Gems In Verse

As wl ■ 'ndon Wl ■ ht, Audi'. .ain. And , Comí) ; ihíin kind, Thai And Chance, not Justlce, uil o'er mortal for. tunea reign. But when tlic traveler to the valley carne, And, turning, gazed at tbat ciiiu, towerlni Glorified now I -iit, Lo! the confusión that had won his blame Assumed sublime and awful gracc - The mijchty semblanee of a godlike face. Eren so as 1 look bock UpoD my vveary truck I eee lts hostile features it:ange By Eomo divine encbantment ttrange fillGod's design throngh all in all at lastl trace. -Julián Hawthorne. Farmer Broirn'a Letter. S; i'í; tíot a baby darter now, Air liuntin fcr a nanie. Au ye ask yer jlain o!e fYaher hi3 Advice about the sume Ye thlnk Loyola Imogen Is 'bout tii' Ight, An b'Ueve ye'll saddle all thet sound On sech a leetle mlte. Oh, Sara, whar'i yer sense gone to- ■ likc yer mothef hedí ;.ccl bigb l'i'iuii idees; Bbe'd M-ntiments Instead. Wo called our darter "Sarah," dear, Fer 'twnz my mother'a name, Eut seneo yc'e dropped tlie li oflen it It aln't aeemed quite the same. Iliííh soundin ñames is plenty nutl Fur them as think it's smart To let the dear oíd ñames die out Tliat we all know by heart. They called John's mother Liddy Ann. Yer mother's name wuz Jane- In all the novel books ye've read Ye'll flud no sweeter name. When I called her "Janey" the flrst time, One night long years ago, The tender music of thet word Set heart and brain aglow. Oh, choose a name fer better cause Than jest its sound is nice. And when your gal's a woman grown She'll thank ye fer yer chice. 111 draw my letter to a close, But jest add this one line - Thet 110 Loyola Imogen Will eet a cent o' mine. -Francés Forrester. The Oíd Confedérate to Hi Wouden I.eg. Oh, wooden leg, thou theme of heartless fun To thoughtless jouth, and eke to witlesa age. Serene, thou'lt stand the shot from ev'ry gun, Or aimed by self proved fooi or self etyled sage! My faithful leg, with me thou'lt stump around; All sneers at lameness, age, defeat, thou'lt brave. And when at last I all my arms shall ground Thou'lt bear uie comp'ny even in the grave. And then sume fnends- as true no doubt as thou, But in their Bhowiug of it, late, too late- May, weeping, say, as round ruy grave they bow, "He was a faithful oíd Confedérate!" When once a Scotchman died, and men on high A shaft did rear to pay ior elights they'd shown - "Poor Burns! In life," they heard a woman Bigh, "He lacked for bread. In death they give a stone!" Drive not to pastures bare the warworn steed And wait for death to show regard wel] meant. Some love in life would meet his sorest need- What care the dead for lofty monument? -John M. Kichardson. Under the Mistletoe. She stood beneath the mistletoe That Lung above the door, Quite conscious of the sprig above, Kevered by maids of yorc. A timid longing filled her heart; Her pnlwa throbbed with heat; lic sprang to where the fair girl stood. "May I- just one- my sweet?" He asked his luve, who tossed her head, "Just do it- if- you darel" slie said. He sat before the fireplace Down at the club that night. "She loves me not," he hotly aid, "T herefore she did but right!" She sat alone within her room. And wttb lier tinger tips She held his picture to her heart, Then preesed it to lier lips. "My l'ived one!" sobbed she, 'if you- cared You surely would have - would have-- dared." - George Francis Shults. One of Is. The day will dawn when one of us shall hearken In vain to hear a voice that has grown dunib, And morns shall fade, noons pale and ahadowa darken While sad eyes watch for f eet that never come. One of us two must some timi' face existence Alone with tneuiories that but Miarpen pain. And these sweet daya Bhall shine back in the distance Like d reanis of summer dawns in night of rain. One of us two, with tortured heart half broken, Sliall read longtreasured letters through salt tours; fchall kits with anguislied lis each cherished token That speaks of these love orowned, delicious years. One of us two shall flnd all light, all beauty, All joy on earth, a ia le i rever dune; tlnill know hencel'urth that liio ineans only duty- O God! O God! have pity on that one. -Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Hypocrisy. He died at oight. Next day they came To weep and praise him; sudden faino These suddenly warm comrades gave. They called him pure; they called him brave; One praised bis heart, and one his bram; All said, "You'd seek his like in vain - Gentle and strong and gool;" nonu saw In all his chaructor u Huw. At noon he wakened from his trance Mended; was well! They looked askance; Took his hand coldly; loved him uot, Though they had wept hini: quite fürgot His virtues; tont an easy ear To 6landerous tongues; professed a fear He was not what he seemed to be; Thanked God they were not such as he; Gave to his hunger stones for bread, And made him, living, wish hini dead. - Edward Rowland Sill. Contentment. He that holds fast the golden mean. And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch tho poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich nian's door, Imbittering all his state. - Cowper. Trust not to each accusing tongue. As mofct weak persons do, But still belicvo that story false Which ought not to be true.