Gems In Verse

HidocemL Is therc no symVil of the land to be- A floating weed, some broken, slruggling branoh- Xotliing to breiik the solemn round expanse Of this unending, deep liued, awfnl sea? Brave ship to sail upon the nnknown t ruckl Brave souls that dare, brave heartsthat longing wait, Thouijh storm and wind assail! Ship, turn not back! Let U3 go on, witu faith o'ertopping fate. How fearful Is this scène! Yet many a time In London town I'veknownanhournioredrear Amid starved souls and faces dark with crime; Have feit sucli heartaclie as one knows not here. What loneliness akin to that white stare Of hungi y faces, hurrying- God knows where? - William Ordway Partridge. Sand. I observed a locomotivo in the railroad yarda one day. It was waiting In the roundhouse, where the locomotives stay: It was panting for the Journey: it was coaled and fully nianned. And it had a box the fireman was fllling f uil of sand. It appears that looomotives cannot always get a grip On their slender iron pavement, 'cause the wheels are apt to slip. And when they reach a slippery spot their tactics they command, And to get a grip upon the rail they sprinkle it with sand. If your track is steep and hilly, and you have a heavy grade, And if those who've gone before you have the rails quite slippery made, If you ever reach the summit of the upper tableland, You'll flud you'll have to do it with a liberal use of sand. If you strike sorae fiigid wealher and discover to your cost That you're liable to glip on a heavy coat of f rost, Then Borae prompt, decided action will be called inii) demand. And you'll slip away to the bottom if you haven't any sand. You can get to any station that is on life's schedule seen If there's fire beneath the boiler of ambition'a strong machine. And you'll reach a place called Flushtown at a rate of speed tlmt's grand If for all the slippery places you've a good supply of sand. The Kaffled Pessimist. I sat me down to write a rhyme of gloom. All was In tune for it; my temples throbbed; In semidarkness was my cheerless room. And through the trees the sad breeze soughed and sobbed; My heart was burning with a fancied woe; Digestión waited not on appetite; My spirits came in dull and sluggish flow; Naught was there in the world that pleased my sight. My pen itself would not put down the thought- The pessimistic thought- that held my mlnd. Try as I would the fancy flew uncaught, Uncatchable as any truant wind. Yet I wrote on, and when the rhyme complete Stared boldly at me from the saffron page I found myself a victim to defeat - I'd written this a truly happy age! I'd said that in this life were more of good Than wicked things; despite the heavy mist Of present trial, those who understood Life as it really is could not resist The true conclusión, tried and guaranteed, That we have many blessings; and no grief, However mucli because of it the heart ma} bleed. Has ever been without some sweet relief. Alas! that I, disciple true of gloom, Philosopher of woe, should e'er confess That joy upon this earth hath any room, That mortals flnd here aught of happiness! And yet, though I seem faithless to my creed In writing then that optimistic song, I am not so. It proves its truth, indeed, When even I, its follower, go wrong. - John Keudrick Bangs. How to Vote. Let everv man who has a vote Vote for "Progrese!" Not for party, peace or pleasure; Not for favor, fame or treasure; Vote for every honest measure - Vote for "Progressl" Vote as if your vote might carry- Vote for "Progress!" Franchise is a gift from heaven, Sacred trust to manhood given; Be iiot like durnb cattle driven- Vote for "Progress!" Vote for men above suspicionMen of "Progress!" Xo, not wirepullersl nay, forsoothl But men wlio from their early youth Lov'd Justlee, honor, God and truth- Fought for "Progress!" That man who Bells hia vote for gold Sliould be a slave! What! sell thy biithright for a bribe, And kinship claim with Esau's tribe? !Such meanness scarce can we describe, tioth fool and knavel Vote for your country, God and home, And for "Progress!" Don't say, "Let we II enough alone," But kick aside each etumbling stone As if this land were all your own- Vote for "Progress!" -John Imrie. Life. Ah, wliat is life? so brief at best- A waking bet ween rest and rust; An Insect'! tniil along the sand; A gem's bright flash upon the hand; A wave line traced on ocean's shore, Just rippled there, then seen no more; A breath upon a frosted pane, A moment warmcd, then chillcd again; The shadow of a cloud that stays l'ntil obscured by passing haze. Canst think of anyrlit more brief, more fleet, To image forth Time's flyiug feet? Yot in the "shadow," in "the "breath," üur love awakts, whkH knows no death, And life, which teams so brief to be, Iscrowned by immortalltvl - Margaret May. Death. Death to the virtuous no terror brings, But in the tyrant's ear there ever ringt A knell imaginar?, whieh oaatl a fear Throughout his soul; he thinks the time is near When shall pass trom hiin all his i 11 got power. And, ashe thinkson death, hedreads the hour. "or him no heaven unbars its golden gate, 3ut in his bosom burns the heil of hato. Strange that a man, who knows how short is life, ■hould waste his hours in most ignoble strife nstead of cultivating heavenly love- Fheonly paasport to the realnu above; The only way to errlng mortals given To make thls beauteóua earüi raeemble heaven. - George Markham TweddeU A Prayer. I ask not for wealth, but power to take And use the things I have arlght; Xot years, but wisdom that shall make t&j lite a profit and delight. I do Bot ask for love below, That friends shall never be estranged, But for the power of loving, so My heart may keep its youth unchanged. Youth, Joy, welth- Fate, I give thee these. Leave faith md hope till life is past. And leavs my heart's best impulses Fresh and unfailing to the last. - Phoebe Cary. o work is lost, no striving or endeavor But marclles through the future's open door, And through the present age is throbbing ever The life of all ages goue before. Filis a getp- Ttw weeïge.