Gems In Verse

An old farmhonse, v.iiu meadows wide Aqü Bweut il L !(jtr od eacb Mde; A bri'-ihl yi-'l dv, - 1 1 f Ioi)ks frum uut The door with troodblne wreathed about, .. n'i wishes one tUoaght all day: "_j, if I could but fly away ) rom thi duil spot, ihe world tosee, How happy, happy, happy, How liappy I süould bt!" Amid the city's constant din, A man wlio round the worhl bas been, Vho, niid tho tumult and tlie tbrong, I thinking, thinking, all day long: "Oh, could 1 trtad ouce more Tbc field poth to tbe FartnhoUM door, The old. green meadow coald I see, How happy, happy ppy, How happy I shonld be!'' Who I to l'.lallH'.' Shall I raise the broken vessel- Emblem of my lijiht, my love - Now despoiled by man! mad passion Like a soiled and wounded dove? Shall I touch the hand polluted By the libertine's foul shame? f-liíil! I hurl my curses on her- Crush her with the guilt and blame? Shall 1 jota tbe mob'a wiid fury And her faulls the louder swell? Bball I blast tbe fiickeringhope Tremblini; on the verge of heil? Oh, what couflicts rage within me- Firts thal tt-ars cannot abate: Wonndi tbat cry revenge, revenge; Wrougs tbat know no law but hatel Fhanloms danined and jealous furies Hack my brain while justicc sleeps; Reasoii Dow is slave to passion; -Manhood gfoaiu, and pity weeps. I knmv nut huw she was tempted, How she stroggled to maintain All her eacred vows and honor From the tempter't gilded stain. I was blind tu her entreaties; I was dumb losighs aud teai ■: I was cold and iroud and hanghty- Filled her beart with doubts and fears. I can see how she bas hungered Kor the love i tonner days, Huw Blie trled tu draw me to her By a tkuusand wlosome ways. Have I h:en as kind and gentle Al a husband ougbt to bef Have I been as true and failhful As my wife bas been to me? Have I shielded her from danger- Guarded her from honeyed sin? Did I not unbar the gateway Wbere the wolf fouud entrance in? Is my record free from sinning? Is the guilt on her alone? Shall I play the rigbtcous judge And cast forth the killing stone? See her crouching. kneeling, neeping, From tbe curse that I should sparei Ilear her pleading and beseechftig For the love that she ehould sharel Dry thlne eyes. The scales have fallen And revealed our sinful life! Pardon grant! The fault was mine! Rise and be my trusted wife. - J. M. Munyon. The Irony of Greatness. ArlKin, Brave man once grew quite celebrated. Dame Grundy met him with her Mandes) smile, And Mrs. Shoddy, finding him much feted. Gave him a dinner in her swellest style. Her dining table was a blaze of glory; Soft light froni many colored candles feil On young, the middle aged and hoary- On beauty and on those who "made up" well. The flowers were wonderfnl- I think that maybe Only anoüier world had flowers more fair. Earh rose was big enough to brain a baby. And there were eeveral bushels of them Vetere. The serving was the acme of perfection; Waiters were many, silent, deft and fleet; Their manner seemed a reverent affection. And, oh, what stacks of things there were to tat: And yet the man for all thls honor singlcd Wou ld have eichanged it with the greatest joy For oce plain nieal of pork and cabbage mingled, Cooked by his inother when he wan a boy. Night. Come, thougb tear dimmed, thy dewy eyes. Lo, day is dead thatdid thee wrongl ünveil again thy starry skies, Deep drowned In garish lightso long; Unveil again each silver star. Nor fold about with clouds thy head, For day indeed, that did but mar Thy nightingale'g sweet notes, is dead. Come; fear not now the flaminc sun TLat all too long has scorched the sky: His t raut reten is dead and done; Bésame of right thy throne on high. Eind, liind ia orante bloom thy brow And rrown our blusbiug love withblisa. Oh, give uh thy good leave; till thoa Be near we are afraid to kiss. Come swiftly; all to late the lapse Of thine inconstant gliding moon; On earth if aueht of evil haps It is not in the nights of June. Comesoftly; hold thy healing hands In deep, deep silence o'er my brow; No balmy breeze from southvrn lands Is f ofter sandaled, Night, than thoa. Iivmembered. I need not be missed if anothor succeed me ïo reap down the Balda tLat in spring I have SilVIl. He who plowed and who lowed is not missed by tbe reaper; He is only reaneinbered by wbiit he bas done. Not myself, but tliu truth tbal in life I have fepoken: Not myself, but the seed tbat iri life I have SJmll pnss on to ageg all ahout me forgotten, Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done. So let my living be. so be iny dyinu; So let my name be Doblazoned, niikiiown; Unpraised and unmissed I shall yet be remembered- Yes, but remembered by what I have done. - Horatius Bonar. I ii' li niiM-il, Hc sits enthroued wbo sits supreme Above the pasaionB of his elay, Xor fears remorse nor feels the scourge Gf conecienoe with the endeil day. He lias no greed for wealth that's won Ky bargain in t)n marta of sin. Nor lust for tune whose pirans mock The bollow beart that wails within. }lis lips uttnned to nature's lyre, He sings as sang the early stars; His clean hands suiu-d to God's iilan, His handiwork no blemish mars. He gives to all unselflsh due. Nor claims what others may not share. And every cry of woe bespeaks His ri-ady lumnty with bis prayer. So, dolng Qod'e will on the earth, Witb love illimitably zoued, Thongh waiting yet his higber birth, He sits enthroned. -Samuel Hoyt. A Bcautlfnl 3Iet:iphor. Onr livesoreallnuiis. writton through With good or 111, with false or true. And as the bleesed angels turn The pages of our ycjirs God grant they read the good with smilcs And blot the ill with tears.