisht in my heart wasent 80. You take city people, jest square up and down, And they're migbty good people to know; And whare's better people a-liven today Than us in the country? Yit good A.8 botb of us is, we're divorced, you migbt say, And won't compermise when we could. Now as nigh into town for yer pap, ef you please, Is the what's called the sooburbs. Fer thare STou'll at least keteh a wbiff of a breeze and a sniff Of the breath of wild flowers ev'rywhare. They's room for the children to play, and grow too- And to roll in the graes, er to climb Up a tree and rob nests, like they ortent to do, But tbey'll do anyhow ev'ry time. My son-in-law said when be lived in the town, He jest natchurly pined, night and day, Fer a slght of the woods er a acre of ground, Whare the trees wasent all cleared away. And he says to me onct whilse a-visiting us On the farm: "It's not strange, I declare, That we can't coax you folks without raisin a fuss T come to town, visitin thare." And says I: "Then git back whare you sorto belong - And Madaline too- and yer three Little children," says I, "that don't know a bird song, Ner a hawk from a chicky-dee-dee. Git back," I-says-I, "to the blue of the sky. And the green of the flelds, and the shine Of the sun, with a laugh in yer voice and yer eye As harty as mother's and mine." Well- long and short of it- he's compermised some - He's moved in the sooburbs. And now Tbey don't haf to coax when they want us to come, 'Cause we turn in and go anyhow; Fer there- well, they's room fer tbe song and perfume Of the grove and the old orchurd ground. And they's room fer the children ct thare, and they's room Fer ther gran'pop to waller 'em 'round! -James Whitcomb Riley. Snccesg. The 6toutest ship may breast the gale And Btill be driven back; "What though to reacli the port she fail, Shall we declare she could not fiail Because she had to tack? When storms belate and plagues impede, When aches and ills betide, Ambition's goal may not be won- Yet hast thou bravely, nobly done If thou hast bravely tried. "He nobly does who nobly dares" When trials sore oppress. Whose perseverance naught can shake, Though failure iollows iu his wake, His failure is success. The flercest battles are to fight, The strongest forts to scale. Sometimes the bravest héroes f all, Bometimes the truest lives of all Are lived by ones who fail. - Jlyron Hanford Veon. Oh, Si ïig Again! Oh, sing again! I hear and dream, For through your magie voice there stream The happy days that once were miue, AVith tender hearts and love divine, As full and rich and sweet in theme. And in your soulful eyes, agleam With gentle woinanhood supreme, My fancies with your tones entwine. Oh, singagainl Yonr song is ended, and I seem To stand upon the world's extreme, Grasping the tendrils of a vine, Waiting for dawn to bring a sign. And thro' my tears such visions teem. Oh, singagaiul In the Sickroom. Among the pillows propped in sweet repose She feels the heavy time slip slow away; She's weary of the blushing crimson rose That seems no longer gay. She does not hear the bird of melody That sweetly sings within a gold case shut; And several brand new novéis round her lie, Unopened a.nd uncut. But now a smile flits o'er her features f ree; All suddenly her dream's with pleasure filled; Her soft brown eyes dilate excitedly- She's with rare rapture thrilled. She sees above the morning paper, bowed, The nurse; andthentho convalescent palo Asks her if she will kindly read aloud The latest bargain sale. -Puck. Her Beautifal IT -.ucis. God's roses art: s-.veet and ] i , lilies are fair As they bent! :neath í hc dews from above; They aresplvmlid ;.:. -I Lair- but they cannot compare With the beautiful hands of my love. No jewels adorn them - tv ulitteriOê bands- They are just as (Jod made tliem, these sweet, sweet hauilnl And not for carth's genis, or its bright diadems, Or tbc pearïs from the depfhs of the sea, Or the queens of the lands with their beautiful hands Should these doar haïids be taken from me. What exquisite blisses await their commands! Tiiey were made for my kisses, these dear, sweet hands. -Frank L. Stanton. ■■ x ■ - Her First Cake. She measured out the butter with a very solemu air; The niilk and sugar also; and she tooi; the greatest care To connt the eggs correctly and to add a little bit Of baking powder, whieh yon know beginners oft omit, Then süe stirred it all together and she baked it full an hour- But she never quite forgave herself for lea ving out the fiour! -E. L. Sylvester. Friends. Let us be friends; we may not now be more; Your silent glances make but poor amends For all my pain. Spcak as you did before- Let us be friends. Love to my heart its fire no longer lends: 'Tis chilled and hardened to its very core; No quickening beat your presence now attends. Yet would I not forget the joys of yore; And now that Fate has worked its cruel ends. Shake hands and smile; for my sake, I implora. Let us be friends.


Old News
Ann Arbor Courier