Gems In Verse

Hero Worshlp. "Ho is not what you tliiuk." 0 Judies wise. Can we not have V'alliulla for uur owii Within our hearts, where all the souls we prize Shall sit ín state, eacb. on his ruyal throne? What inatter if we do not always choose The few whose names, well weighed, ye write above As laurel worthy. Do-ye then refuse Uur hearts' free right to honor whom we love? What la one false among a thousand true- A thousand openlag lives so well begun? "He is no hero, as you think," say you? Well, then, our faith Bhall help to uiake him one. Back, judges, to your work of welghing, slow, The dead ye destine to Fame's eourts abovel But leave us free to worship here below With faith and hope the living whom we love. - Constance Fennimore Woolson. About Husbantls. Johnson was right. I don't agree to all The solemn doginas of the rough old stager, But very much approve what one may cali The minor moráis of the "Ursa Major." Johnson was right. Although some men adore Wisdom in women, and with wisdom cram her, There isn't one in ten but thinks far more Of his own grub than of his spouse's grammar. I know lt is the greateiit shame in life, But who among them (save, perhape, myself ), Returuinu home, he asks his wife Wluit beef- not books- she' bas upon the shelfV Though (ireek and Lfttin be the lady's boast, They're little valued by her loving mate. The kind of tonque that husbands relish most Is modern, boiled and servud upon a píate. Or if, as fond ambition may command, Some homemade verse the happy matron shows him, What mortal spouse but from her dainty hand Would soouer see a pudding than a poem? Young lady- deep in love with Tom or Harry- 'Tis sad to teil you such a tale as this, But here's the moral of it- do not marry, Or, marrying, take your lover as he is: A very man, with something of the brute (Unless he proves a sentimental noddy), With passions strong and appetite to boot, A thirsty soul within a hungry body: A very man - not one of nature's clods - With human feelings, whethersaintorsinner, Endowed perhaps with genius from the gods, But apt to take his temper from his dlnner. -John G. Saxe. The End of the Whole Matter. When Earth's last picture is painted: when the tubes are twisted and dried; When the oldest colora have vanished, and the youngest critic has dled. We Bhall rest (and, faith, we shall need it), lie down for an hour or two, Till the Master of all good workmen shall set us to work anew. And those that are good shall be happy; they Bhall sit in a golden chair And splash at a ten league canvas with bruahes of camel's hair; They shall have real saints to draw from, Silas and Peter and Paul; They shall work for a year at a sitting and never get tired at all. And only Rembrandt shall teach us, and only Van Dyke shall blame. And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for famo, But all for the sake of working, and each In hls separate star, Shall paint the Thing as he sees it for the God of Things as they are. - Rudyard Kipling. The Garden of Children. There is a little garden on the earth Wherein I wander gayly day and nlght; There could I never sad or lonely be, For 'tis o'ergrown with angel beauties bright. There gaze the eyes, undimmed with sorrow's flood, From bowers terrene to cloudless skies and blue, While glittering on each f airy flnger green There is distilled a crystal drop of dew. There also flows the brooklet bright and clean lts course is unimpeded in these bowers. And all along its banks, with nods and emiles. We see our dearest, prettiest morning flowers. There must our grief and slghlne ever cease; The heart be glad and lamentations mute; There hang on twigs of life, forever green, The bursting buds presaging precious fruit. We Beek In vain a dark and gloomy mien; We flnd no envy, neither hate nor scorn. There hum the stingless beea with honeyec wings; The violet blooms; the rose without a thorn. There smile the su-n'sapprovingradiantbeams A brighter twinkle has each merry star; Joy and delight and bliss are ever near, While sadness, care and grief groan from afar. Oh, do not seek that garden on the earth! It is and ever shall to us be near. We need like children only to become, And, lo, we have that kindergarten herel -From the Oerman. The Winners. Some paddie their canoes along apon life's troubled sea In a happy, careless, don't-care way, witb voices full of glee. With many a splash and many a dasb tbey row theniselves along, But their boats don't make mucli headway, for tlic-ir strokes are never strong. There are others still who row along the course from day to day Who never splash and never dash and haven't mucb to say. You never bear them coming, but they win the race because They save tlieir wind for business and pull with muffied oars. -Frank Marión. The Ufe Beyond. The star is not extinguished when its sets Upou the dull horizon; it but goes To shine in otlier skies, then reappear In ours as fresh as when it first arose. The river is not lost when o'er the rock It pours its flood into the abyss below; lts 6cattered force regathering from the shock, It hastens onward with yct fuller flow. The bright sun dies not when the shadowlng orb Of the eclipsing moon obscures its ray; It still is shilling on, and soon to us Will burst undimmtd into the joy of day. Thus nothing dies, or only dies to live; Star, stream, sun, flower, the dewdrop and the gold, Each goodly thing instinct with buoyant hope, Ilastes to put in its purer, finer mold. Thus in the quiet joy of kindly trust ■Vjje bid each parting saint a brief farewell; Weeping, yet smiling, we commit their dust To the safe keeping of the silent cell. - Horatius Bonar. To Genius. I saw a figure in the path of time Toil upward through the ages; he wascrowned With melancholy myrtle, and sublime The luster of his glory spread around. Down the dim past's f ar echoing, dreamy shade, Haunted by spirits that have lived before, I heard his effort3 with derision paid- He and his works coudemned forevermore. But from the concourse, waving as she wept, Fond Nature bade him rise, and with accord, While the long molderingharpanonheswept, To other realms his soul poetic soared. And the dull clods of earth that wont to sneer Inclined with breathless awe his thrilling song to hear. - Sir W alter Scott. Do not make "Friends"- Shakers.