,illustration3 ,jared ,barhite ,,our ,,profession ,,and ,,other ,,poems4 ,,by ,,jared ,,barhite1 ,principal of ,third ,ward ,grammar ,school1 ,long ,island ,city1 ,n4 ,y4 ,,published ,,by ,,william ,e4 ,,barhite1 #bgj ,freeman ,avenue1 ,long ,island ,city1 ,n4 ,y4 #ahie4 ,,copyright1 #ahie4 ,,press ,,of ,,weisel1 ,,meier ,,witte1 #aji ,,nassau ,,st41 ,n4 ,y4 ,,preface4 ,during the past quarter of a century1 it has been a pleasant pastime for me to obey the dictates of my feelings and inscribe them upon paper4 ,the present volume is a collection of these vagrant pastimes1 some of which have wandered far1 while others have never before appeared to any eye save the writer's4 ,to call them home1 introduce them to each other1 and properly house them1 seems a parental duty4 ,if in them there is a thought that shall inspire others of my profession to feel the dignity and responsibility of the calling1 their publication will not have been in vain4 ,the intent being good1 the fruit cannot be evil4 ,the ,author4 ,,dedication4 ,,to ,,the ,,memory ,,of ,,my ,,mother1 ,,whose ,,devotion1 ,,energy1 ,,and ,,perseverance ,,led ,,me ,,to ,,drink ,,at ,,the ,,fountain ,,of ,,knowledge ,,and ,,truth1 ,,until ,i ,,saw ,,beauty ,,therein1 ,,this ,,volume ,,is ,,affectionately ,,dedicated4 ,the true end of life is to elevate man ,in body1 in mind1 and in spirit1 ,that here he may serve some beneficent plan1 ,then a mansion in heaven inherit4 ,,index4 ,,page4 ,a ,beacon ,light #abi ,a ,boy #ha ,a ,lesson from ,nature #ahi ,all ,things are ,second-handed #bab ,alone #adj ,amityville #bae ,an ,open ,book #age ,a ,picture #bjj ,arbor ,day ,tribute #hd ,artist ,nature #aai ,boding ,snow #agd ,buttercups and ,daisies #hg ,communion with ,nature #if ,courage and ,faith #bf ,discontent #acb ,drifting ,away #aeh ,duty ,done #db ,ere and at my ,call #agc ,evil ,habits #ef ,faces ,i ,read #bad ,fact versus ,form #bi ,fidelity #bai ,finis #bca ,fragments #abg ,good ,habits #ec ,heartstrings #adg ,important ,moments #aff ,incompetence #bg ,indulgence #fa ,interest #ca ,invocation to the ,muse #i ,kindred ,spirits #afj ,lake ,george1 ,n4 ,y4 #ajf ,liberty #aed ,lies #ade ,life's ,emergencies #eh ,lo1 ,the ,departed #aeg ,love #adb ,many #dj ,maple at my ,father's ,door #aae ,memory #acj ,memory and ,reason #cb ,mind ,awakened #ga ,mirrors #ci ,morning ,flowers #aah ,mountain ,brook #ii ,music #abj ,my ,brother's ,birthday #aif ,my ,choice #gf ,my ,mother's ,love #aib ,my ,room in ,boyhood's ,days #bjb ,nature's ,child #aje ,nature's ,voice #bjd ,needs and ,powers #ai ,oceanus' ,mirrors #aaf ,on ,brooklyn ,bridge #ahc ,our ,battlefield #di ,our ,politics #acd ,our ,profession #aa ,perhaps #afe ,pious ,pie ,poem ,puns #bah ,poundridge1 ,n4 ,y4 #bje ,rest #abc ,retrospection #ach ,robin ,redbreast #aaj ,rye #ie ,school ,days #afb ,selfishness #acg ,some ,characters ,i ,can't ,admire #ahj ,some ,characters ,i ,much ,adore #agg ,soul ,speaks to ,soul #dh ,strand ,despair #fj ,success #abe ,sunset #ace ,survival of the ,fittest #ff ,the ,dandelion #ij ,the ,desirable ,undefined #cd ,the ,difference #fg ,the ,evening before my ,brother's ,fifty-third ,birthday #aid ,the ,farmer #aab ,the ,flowers ,i ,love #ia ,the ,fringed ,gentian #hi ,the ,future #agj ,the ,goldenrod #hf ,the ,hair #aeb ,their ,life is what they ,make ,it #ahe ,the ,lone ,bird #ahg ,the ,morning ,glory #id ,the ,ogre #gb ,the ,old ,farm #aad ,the ,requirements of the ,hour #hj ,the ,rose #he ,the ,second ,sunday in ,may #ajd ,the ,senses #dd ,the ,stream's ,story #ajb ,the ,teacher's ,soliloquy #fc ,the ,thrush #ajh ,the ,tree of ,state #hb ,the ,unwritten ,letter #baj ,the ,voice #aih ,tim #bjh ,to a ,mountain ,brook #aja ,to ,my ,daughter ,blanche in ,heaven #aig ,trailing ,arbutus #ic ,true ,wealth #bag ,twilight ,hour #aej ,who ,knows8 #adi ,who ,shall ,judge8 #afi ,,invocation ,,to ,,the ,,muse4 ,didactic muse ,calliope1 ,expand thy soothing silent wings1 ,touch chords of measured harmony ,wherein the soul ecstatic sings1 ,let language fraught with living truth ,find such expression by thy art1 ,as shall assist the guides of youth ,to fire the soul and win the heart4 ,remove the barriers which so long ,have held in thraldom many a mind1 ,sing to the deaf a ransom-song1 ,be eyes to those whose souls are blind2 ,teach those who mould the plastic mind ,to know that ,god hath never given ,a mission weightier1 more refined1 ,to angels round the courts of heaven1 ,than that of training human minds ,committed unto human hands1 ,in which the spirit e'er survives ,and through eternity expands4 ,paint truthfully the living dead ,whose sensibilities were slain ,by tyros1 oft unskilled1 unread1 ,in all the workings of the brain2 ,whose concepts of the avenues ,that reach the mind of tender youth1 ,are labyrinths of tangled views ,devoid of art1 science1 and truth2 ,touch but that chord of magic power ,which gives the soul augmented bliss1 ,and lifts it for the present hour ,above the world's base selfishness2 ,then let the search-light of the soul ,illumine every page that's read1 ,until an animated whole ,shall supersede the living dead4 ,then1 then shall dawn the golden day ,when ,ignorance shall shamed-faced fly ,before the potent living ray ,of mind1 touched by effulgency ,that pours its light in vital force1 ,upon the mind of plastic youth1 ,and leads it gently to the source ,of light and scientific truth4 ,,our ,,profession4 ,there's an art in our profession1 ,which cannot be wholly learned ,from all books in our possession1 ,though their leaves be deftly turned ,till the mind shall grasp the meaning ,of each truth they may contain1 ,yet there remains a gleaning ,not a product of the brain4 ,one may know the truths of science ,till his mind may have full store1 ,or may place some great reliance ,on ancient and modern lore2 ,he may count the stars in heaven1 ,he may trace them in their course1 ,and from data that is given ,he may prove creation's source2 ,he may use the best of diction ,to portray his studied thought2 ,he may draw from truth and fiction ,all the charm with which they're fraught2 ,he may be a friend of ,nature ,and may understand her laws2 ,he may prove embryo creature ,has within itself a cause2 ,he may fathom all creation ,and dwell among the stars1 ,visit every land and nation ,and return with honor's scars2 ,yet he may lack a power1-- ,occult to scientific truth-- ,which is ,heaven's richest dower ,to the guides of ardent youth4 ,though all these may give a polish ,to the gem that lights the soul1 ,they are weak1 useless1 and foolish1 ,when they're taken for the whole ,of all the powers required ,to entrance the youthful mind1 ,with a spirit so inspired ,as to touch the eyes of blind ,with a bright illumination ,that shall prove itself to be ,more than a corruscation ,of a short-lived ecstasy4 ,by intuition1 children know ,a heart that cares for them2 ,they recognize a friend or foe1 ,at instantaneous ken4 ,no mask can shield a fraud or fool1 ,e'en from a puerile mind2 ,it knows by rules not learned at school ,the way true hearts to find4 ,an earnest love1 unbounded1 firm1-- ,a ,god-gift from our birth-- ,by far outweighs the noblest charm ,can be acquired on earth4 ,who has not drunk deep at the well ,of childhood's innocence1 ,or thinks that he should ever dwell ,at such an eminence1 ,that he can never bend to raise ,and cheer a longing heart1 ,will waste his precious hours and days1 ,and finally depart ,without such fruitage or reward ,as ever should be given ,to him1 who serves master or ,lord1 ,and hopes for bliss in heaven4 ,who sees no soul-buds here expand ,to blossom by and by1 ,hath fathomed not the great command ,for which we live and die4 ,the ,state demands that every son ,and daughter shall be free ,from ignorance and vice which run ,toward crime and misery4 ,the future of our noble ,state ,dwells now in plastic form2 ,if she her past would emulate ,and meet the coming storm ,of chaos1 whose portentous wing ,seems hovering not afar1 ,in every school-room we should sing ,of banner and of star ,that gave the land to ,liberty1 ,and with a bold huzza ,proclaim that he who would be free ,must honor right and law4 ,who serves his ,state and fellow-man ,and plies his skill at best1 ,assists to carry out the plan ,to make all truly blest2 ,he may not sit in marble hall ,where legislators meet1 ,nor may he rear fine towers tall1 ,or dwell in a retreat ,where monks and nuns with solemn prayer ,pour out their orison2 ,the test of faith is filial care1 ,and duty nobly done4 ,minds let us mould1 men may we rear1 ,for ,god1 for ,state1 for man1 ,using the right without a fear ,to mar the heaven-born plan4 ,the test of great didactic skill ,is not to train the few ,whose active genius1 tact1 and will ,are always plain to view2 ,but he who takes an inert mind1 ,housed in a sluggish frame1 ,and forms such man as ,god designed1 ,deserves an honored name4 ,like ,sisyphus some ever roll ,the same old round of things ,which dwarf the mind and starve the soul1 ,until they long for wings ,to fly from dull monotony1 ,which carries in its train ,that wreck of thought--,despondency-- ,which preys on heart and brain4 ,the artist knows the colors best ,that blend in harmony ,with richest cloud-scenes1 in the west1 ,that gild the sunset sky2 ,the minstrel knows what song to sing ,to please the multitude2 ,his fingers deftly touch the strings ,that yield response subdued ,when weary soul would find relief ,from sorrow's withering sigh1 ,or when the heart is bowed with grief1 ,and tear-drops dew the eye2 ,but when the soul is full of joy1 ,how jubilant the strain ,the tactful artist will employ ,to please the heart and brain4 ,if those who toil in lowly spheres ,employ such artful ways ,to charm the dull and listless ears ,that such may sound their praise1 ,why should the artist of the mind ,shrink from that noble aim ,that seeks to elevate mankind1 ,and light a deathless flame6 ,or why should he who shapes the lives ,and destiny of man1 ,be less exact than he who strives ,from mercenary plan4 ,no instrument man ever made-- ,none ever can be found-- ,no matter when or where 'tis played1 ,will yield so rich a sound ,as that which falls from human tongue ,when heart speaks unto heart1 ,nor are its mysteries among ,the hidden things of art2 ,a tyro on life's winding road ,reads understandingly ,each tone and word1 each varied mode ,the tongue and form portray4 ,our heart's intents are from our looks ,more plainly to be read1 ,than thoughts expressed in printed books ,whose language oft seems dead1 ,because it lacks a living form-- ,a voiceless1 dull decree ,that of itself has little charm ,for youth's activity4 ,a potent charm of living light ,flows with resistless force1 ,dispelling clouds of mental night ,that meet its onward course1 ,when all the soul is centred in ,the great and primal thought ,that services which hearts would win1 ,with price can ne'er be bought4 ,such service heaven alone repays ,e'en though on earth 'tis done1 ,its echoes last through endless days1 ,and dies but with the sun4 ,a mercenary soul must find ,a more congenial field ,than that of training human mind ,wherein a soul's concealed1 ,if it would live out all the days ,allotted unto man1 ,and bask in all the genial rays ,revealed in ,god's great plan4 ,no lubrication of the nerves ,has ever yet been found1 ,for him who like a menial serves ,dull lesson's daily round2 ,but gnawing friction1 stern and gaunt1 ,tears flesh and brain away1 ,while ghosts nocturnal ever haunt ,a soul with fell dismay1 ,whose mercenary greed has led ,itself into a snare ,that counts by scores its strangled dead1 ,its hundreds1 in despair4 ,he doubly lives who can forget ,himself and his own ease1 ,while toiling patiently to set ,new gems in crowns he sees1 ,that may adorn some other head ,than that he calls his own1 ,and animate the germs wide spread ,in seeds already sown4 99 99 99 99 99 ,to skim the surface of knowledge1 ,and seldom its root to reach1 ,is a recipe one may offer ,to direct ,how ,not ,to ,teach4 ,,needs ,,and ,,powers4 ,i know of no profession ',mong profane or divine1 ,excelling in its mission ,the power embraced in mine4 ,it reaches earth and heaven ,through heart and soul of man1 ,it lives beyond the present-- ,eternity doth span4 ,mind in its first formation1 ,while in its plastic state1 ,receives primal impressions ,which make it vile or great4 ,when soil of thought is fertile ,and ready for the seeds1 ,it may bring precious fruitage1 ,or vile and noxious weeds4 ,no sower should be careless1 ,for harvest much depends ,upon the well-selected seeds1 ,with mental soil he blends4 ,if field be rich and mellow ,and no good seed be sown1 ,with tangled mass of vileness ,it will be overgrown1 ,and shield the deadly serpent1 ,the basilisk of sin1 ,that far exhales its pois'nous breath1 ,then crawls its den within4 ,no atoms of pollution ,in matter e'er was known1 ,so vile or so destructive ,as soul by sin o'erthrown4 ,the vilest spot upon the earth1 ,through sunshine1 air1 and rain1 ,may be transformed in ev'ry part ,and purified again4 ,the fields where chaos reigned supreme ,and ,nature frowned aghast1 ,by patient-toil have fruitage borne ,and blossomed fragrance cast4 ,the wreck of spheres by traction's laws ,hurled wildly into space1 ,may gather atoms round itself ,and find some resting place ,where it may serve creation's end1 ,and 'mong the planets roll1 ,true to the laws of gravity ,that marks its outer pole4 ,the mind and soul can never ,within themselves find rest1 ,when all the sin's pollutions ,are harbored in the breast4 ,then sow good seed1 brave teacher1 ,and deeply plant with care1 ,that both here and hereafter ,rich harvest it may bear4 ,the sowing may be silent-- ,it may be but a tear1 ,its strength is in its purpose1 ,its aim must be sincere4 ,it should not be a rite or creed1 ,but wider far than these1 ,it should encompass ,god and man1 ,home and antipodes4 ,to learn the truths of science1 ,know tables1 books and charts1 ,to analyze the potent thrill ,that fires all earnest hearts1 ,to revel in the mysteries ,that lie deep in the earth1 ,to give the proper data ,when planets had their birth1 ,to know the exact elements ,that constitute the sun1 ,the causes why swift currents ,within the ocean run1 ,the ratio of the vapors ,that color sunset skies1 ,time's infinitesimal fraction ,when planets set and rise1 ,to solve the problems of the air1 ,the secrets of the deep1 ,are all intrinsic subjects ,and worthy of our keep4 ,but these alone are worthless1 ,they need augmented force ,to lead mind toward the fountain ,from which it had its source4 ,they leave one vital question-- ,development of man-- ,without e'en crude solution1 ,without a working plan4 ,they leave the mighty problem ,of ,maker and the ,made1 ,devoid of any sequence1 ,or any plan portrayed4 ,these are of greatest moment ,to persons and to ,state1 ,upon their wise adjustment ,must hang progression's fate4 ,cold are the truths of science1 ,lifeless their every plan1 ,until in living presence1 ,they're crystalized in man4 ,as hidden truths are useless ,and aid not human skill1 ,so slumber mighty forces ,through lack of human will4 ,to know the right is not enough1 ,it must be given power ,through culture of the heart and soul1 ,if it shall blessings shower4 ,to ,state1 to manhood and to ,god ,must mind be wholly given1 ,ere truth will shine a beacon light1 ,to illumine earth and heaven4 ,all things were made but to subserve ,man's powers to improve1 ,and beautify his being here ,through charity and love4 ,power1 gold1 and wealth are agencies ,placed in a creature's hand ,to serve an end1 but not to rule1-- ,obey1 but not command4 ,as mind and soul matter surpass ,and error flies from truth1 ,so should we train the nobler parts ,of plastic1 trusting youth4 ,the sacred man by ,god ordained1 ,links sinful earth with heaven1 ,but his success oft must depend ,on how instruction's given4 ,the holy task of training mind ,is not a trivial thing1 ,its influence lives1 grows and expands ,till harvest it shall bring4 ,no task1 to human hands assigned1 ,excels in force and weight ,the grave responsibilities ,of those who educate4 ,let knowledge of the sciences1 ,skill in didactic art1 ,power in the impulse of the soul ,a knowledge to impart1 ,a love for ,god and human kind1 ,forgetfulness of self1 ,a heart devoted to the cause ,more than to worldly pelf1 ,be given as a heritage ,to those who fain would teach1 ,then living truth shall flourish1 ,and all mankind shall reach4 99 99 99 99 99 ,there's an ebb and flow of sentiment ,in educational tides1 ,which oft discards some solid old facts1 ,and on wild new hobbies rides4 ,the educator of modern times ,must prove the false and the true1 ,hold fast the worthy of the old1 ,unprejudiced1 test the new4 ,,courage ,,and ,,faith4 ,courage and ,faith are of heavenly birth1 ,though sent down to our lowly earth ,to cheer the heart of man2 ,they are only strong when the human soul ,yields perfect trust and full control ,to heaven's benignant plan4 ,nature expands when this ,god-sent pair ,finds a fertile heart that needs the care ,of a messenger divine1 ,and permits their strength to succor give ,that truth may grow and honor live ,to yield their fruit benign4 99 99 99 99 99 ,who gives no sunshine from his soul ,must live in darkness ever1 ,for ,nature scorns to such degree1 ,she blinds a sordid giver4 ,but he who scatters noble deeds1 ,and lives to bless mankind1 ,shall see the beauties ,god reveals ,to men with hearts refined4 ,,incompetence4 ,sometimes our soul within us burns ,to see dark ,ignorance aspire ,to move toward light a mind that yearns ,for knowledge that may lift it higher ,upon the royal road of truth1 ,while every word and act and thought ,betrays an atmosphere so fraught ,with lack of common sense and lore1 ,we plead for some almighty power ,to save from such our precious youth4 ,no ray of truth can ever shine ,to beautify and make divine ,the heart and mind of anxious soul1 ,when doubts and fears have full control ,of him who knows he blindly leads4 ,if human minds and souls and hearts ,may not command those who have arts ,and power to waken1 lead1 inspire1 ,then knowledge fails of her desire1 ,and ,ignorance on ,wisdom feeds4 ,let science1 art1 didactic skill1 ,be guided by unyielding will ,born in some earnest1 patient one ,whose heart glows like the summer sun ,and warms all by its ardent fire2 ,whose interest is so intense ,it readily itself imprints ,upon the tender minds of youths1 ,precepts and scientific truths ,such as their yearning hearts desire4 ,then there shall come a brighter day1 ,when darkness shall to light give way1 ,and ,wisdom on her throne rejoice1 ,and speak with accent in her voice ,that charms and cheers a hungry mind4 ,then1 students1 beauty shall receive ,instead of ashes that deceive1 ,their days and nights of earnest toil1 ,their struggles by the midnight oil ,give recompense complete1 refined4 ,,fact ,,versus ,,form4 ,as shadows are to material forms1 ,as mists to the copious shower ,as dead calms are to tornado storms ,that in tropical region lower ,so are educational fallacies ,that ignore and decry as naught ,the value and power that ever lie ,in the scope of original thought4 ,no smooth device with a soulless form ,should obscure the living thought2 ,it smothers the mind1 destroys the charm ,that comes to him who has wrought ,to discover new truth1 by a truth well known1 ,on which he may safely build1 ,till his mental strength by use has grown ,to a giant strong and skilled4 ,when thought is secure1 the reason clear1 ,and the language to tell is pure1 ,abridgement comes like a friend sincere1 ,for it cannot the mind obscure4 ,the wasted time on a form-clad task ,steals gems from youth's precious years1 ,leaves a wreck on life's shore1 we cannot mask ,with our sorrows and sighs and tears4 ,if what we have learned has given no power ,to acquire what yet we must learn1 ,if all our past struggles leave not a dower ,to which we may joyously turn ,and feel that a strength within us is given ,through efforts already bestowed1 ,in vain have we lived1 in vain have we striven1 ,each task is the same weary load4 ,if task of to-day shall not lighten th' one ,may come upon us to-morrow1 ,it is but a proof our work was ill done1 ,and bodes to us grief and sorrow4 ,ev'ry effort of mind applied aright ,augments the mental perception1 ,for ,god aids the brave1 and giveth a light ,to shine away imperfection4 ,there's a magic power in a task well done1 ,there's a charm in solid reason1 ,there's a mighty force in a victory won1 ,which an alert mind will seize on1 ,and with giant strength that is thus acquired ,march on till the fields of science ,and the zones of thought wherein man aspired ,shall be won by self-reliance4 ,,interest4 ,who has not seen the inert mind1 ,bowed down and sore oppressed1 ,start into life1 and vigor find ,at touch of interest ,some sympathetic soul has shown1 ,by look in kindness given1 ,or word whose accent1 cadence1 tone1 ,gave joy akin to heaven8 ,no emanation from the heart ,has greater power to win1 ,than that which lays aside all art ,and quietly steps in ,to soothe through sympathy1 the cares ,and sorrows1 one by one1 ,of timorous soul who scarcely dares ,go forward all alone1 ,but needs some word of magic power ,to give him life and zest1 ,some animating heart-given dower ,whose wealth is interest4 ,few1 few there are who know the force ,that dormant lies in many a brain1 ,who trace inertia to its source ,or see how mind o'er mind may reign4 ,,memory ,,and ,,reason4 ,who stores the mind with richest truth ,gathered from sages of all lands1 ,may toil through days of sunny youth1 ,and on till ,death gives his commands1 ,but fails to call to him the aid ,of ,reason1 ,judgment1 and ,good ,sense1 ,will find himself at last dismayed ,at smallness of his consequence4 ,the choicest gems must polish bear1 ,and metals must be purged from earth1 ,before a lustre they can wear ,that tells of their intrinsic worth4 ,the brain requires friction of thought1 ,obtained through contact with the world1 ,with which may skillfully be wrought ,the mental gems research unfurled4 ,who builds alone on ,memory ,will find he lacks a needed force ,to fire and set the spirit free1 ,and move him onward in the course ,that tends to lead him by a way ,whose goal is sure1 complete success1 ,but wanting such1 can but display ,chaotic mass of nothingness4 ,let ,memory and ,reason wed1 ,their product then may fully know ,the food on which great minds are fed1 ,the founts from which great actions flow2 ,each holds its share of honored meed1 ,but each requires the other's aid ,to stimulate the urgent need ,by which great genius is displayed4 99 99 99 99 99 ,many a brave resolution ,is formed on ,new ,year's ,day ,to annihilate some vices ,that on our morals prey2 ,but before the year is ended ,they go so far astray ,we find our lives are pursuing ,the old1 accustomed way4 ,,the ,,desirable ,,undefined4 ,i have often thought there's a power ,unknown to science or art1 ,that opens and closes the portals ,that lead to the human heart4 ,i have learned there's a secret something ,that remains yet undefined1 ,that touches the springs and pulleys ,that open the human mind4 ,i have watched the glow of faces1 ,as a light from this occult source ,has touched some inert nature ,with an energizing force4 ,the effect was so magnetic1 ,it seemed like creative skill ,from the hand of the ,great ,master1 ,to give passive being will4 ,sometimes its power seemed but presence1 ,sometimes1 a soft1 mild tone1 ,sometimes1 a look of decision1 ,ofttimes1 from a source unknown4 ,there's a something wrapped in th' nature ,of those most adapted to teach ,that charms and holds the attention ,of those whom its powers reach4 ,there's a sound from some vibration ,within the human voice ,that arouses the latent spirit ,and makes the soul rejoice4 ,its tone has a magic power ,whereby the heart is impressed ,with the weight of its noble mission ,and unselfish interest4 ,there's a mystic charm most winsome ,in th' glance of a speaking eye ,whose light shines in dark recesses ,and explores them in passing by4 ,it illumines the page of the student ,as his soul warms by its fire1 ,and stirs him to greater action1 ,and lifts aspirations higher4 ,every word and look and action ,has weight on trustful youth1 ,that needs no sage to interpret ,or explain its vital truth4 ,they are fully comprehended ,through the instinct1 every one1 ,and need no labored searching ,in a massive lexicon4 ,some call this power attraction1 ,some term it affinity1 ,but all recognize its existence ,and wonderful potency4 ,there's also a power of repulsion ,that breathes with abated breath1 ,whose presence is best betokened ,by ominous signs of death4 ,no word has an inspiration1 ,no look has a sign of cheer1 ,each act reveals that a burden ,must be borne in sorrow and fear4 ,the wrecks that are made by its presence ,have filled almshouses and jails ,with the deepest of lamentations1 ,the saddest of human wails4 ,a selfish1 terrible monster ,that drives away honor and truth ,is the cold-blooded fiend ,repulsion1 ,the destroyer of tender youth4 ,the sea in its frenzy and fury1 ,when lashed by the wintry gales ,casts on the rocks its vessels ,bereft of their spars and sails2 ,the path of the fierce tornado1 ,overstrewn with wild debris ,of fallen habitations ,and uprooted forest tree2 ,the wreck of a world of matter ,that transforms revolving spheres1 ,which have gathered all their greatness ,through the lapse of a million years2 ,the snow-clad mountain terror-- ,the fearful avalanche-- ,whose thunders are heard in valleys ,where imploring faces blanch2 ,the mouth of a raging ,etna ,with its stifling breath of fire1 ,wherein the pride of a city ,in a moment may expire2 ,the trembling of the mountains ,when an earthquake passes by1 ,and the terror of the people ,struck dumb in their agony2 ,the rage of a foaming torrent1 ,after the bursting cloud ,has poured its liquid fury ,in destruction wild and loud2 ,are but the potent protests ,of ,nature's elements ,against some ill arrangement ,that brings them discontents4 ,but these in separate actions1 ,or in forces all combined1 ,leave not so sad a ruin ,as the wreck of one human mind4 ,the voice1 the eye1 and the manner ,are all unlocked by a key ,that has for its great attraction ,a confiding sympathy4 ,the knowledge of books is essential ,to those who youth would guide1 ,but the grace of earnest endeavor ,excels all else beside4 ,truth in its plainness is beauty1 ,science itself is a charm1 ,but the frown of a tyrant tutor ,puts both in constant alarm4 ,to receive a healthful impression1 ,mind must be free from fear1 ,will must be held by attraction1 ,soul1 by a soul sincere4 ,,mirrors4 ,some persons in mind are but mirrors ,reflecting what others have thought1 ,that make no original errors1 ,they are only able to quote4 ,you may ask their opinion on matters ,that pertain to affairs of the day1 ,their minds are but shreds and tatters ,of what all their neighbors say4 ,we respect the man who is careful ,with others his mind to compare1 ,but who of himself is not fearful ,his honest opinion to share ,with men1 when some public measure ,upon the ,state has been thrown1-- ,who proves his mind a rich treasure ,he uses and calls his own4 ,,many4 ,many a grand ambition ,had birth and died in a day1 ,from lack of vigorous nursing ,to keep it from decay4 ,many a hope has faded ,and sunk in deepest despair1 ,through lack of careful pruning ,that fruitage it might bear4 ,many a mind is ruined ,and becomes chaotic mass1 ,through want of systematic ,training in the class4 ,many a song of sweetness ,has lost its harmony1 ,because at its beginning ,it had not the proper key4 ,many a field most fertile ,bears vile and noxious weeds1 ,through failure of the tiller ,to sow some worthy seeds4 ,many a flower of beauty ,and sweetness blooms unseen1 ,and dies in its seclusion ,on a bed of mossy green4 ,better to have no talent1 ,no excellence to give1 ,than permit vice to destroy ,the talent we may have4 99 99 99 99 99 ,no dam can restrain the water ,when leaks receive no care1 ,when the tempest in wild fury ,doth chafe and gnaw and tear1 ,and no hand is raised to succor1 ,no effort to repair1 ,till the torrent bursts in fury ,and fills us with despair4 ',tis too late then for repining1 ,too late1 for work or prayer4 ,,duty ,,done4 ,a duty done is victory won1 ,e'en though in the doing1 ,efforts may fail to bring avail ,in lines we are pursuing4 ,nothing is lost whate'er the cost1 ,when efforts made are noble1 ,beyond the sky acts never die1 ,and honor's crown is double4 ,right cannot fail1 but must prevail1 ,if noble be the motive2 ,heaven is nigher if we aspire ,with hearts sincere and votive4 ,much strength we gain when we maintain ,a truth for truth's sake solely2 ,a mighty power guides effort's hour ,and stamps its cause as holy4 ,if honest heart act well its part1 ,and ask the aid of heaven ,its feeblest word will be so heard ,that succor will be given4 ,it matters not how low our lot ,we rise by honest trial2 ,no effort made for needed aid ,e'er met complete denial4 ,the soul expands when it demands ,a right for self and others1 ,and darkest night has ray of light ,for honest helpful brothers4 ,a noble soul spurns the control ,would bind in servile fetters2 ,no chains can bind ,god-given mind ,inspired by love and letters4 ,an earnest will can ne'er be still ,though oft its hopes be baffled1 ,it will succeed though victims bleed ,and die upon the scaffold4 ,loud shout and sing1 ,crown ,effort ,king1 ,and let the watchword be ,this earnest prayer heard everywhere1 ,god and ,humanity4 ,a duty done is victory won1 ,for strength comes by the doing2 ,there's no retreat1 there's no defeat1 ,if right we are pursuing4 ,,the ,,senses4 ,,the ,,eye4 ,some eyes are trained to scan large field ,till instantaneous glance may yield ,a knowledge full and plenty2 ,while others keep a narrow ken ,and view the ways of active men ,with satisfaction scanty4 ,the optic nerve has power so keen1 ,that ev'ry object by it seen ,is stamped upon the brain2 ,but they of sluggish mental mold ,no vivid photograph will hold1 ,and scarce a scene retain4 ,,the ,,ear ,the tympanum with perfect drum ,hears not the sound when armies come ,with clarion notes and song1 ,unless its stimulated nerve ,has fully learned to humbly serve ,in stations which belong ,to those which ,god designed should live ,for special duties1 ,he might give ,to move mankind along ,upon the road toward perfect man1 ,that ,he might thus reveal ,his plan1 ,and happiness prolong4 ,,the ,,tongue4 ,the power that lies in perfect speech ,dwells with the few who only reach ,that art through toil and care2 ,a faulty tongue perverts the ear1 ,destroys the sense1 augments the fear1 ,and feeds on empty air4 ,a nation's destinies have hung ,upon the influence of a tongue ,whose magic eloquence ,has swayed the thoughts of men1 whose word ,was mightier than the glittering sword ,of armies most immense4 ,,the ,,hand4 ,the manual touch when guided by ,the magic power of sympathy ,that animates the soul1 ,may lead to fields of cultured art ,and cast an influence on the heart ,may through all ages roll4 ,the canvass and the stone may speak ,to more than ,roman and to ,greek ,though in a foreign land2 ,they show the might of cultured skill ,directed by an iron will ,that guides a master's hand4 ,,the ,,nose4 ,the perfumed fields of blooming ,may1 ,the evening scent of new-mown hay ,touch nerve olfactory1 ,and carry to the thoughtful brain ,loved memories of a long-past train ,that once was full of glee4 ,though flowers to-day are choice and rare1 ,in colors they may well compare ,with richest hues we meet2 ,they lack the charm that gave them power ,since past is youth's entrancing hour ,their fragrance seems less sweet4 ,,combined ,,influence4 ,five roads lead to the human brain ,and through these roads all must obtain ,the commerce of all lore2 ,no thought can enter mental port ,of any kind or any sort1 ,of modern days or yore1 ,except such as a tariff pays ,to pass these honored1 great highways ,which lead to eminence1 ,and follow closely every nerve ,which ,god designed should truly serve ,each mind of consequence4 99 99 99 99 99 ,perhaps that star in yonder sky1 ,may be my dwelling place on high1 ,when life on earth is done2 ,at eventide ,i love to gaze ,upon its soft reflected rays1 ,when silent and alone4 ,its brightness charms and draws my soul1 ,by some mysterious1 strong control ,i cannot well explain1 ,unless it be within it dwell ,the friends of earth ,i loved so well1 ,who could not here remain4 ,,soul ,,speaks ,,to ,,soul4 ,soul speaks to soul1 eye speaks to eye1 ,and mind by mind is read2 ,the heart bounds in sweet ecstasy ,whene'er a light is shed1 ,that shines to illume a cherished thought ,that seemed to dwell alone1 ,but on through years has nobly sought ,to solve some truth unknown4 ,the living truth that seemeth dead1 ,needs but a kindred touch ,to resurrect thought's vital thread1 ,and give it influence1 such ,as breaks the bands of fettered mind1 ,and sunders thraldom's chains1 ,spreads benefactions1 pure1 refined1 ,where ignorance now reigns4 ,magnetic touch of spark divine1 ,speak to the inert soul1 ,let light from out the darkness shine1 ,and truth her page unroll2 ,speak to the minds that waiting1 starve1 ,and give them power to see1 ,that he who patiently will serve ,shall win the victory4 ,,our ,,battlefield4 ,written for an entertainment given by the ,fife and ,drum ,corps 7#cf uniformed members7 of the ,third ,ward ,grammar ,school of ,long ,island ,city1 of which the writer is ,principal4 ,there are fields of martial glory ,where the slain are ne'er bemoaned2 ,there are victories though silent1 ,where grim monarchs are dethroned2 ,there are scenes of strife and foray ,where gigantic forces strive ,for the mastery and triumph ,of the ends for which they live4 ,there are forces more puissant ,than ten million armed men1 ,there are banners that are emblems ,of the mighty tongue and pen1 ,that reflect upon their blazon ,honest purpose grand and true1 ,such as never graced the victors ,of ,sedan and ,waterloo4 ,there are weapons in these contests ,keener than the ,damask blade1 ,there are metals of such temper ,as no crucible e'er made2 ,for the dross must be extracted ,in the furnace of the soul ,till no refuse or pollution ,shall defile the perfect whole4 ,though this army counts its millions1 ,each must face alone the foe1 ,each must bring a special weapon1 ,each must strike himself the blow ,that shall free him from the shackles ,of that despot and his train1 ,who with ignorance and vices ,would destroy the heart and brain4 ,our true sword is ,education ,and grim ,ignorance our foe2 ,we are battling with our passions1 ,and our spirits are aglow ,with a full determination ,to accept the proven truth ,that the days of precious seed-time1 ,are the sunny days of youth4 ,day by day the contest rages ,and each task that's daily done1 ,brings a soothing satisfaction ,that another victory's won4 ,thus the strength we gain in action ,aids in each succeeding strife1 ,to make the struggles lighter ,in the battles of our life4 ,there are avenues and byways ,which lead into the heart1 ,whose intricate environments ,require the highest art ,to tell what inspiration ,shall touch a dormant mind1 ,and fire it with a living zeal ,for a station more refined4 ,it is only voice of music ,that speaks universal tongue2 ,it matters not in what accent ,a sweet melody is sung1 ,it will find responsive feelings ,which will aptly understand ,though it be of unknown measure ,and sung in a foreign land4 ,we come with our martial music1 ,with our noisy fife and drum ,to inspire the weak and weary1 ,to open the mouths of the dumb1 ,to train our every emotion ,for a better sphere in life1 ,to enjoy for the passing moment ,the sound of the drum and fife4 ,we hope our notes may be peaceful ,and free from carnage of war2 ,we would bind up the broken hearted ,and cover the wound and scar1 ,but should foe our country menace ,and refuse to be just and calm1 ,we would sound aloud the tocsin ,and march to defend ,uncle ,sam4 99 99 99 99 99 ,to plant an intellectual seed ,and guard its growth from noxious weed1 ,that it may fruitage bear1 ,is solace more1 a thousand fold1 ,than hoarding bonds and stocks and gold1 ,or sporting jewels rare4 ,,good ,,habits4 ,a silent force marks out the course ,of every man and woman1 ,no matter what may be the lot ,of creatures that are human1 ,the end attained is ever gained ,by means so strange and hidden1 ,we call it luck1 instead of pluck1 ,or fate by fairies bidden4 ,the human eye cannot descry ,all workings of the brain2 ,at silent night1 it gains a might ,which bears a mental train ,whose lucid glow may thrones o'erthrow1 ,or bid new nations rise1 ,may prove some plan whereby proud man ,may ransack earth and skies4 ,think not such power a fairy's dower1 ,or influence from some star1 ,it did not spring from anything ,beyond what mortals are4 ,to man is given the keys of heaven ,if they be rightly used2 ,no being born but must be shorn ,if blessings are abused4 ,keep well the trust6 ,guard it we must1 ,from in and outward foes1 ,strength will be gained1 might be attained ,by efforts to oppose ,the secret vice that doth entice ,to ruin and despair2 ,but he who will hath power to kill ,such vice within its lair4 ,let habits grand the life command ,and ,eden is regained2 ,no future bliss need surpass this ,if habits are unstained4 ,let smiling face your presence grace ,and earth will smile on you1 ,let from the tongue a song be sung1 ,its echo will be true1 ,and sing again the same refrain ,upon the selfsame key1 ,till airs elate1 reverberate1 ,heaven's sweetest minstrelsy4 ,if we extend a hand to friend ,who needs a brother's care1 ,though it may hold no purse of gold ,the act he will revere4 ,scarce do we know whence comes the glow ,that duty done e'er gives1 ,its altar-fire cannot expire-- ,here and hereafter lives4 ,such habits then1 for gods and men1 ,are but the means whereby ,they may prepare to gain their share ,to mansions in the sky4 ,sing then a song1 its notes prolong1 ,in praise of ,habit's power2 ,let custom be from evil free ,and it will blessings shower4 ,,evil ,,habits4 ,how habit grows no one e'er knows1 ,and yet he is a giant ,that has a will and subtle skill ,that never yet was pliant4 ',tis very plain that he has slain ,more than the sword and spear1 ,with wily art he charms the heart ,and quells the greatest fear4 ,his artful eye is wondrous sly ,and has bewitching glance1 ,where'er he moves his victim loves ,to see his powers advance4 ,he makes no noise 'mong girls and boys ,whom he would call his own1 ,his spell is cast1 he holds them fast ,till they are overthrown4 ,when this is done the field is won1 ,and they are all his own1 ,he heeds no cry1 no choking sigh1 ,no plea1 no prayer1 no groan4 ,if you would be forever free ,from tyrant so severe1 ,watch every thought before you're caught1 ,for he is hovering near4 ,your every word guard with the sword ,of truth1 which never fails1 ,its honor's sung in every tongue1 ,its power e'er prevails4 ,act well your part1 and keep your heart ,free from the tares he sows1 ,for at the end like traitor friend ,he leaves you with your woes4 ,thus ,habit mars with wounds and scars ,the favored of our race1 ,transforms the mind that ,god designed ,should be the dwelling place ,of noble thought with heaven fraught ,into a sterile plain1 ,whose atmosphere is dank and drear-- ,a wild chaotic brain4 ,man scarce may be entirely free ,from wiles and tricks and snares1 ,whose stealthy forms and subtle charms ,approach us unawares4 ,our eyes are blind or not inclined ,to see that powerful hand1 ,that silently1 yet forcibly ,gives us its strong command4 ,,life',s ,,emergencies4 ,how strangely dark are the vapors ,that sometimes obscure the way1 ,ere the light of truth advances ,to the noon of a perfect day4 ,as the unforeseen approaches ,in stealth from ambushed retreat1 ,the mettle of soul is summoned ,its emergencies to meet4 ,to shrink by its sudden coming1 ,to surrender our control ,without a struggle for vantage1 ,betrays a weakness of soul4 ,the conflicts with emergencies ,we meet in our daily call1 ,give strength or death to moral worth ,as we conquer them or fall4 ,to meet at once with valor true ,the attack from an ambuscade1 ,in moral strife1 or bloody war1 ,hath many a hero made4 ,who has not trained himself to meet ,the vicissitudes that arise ,upon the course of life's stern race1 ,must fail to secure its prize4 99 99 99 99 99 ,to hold a pessimistic view1 ,and see the world as darkly blue1 ,and feel mankind is false1 untrue1 ,is not a just conclusion2 ,but ,truth demands that ,hope shall wear ,no false rose in her silken hair1 ,to hide ,deceit1 ,fraud1 and ,despair1 ,that feed on wild ,delusion4 ,,strand ,,despair4 ,the wrecks that lie on ,strand ,despair1 ,should serve as buoys on life's stern seas ,to guide the voyager safely1 where ,he may escape the tides and breeze ,that drive to whirlpools1 bars1 and rocks1 ,where human vessels oft impinge ,and leave a ruin that but mocks ,the pleadings of persuasion's hinge4 ,an idle mind1 companions base1 ,a shrinking from a duty known1 ,a sly deceit1 a brazen face1 ,a lying tongue1 a sullen tone1 ,lead toward a wreck on ,strand ,despair1 ,and none but self can move the helm ,to change the course for scenes more fair1 ,to save from storms that overwhelm4 ,,indulgence4 ,an alarm is sounding through the land ,that tells of a stronger foe ,than that which marched on ,lexington1 ,to strike a fatal blow ,at the liberties our sires did claim ,for themselves and all mankind1 ,for this foe is a product of deceit ,and sophistry combined4 ,its victims fall by the smiling ways ,of a charmed environment ,that lures him on to neglect and sin1 ,and to final banishment ,of the vital spark of an earnest man1 ,and all that is noble and true1 ,to the effete round of nothingness ,which honor and strength will subdue4 ,no ,spartan ,helen of beauty and fame1 ,no mermaid with winsome face1 ,no ,siren that sings an alluring song1 ,no ,pandora in her grace1 ,can soothe and charm to destruction's retreat1 ,like the foe that robs of power ,to meet the needs of life's true aim1 ,the requirements of each hour4 ,it has filled our courts1 our prisons1 our jails1 ,and filled our almshouses1 too1 ,itself and distress walk hand in hand1 ,no crimes but its victims will do2 ,though it seems like a true and trusty friend ',tis a tyrant in disguise1 ,it leads to distrust and uncertainty1 ,it wins no enduring prize4 ,in homes it leads to disorder wild1 ,in school1 to defiance of laws1 ,in nations1 to strife on bloody fields1 ,in man1 to destruction's jaws2 ,in business its office is but to destroy1 ,in friendship1 brings lack of respect1 ,in love1 oft a maddened1 frenzied heart ,that can never endure neglect4 ,parents1 true kindness holds steady hand1 ,judges1 know justice is kind1 ,teachers1 remember the work for you ,is to strengthen heart and mind4 ,kindness1 dethroned by lack of control1 ,ruins our girls and our boys1 ,firmness is noble1 honest1 and true1 ,indulgence only destroys4 ,,the ,,teacher',s ,,soliloquy4 ,and so another week has gone1 ,and ,i once more am left alone ,within my silent room2 ,my mind is worn by fervent care1 ,and1 languishing1 it needs repair ,for duties yet to come4 ,from all the cares which come on me ,i cannot be entirely free ,thro' all this mortal life2 ,but cares imported from abroad ,make much more ponderous the load1 ,and cause more bitter strife4 ,with patient labor1 day by day1 ,i work along this toilsome way ,intent on doing good2 ,my pupils' hearts ,i would inspire ,with noble thoughts and strong desire ,for intellectual food4 ,i note the various schemes and arts1 ,as prompted by the different hearts1 ,they lead to different deeds4 ,as deeds and hearts will correspond1 ,by observation it is found ,there should be different meeds4 ,the wish made known for some will do1 ,and some a gentle frown would rue ,and feel extremely sad2 ,while others need a sterner look1 ,a reprimand1 or sharp rebuke1 ,and sometimes e'en the rod4 ,most gladly would ,i hail the day ,when children cheerfully obey1 7,if e'er that day shall come17 ,but ere that happy day ,i see1 ,a reformation there must be ,in government at home4 ,and what is my reward for all ,this watchful care and earnest toil ,to train the youthful mind8 ,from ,ignorance it draws a curse-- ,though pocket hold a puny purse-- ,yet one reward ,i find-- ,to see the young prepared for life ,and launched upon the outward strife ,of its tempestuous sea1 ,and know that ,i have trained that mind1 ,with noble thought that heart refined1 ,is rich reward for me4 ,when all life's lessons have been taught1 ,and my own soul with love is fraught ,for earnest1 striving man1 ,perhaps an understanding ,lord ,will proffer as a great reward1 ,redemption through ,his plan4 99 99 99 99 99 ,a beautiful vision ,i sometimes see1 ,that stands in the distance and smiles upon me2 ,it points with a finger of radiance bright1 ,to the fleeting shades of departing night4 ,i would gladly know if this scene designed ,to be a true type of the human mind1 ,when the mists and clouds of dark ignorance1 ,shall into the realms of the unknown advance4 ,,survival ,,of ,,the ,,fittest4 ,the survival of the fittest1 ,the advancement of the best1 ,the enthronement of the truest ,in the world's great crucial test1 ,is emblazoned on each banner ,wherever man is found1 ,and e'en 'mong plants and animals ,this holds1 the world around4 ,then prepare for the survival1 ,allow no base retreat1 7,dethronement means delinquency17 ,endure the cold and heat2 ,the elements that meet us ,may all be overcome1 ,with ,god and right ever in sight1 ,the victory may be won4 ,,the ,,difference4 ,i have scanned the roll of teachers1 ,have noted the ,aarons and ,hurs ,who have stayed education's ,moses1 ,and removed the cumbrous bars ,that environed its anxious spirit1 ,and bowed down its life with cares4 ,i have counted them all over1 ,have analyzed heart and brain1 ,have watched them in daily labor ,that ,i might some key obtain ,to unlock the magical power1 ,by which some supremely reign4 ,i have listened with ear enraptured1 ,have caught the gleam of the eye1 ,have felt the glow of emotion ,when bright corruscations fly ,from mental touch and fervor1 ,that prompted others to try4 ,the soul knows no fire so warming1 ,no light so fervent and true1 ,as the glow of the living presence ,of one of the noble few ,who counts her pain but pleasure1 ,if good she may only do4 ,a teacher who knows her subjects ,and has much of didactic art1 ,will present the truths of science ,to the youthful mind and heart1 ,in ways so apt and skillful ,they will never more depart1 ,but will gather strength and beauty ,with every day and hour1 ,until they become a fortress-- ,an irresistible power ,to dispel the gloom of doubting ,that oft o'er the mind may lower4 ,no truth is learned by mere telling1 ,the mind must conceive and apply2 ,there is inspiration1 knowledge1 ,in one's own discovery ,that lead to efforts and struggles ,for a greater mastery4 ,herein lies the power of teaching3 ,a systemized method to do ,that reaches the understanding1 ,and leads on to fields anew1 ,where ,thought shall be the head master1 ,and ,truth shall ,error subdue2 ,a heart that is wholly given ,to leading the youthful mind1 ,to discover the powers and virtues ,they within themselves shall find1 ,and mould them into actions ,progressive1 strong1 refined2 ,a spirit that sees in the being ,a gift from ,god unto man1 ,that must live on thro' all ages1 ,though influenced by some plan ,that here has been determined1 ,but ,god shall hereafter scan2 ,a tongue that is but the voicing ,of a heart aflame with its cause1 ,that speaks of science and morals ,from a knowledge of their laws2 ,that speeds the true and worthy1 ,but bids all deception pause2 ,a judgment so wisely balanced ,as to know what must be done ,to avoid the indiscretions ,into which so many run1 ,of telling1 instead of leading1 ,till the victory has been won4 99 99 99 99 99 ,in reckoning the moral stock ,of any man or woman1 ,it is but right to recollect ,that all of us are human2 ,if heart be true1 the body frail1 ,and honestly he's striven1 ,tho' oft a brother's plans may fail1 ,he ought to be forgiven4 ,,mind ,,awakened4 ,the battle is not to the mighty1 ,nor the race to the fleet of foot1 ,the peak is not reached by bounding1 ,nor the goal by a devious route2 ,the problems of science and culture ,have been ages upon the way2 ,the greatest vict'ries 'mong nations ,have not been won in a day4 ',tis the steady tramping onward ,of feet that will not turn aside ,from the path they are pursuing1 ,that wins at the eventide4 ',tis the firm determination ,of a strong and unyielding will1 ,moved on by gigantic action ,of forces that cannot be still1 ,that has won the greatest honors ',mong nations whose moral power ,have lighted liberty's beacon ,in despondency's darkest hour4 ,the mind that is sometimes darkest ,when it struggles for light and power1 ,breaks off the bands of thraldom ,and itself like some strong tower1 ,becomes the bulwark of nations ,in defense of some sacred cause ,that looks toward the world's advancement1 ,through reign of beneficent laws4 ,,the ,,ogre4 ,there's an ogre abroad1 boys1 ,there's an ogre abroad1 ,a three-handed monster ,that makes his abode ,in hamlet and city1 ,in country and town1 ,and revels in death ,as he drags people down4 ,he's a sly old destroyer1 ,very loth to admit ,that the snares he is using ,are fraud and deceit4 ,he has slain and devoured ,more than the sword2 ,by all earnest people ,he is greatly abhorred1 ,for he leads to disease1 ,to sorrow and death1 ,as poison exhales ,from his presence and breath4 ,he fastens himself ,on bright1 innocent youth1 ,and slyly allures him ,from virtue and truth4 ,he holds by the throat ,the servants who wait ,to hear his excuses2 ,and sad is their fate1 ,for insidious smile ,is his only excuse ,to victims who suffer ,defeat and abuse4 ,so sly are his movements1 ,so stealthy his tread1 ,like a vampire1 on blood ,he is frequently fed1 ,while his victim1 unconscious1 ,makes no defence2 ,he steals mind and honor ,and good common sense4 ,if you meet him1 my boy1 ,beware of his grasp1 ,for his smiles are so sweet2 ,but on you he will clasp ,the shackles he carries ,forever concealed1 ,and when he secures you ,he seldom will yield4 ,he will keep you away ,from duty and right1 ,destroy all your honor1 ,your hopes sadly blight1 ,with promises made ,which he cannot fulfill ,he robs of contentment ,and shackles the will4 ,this monster has always ,a right hand and left hand ,that have powers of their own ,that ought to command4 ,if he had only these ,and used them aright1 ,his presence would ever ,afford us delight2 ,but the third hand he has ,is a very unkind hand1 ,for this ogre's real name ,is ,little ,behind ,hand4 ,little ,behind ,hand ,is tyrant indeed1 ,from which we would have ,mankind ever freed4 ,little ,behind ,hand ,can seldom find work1 ,for he stumbles in blindness ,and gropes in the dark1 ,he is sullen and mean1 ,near-sighted and sour1 ,ruin and trouble ',bout him constantly lower4 ,drive him off6 ,drive him off6 ,ere he fasten on you ,his fangs of destruction1 ,the pestilent dew ,that he breathes on his victim ,to deaden the sense ,of his presence and power1 ,and their sad consequence4 ,strike him down6 ,strike him down6 ,with strong1 sturdy blow1 ,if you yield to him now ,he will soon lay you low1 ,and when hand and foot ,are at his command1 ,you will feel he has grown ,to a ,big ,behind ,hand4 99 99 99 99 99 ,the public tide is polluted ,with offal1 fraud1 and deceit2 ,in ev'ry line of industry ,its venomous forms we meet ,in men who sneer at truth and right1 ,who1 ,honor's path have decried1 ,that they might gain the golden calf ,whose power they have deified4 ,,my ,,choice4 ,i would rather dwell a hermit ,in some silent peaceful wood1 ,where no voice of human being ,ever breaks the solitude2 ,where babbling brook1 and minstrelsy ,of winged friends are heard ,to join the sylvan choruses ,of leaves when gently stirred1 ,than live in costly splendor ,with a heartless1 greedy throng1 ,whose only thought is sordid pelf ,obtained by fraud and wrong4 ,i would far prefer a cavern ,on some rocky sea-girt isle1 ,where the constant intonations ,of the waves as they recoil ,with their soughing and deep moaning ,for a momentary rest1 ,tell of liquid matter only ,that bespeaks itself distressed1 ,than to live where human bodies ,bend and writhe for freedom's air1 ,till the heart breaks in deep sorrow1 ,and the soul sinks in despair4 ,i would choose a lone oasis ,with one tree1 one flower1 one spring1 ,one bird of sprightly plumage ,with throat attuned to sing2 ,one whisper of approval ,from a voiceless power within2 ,one perfect intuition ,of freedom from all sin1 ,than dwell 'mid throngs and plenty ,and grovel in the filth ,that oft adheres to those who claim ,the boundless stores of wealth4 ,some quiet nook in a valley ,with a canopy of leaves1 ,such as a forest ,titan ,in fantastic beauty weaves2 ,or some vine-embowered tangle ,o'ershadowing murmuring stream ,where scarce a ray of sunlight ,may on its waters gleam1 ,is a dwelling-place more restful ,to a man by right controlled ,than the courts of kings and princes ,ablaze with filched gold4 ,i would not shun the haunts of men ,or bustle of the world1 ,nor would ,i see progression's flag ,lie dormant or unfurled2 ,if man for manhood would aspire1 ,and less for gold and power1 ,if noble thoughts and noble deeds ,employ each passing hour1 ,then should the bustle be supreme1 ,for manhood thus would rise ,above the baser things of earth ,to honors in the skies4 ,i am not a misanthropist1 ,nor hater of just wealth1 ,i love the presence of mankind1 ,i love good-natured health1 ,i love a true and noble soul ,in woman or in man1 ,i love a being who would not ,invert ,god's primal plan ,and keep in bondage soul and mind1 ,through base and false desire ,to trample fellow beings down1 ,that he may rise still higher4 ,i know that hate deep in my soul ,burns with an intense flame ,toward him who scourges the oppressed1 ,and unjust power doth claim1 ,that he may gain some subtle coign ,by which to overthrow ,the balance ,justice ever holds ,alike for friend or foe2 ,for such can never bless mankind ,by thought or word or deed2 ,they laugh in glee whene'er they see ,their victim writhe and bleed4 ,when all we teach in man is mind1 ,and heart has no domain1 ,then fraud1 deceit1 and treachery ,will form a tyrant train1 ,for beacon light can never come ,through those who legislate ,unless good seed has been well sown ,by those who educate2 ,but lift the soul by ,sinai's laws ,and by the ,golden ,rule1 ,then legislation will have power ,through truths taught in the school4 99 99 99 99 99 ,the world is wanting honest men ,who know and dare to do aright1 ,whose honor brightens in the ken ,of ,justice's ever-searching light4 ,,the ,,requirements ,,of ,,the ,,hour4 ,it is hard to tell at the dawn of day ,what the sunset shades may bring1 ,the plans we make may be astray1 ,and our treasured hopes take wing4 ,we know not what strange environment ,may dwarf our most cherished plan1 ,or what obstructions may be sent ,to defeat our ends and aim4 ,though we scorn the thought that fickle ,fate ,has ,destiny in her hand1 ,we all pay tribute at her gate ,and bow low at her command4 ,in spite of all the powers we boast ,of independent action1 ,an intervening hand may cost ,our progress great detraction4 ,few1 few there be who lack the power ,to shape their own destiny1 ,if each will improve th' passing hour ,to its full capacity4 ,a ,,boy4 ,a boy is a wonderfully curious thing1 ,of all creation he deems himself ,king1 ,yet give him for pastime a top and a string ,and he is instantly spinning2 ,when fishes are ripe he tries them with hook1 ,he thinks more of them than of a new book1 ,and steals enough time to after them look1 ,not conscious that he is sinning4 ,the great possibilities within his scope ,prompts to exertion1 inspires him with hope1 ,till with the world he is ready to cope ,for the greatest laurels of honor2 ,glory and fame are attractive stars ,he may seek in strife1 under bloody ,mars1 ,till ,wisdom revolts at the ugly scars ,ambition has placed upon her4 ,oh1 active1 mercurial1 wonderful boy1 ,the world is a top and you spin it with joy1 ,regardless of all the wiles you employ ,to gain the pleasure of seeing2 ,no tree is so tall1 but you reach its top limb1 ,no water so deep1 but in it you swim1 ,no ice is so smooth1 but o'er it you skim ,like a phantom1 a wonderful being4 ,,arbor ,,day ,,poems4 ,,the ,,tree ,,of ,,state4 ,the ,maple was chosen by vote of the children in the schools of ,n4 ,y4 ,state as the ,state ,tree1 and the ,rose as the ,state ,flower4 ,nature's ,tribute1 ,the ,rose1 and ,the ,golden ,rod were written at the request of the ,state ,department of ,public ,instruction of ,n4 ,y4 and sent to the schools of the ,state for ,arbor ,day use4 ,nature's ,tribute was set to music4 ,tree of our state and emblem of neatness1 ,beauty and grace abide in thy form2 ,not in thy blood alone courses a sweetness1 ,thy ev'ry unfolding is suavity born4 ,down in the vale where cowslips are growing1 ,where violets breathe thro' sweet scented lips1 ,where brook o'er the bright pebbly bottom is flowing1 ,and bee of the nectar of columbine sips4 ,a monarch it stands of regnative power1 ,in a graceful symmetrical pose2 ,whose arms weave a fairy1 majestical bower ,where wood-nymphs their beauty disclose4 ,its beautiful leaf of silvery sheen1 ,and the grandeur it gives to the grove1 ,proclaim to th' world it of forest is queen1 ,and most worthy our heart's purest love4 ,honor we maple as type of all neatness1 ,yielding protection1 beauty1 and grace2 ,none of its rivals boast of such sweetness1 ,none can in typical form fill its place4 ,may th' state be as pure in motive and plan1 ,as the maple from evil is free4 ,may every son of the state1 as a man ,take his type from the pure maple tree4 ,then hale be the state1 and hail to the tree6 ,and each halo of glory shall last ,till from all tumult our state will be free1 ,and no stain on her honor be cast4 ,this tree be our care1 our state's honored prize4 ,may virtue and glory assemble1 ,and bid every man in dignity rise ,till the tree of our state he resemble4 ,,arbor ,,day ,,tribute4 ,with lavish hand our ,god hath spread ,beauty and fragrance o'er the land2 ,his smile revives the seeming dead2 ,nature awakes at ,his command4 ,he breathes upon the leafless tree2 ,he whispers to the tiny flower4 ,his touch awakes the slumbering bee1 ,and each obeys th' ,almighty power4 ,the perfumed breeze of smiling ,may1 ,the dancing stream on mountain side1 ,the wild bird's trill of joyous lay ,proclaim ,thy goodness far and wide4 ,attune our hearts to sing ,thy praise1 ,expand our souls to comprehend ,thy attributes and all ,thy ways1 ,and ever be our ,guide and ,friend4 ,we plant to-day within the mould1 ,the stock that needs ,thy tender care2 ,send deep its roots1 its buds unfold ,in answer to our faith and prayer4 ,,the ,,rose4 ,when dewy morn of balmy ,june ,awakes and blushes in the ,east1 ,when song birds pipe their sweetest tune ,and ,nature spreads her grandest feast1 ,among the rare and fragrant plants ,whose petals most of heaven disclose1 ,in foremost rank--far in advance-- ,there stands the sprightly1 smiling rose4 ,its home is on the wide1 wide plains1 ,in valleys where wild torrents foam1 ,in solitudes where silence reigns1 ,and by the cotter's humble home4 ,it cheers alike the rich and poor ,on ,alpine heights1 or by the sea1 ,by castle wall or peasant's door-- ,it justly claims ubiquity4 ,could blushing beauty born of heaven1 ,or world-wide worship win the prize1 ,could fragrance1 fancy1 fame1 or even ,the rich rays of reflected skies ,soothe sorrows sharp and scorching sting ,and give the world complete repose1 ,then men should shout and children sing-- ,the flower of ,state must be the ,rose6 ,,the ,,goldenrod4 ,when ,august sunset's yellow blaze ,streams out o'er meadow1 field and lawn1 ,it seeks some shrine wherein its rays ,may linger till returning dawn1 ,and touching gently with its sheen ,that graceful plumage of the sod1 ,its constellated gems of green ,are changed to glorious ,goldenrod4 ,its home is in the sterile soil ,deserted by the rustic swain ,because it yields not for his toil ,the recompense he would obtain4 ,by wall and ledge1 and rock1 and mound1 ,where'er neglect and ruin reign ,in greatest beauty there 'tis found1 ,to cheer and clothe the earth again4 ,down in the soul there dwells a thought ,that finds expression not in word1 ,that counts display and promise naught ,unless a voice divine is heard1 ,that speaks to cheer the desolate1 ,that yields a balm distilled from ,god2 ,whose type should be the flower of ,state-- ,the sun-lit1 heaven-born ,goldenrod4 ,,buttercups ,,and ,,daisies4 ,buttercups and daisies1-- ,bright children of the lawn-- ,to the fields are nodding ,in the winds of ,june4 ,such beauty of the meadows ,gives a charm so sweet1 so strong1 ,the robin's spirit bursts aloud ,in animated song4 ,buttercups and daisies ,bloom adown the narrow lane1 ,beside the brook in pasture1 ,and over the wide plain2 ,tangles in the meadow ,where ten million flowers bloom1 ,draw bee and bird and squirrel1 ,with their beauty and perfume4 ,buttercups and daisies ,aglow in morning light1 ,and pendant dew-drops sparkling-- ,bright diamonds of night-- ,send a matin greeting ,to the rising god of day1 ,as he warms them gently ,with his golden ray4 ,buttercups and daisies ,are jewels to be worn ,by all sons and daughters ,of ,nature1 truly born2 ,they speak a perfect language1 ,they lead to the divine1 ,they cheer the weak and weary ,they strengthen and refine4 ,buttercups and daisies ,may softly o'er me bloom1 ,when ,i am sweetly sleeping ,within my restful tomb1 ,and when by mortal beings ,i may forgotten be1 ,the buttercups and daisies ,shall be dear friends to me4 99 99 99 99 99 ,modest1 meek anemone1 ,loved wind-flower of the spring1 ,you fill our hearts with gladness1 ,for with your smile you bring ,the vitalizing sunshine1 ,the fruitful ,april shower1 ,the pipe of feathered songster1 ,and bud of sylvan bower4 ,,the ,,fringed ,,gentian4 ,i remember well1 in my boyhood's romp1 ,the beautiful flower that grew near the swamp1 ,with its spiral screw ,of cerulean hue1 ,while on the marge of its petals grew ,a fringe1 such as art never weaves4 ,i plucked it with zeal1 for my heart was aglow1 ,its color and form1 my mother to show1 ,and gladden her eyes ,with the exquisite prize ,i had found when autumnal zephyr sighs ',mong the faded flowers and leaves4 ,fair emblem of maiden adorned as a bride1 ,the tintings of heaven within you abide2 ,you smilingly stand ,in bridal robe grand1 ,for a lover who offers an ardent hand1 ,and a heart that never deceives4 ,when others have left us1 we cherish the one ,who remains firm and faithful till vict'ry's won2 ,though cold be the storm1 ,the heart is e'er warm ,for the tried and true1 who weave such a charm ,round the heart of him who receives4 ,,the ,,dandelion4 ,meadows are dotted1 far and wide1 ,with velvet stars that bring ,a golden off'ring of delight1-- ,flower-goslings of the spring4 ,then gray-haired pappus1 downy1 soft1 ,follows with pistils loose1 ,and the gosling of the early spring ,becomes a white-fledged goose4 ,its feathers float on ev'ry breeze ,that fans the verdant mead1 ,and children count the hours of day ,by breaths that waft the seed4 ,soft1 silent ,time that comes apace ,o'er human flowers that bloom1 ,you quickly change youth to old age1 ,and lead life toward the tomb4 ,bright turf-born gosling of the field1 ,teach us to smile1 and give ,a perfume from a fragrant soul1 ,that on and on shall live4 ,,the ,,flowers ,i ,,love4 ,i sometimes think ,i love the rose ,more than all other flowers1 ,because its fragrance falls on me ,in copious1 dainty showers2 ,and blushing in its modesty1 ,i press it to my heart1 ,as the idol of my dalliance ,that should no more depart4 ,but when ,i see the lily fair-- ,the meadow's beauteous queen-- ,surrounded by her myriad friends ,all dressed in ,nature's green1 ,my heart goes out in ecstasy1 ,and naught on earth to me ,seems fairer type of loveliness1 ,than this daughter of th' lea4 ,when bright snow-flake-petaled daisy1 ,whose heart of yellow gold1 ,is richer vein of pure delight ,than miner-kings may hold1 ,sends out her invitation warm1 ,to search in her domain ,for berries like a bleeding heart1 ,i cannot well decline4 ,and then the graceful goldenrod ,with flaunting1 sun-lit plume1 ,whose lateness lends a special joy ,and sweetness to its bloom1 ,invites me with its wind-blown nod1 ,to be its devotee1 ,with honesty ,i must confess ,it has a charm for me4 ,there's a heaven-born flower--the aster1 ,that drinks nocturnal dews ,from late autumn's chilly fountains1 ,and steals the sunset hues2 ,it smiles from wayside tangles ,and coyly casts its eyes1 ,yet holds me by its modesty ,a voluntary prize4 ,i know not which ,i love the most1-- ,i know ,i love them all1-- ,for ,god hath given each its grace1 ,and each its special call2 ,each has a mission to perform1 ,a purpose and an end1 ,and sweet is the companionship ,of each bright flower-friend4 ,,trailing ,,arbutus4 ,under the brown leaves meekly abiding1 ,the gem of the spring-flowers nestles away1 ,in copse near th' wood1 where covertly hiding1 ,it catches the glow of ,aurora's first ray4 ,where moss and leaf are strewn in profusion-- ,a bed whereon gods might gladly repose-- ,apart from the world1 in rural seclusion ,the pride of the moorland--arbutus grows4 ,in mossy fields1 'mong refuse of bushes1 ,with rose-tinted lips1 like herald of morn1 ,with but a leaf to conceal secret blushes1 ,earth's first vernal offspring is sweetly born4 ,modest1 retiring1 and beautiful sprite1 ,emblem of graces a maiden should wear1 ,great is the pleasure1 supreme the delight ,of searching for joys such coyness doth bear4 ,child of the woodland in beauty abiding1 ,whose breath scents the air of early spring morns1 ,fairies of magical powers are residing ,in nooks and valleys your presence adorns4 ,oft in the springtime ,i wander away ,to dwell for a time in your blest retreat1 ,counting such pleasure far sweeter to me ,than bustle of city or throng of the street4 ,,the ,,morning ,,glory4 ,on being requested to give some ,morning ,glory seeds4 ,the sunshine seems much brighter1 ,and the heart is ever lighter1 ,when the rays of sweet ,aurora ,gild the radiant morning glory ,with a splendor1 such as heaven ,to few favorites has given ,among the beautiful rare flowers4 ,so plant these seeds with care1 ,in a place well-chosen1 where ,the first rays of the morning ,may kiss their bright adorning1 ,and teach your heart to see ,the beauties there may be ,in the early morning hours4 ,,rye4 ,when pollen-dust from fields of rye ,floats out on the dews of even1 ,and stars of ,june bedeck the sky ,of mild and cloudless heaven1 ',tis ecstasy to linger near ,the odor-laden quivers1 ,whose lance-like arrows then appear ,to be our pleasure-givers4 ,when ,luna bright is wreathed in smiles1 ,and breathes upon the flowers1 ,a billowy greenness oft beguiles ,our minds by magic powers2 ,for like the waves of ocean grand ,when tempest winds are high1 ,with speed sweep by the waves on land1 ,in the fields of liquid rye4 ,fragrant fields of beautiful ,june1 ,whose billowy1 graceful green ,is a mem'ry-gem that fades too soon ,from childhood's romantic scene1 ,sweet were my hours of ecstasy ,when by your side ,i was nigh2 ,joys ,i covet1 long lost to me ,that came from sweet fields of rye4 ,,communion ,,with ,,nature4 ',tis sweet to hold communion ,with ,nature true and wild1 ,and feel the thrill of gladness ,she breathes upon her child1 ,when close upon her bosom ,we press the listening ear1 ,and fancy that the minstrelsy ,our raptured senses hear1 ,is sweeter than the chorus ,by angel choirs sung1 ,or richer than vibrations ,of chords so deftly strung1 ,that all their intonations ,seem blended in one strain1 ,by touch of fairy fingers ,which enchant the sweet refrain4 ,the beauties of the sunset ,upon the evening sky1 ,when flecked with fleeting vapors1 ,detached and awry1 ,give colors that no artist ,save ,god alone can show ,to eyes that seek such blendings1 ,and hearts that long to know ,the hidden things in ,nature ,which ne'er can be revealed ,to those who find not heaven ,in mountain1 sky1 and field2 ,for they who live the nearest ,to ,nature's self shall find ,joy boundless as the ocean1 ,as pure and unconfined4 ,deep in the leafy forest ,a thousand tones are heard1-- ,the laughing1 dancing brooklet1 ,the song of bright-winged bird1 ,the buzz of bee on flower1 ,the leaf by breezes fanned1 ,the hum of tiny insect ,whose feeble notes command ,the modulated heart-beat ,to know the great decree1 ,that frees the mind from slavery ,and sets the spirit free1 ,through knowledge of those hidden things ,which ,god only reveals ,to him who loves all nature1 ,and for a brother feels4 ,the dearest and the sweetest ,of all the charms on earth1 ,are those that link our natures ,to feelings that have birth ,when leaf and flower and fruitage ,steal our being for an hour1 ,and we are half unconscious ,of some mysterious power1 ,that leads us close to heaven1 ,and points to joys supreme1 ,where fields and flowers and happiness ,are not an idle dream1 ,but a true and soothing heritage ,whose limit has no end1 ,where ev'ry rock and tree and shrub ,shall prove a trusted friend4 ,if heaven is not shadowed ,upon our spirit mind1 ,through all its gorgeous tintings ,and colorings combined2 ,if ,nature has no language ,to charm the ear and eye1 ,and brooks and birds and forests ,afford no minstrelsy2 ,if waving grain and orchards1 ,freighted with fragrance rare1 ,draw not the spirit heavenward ,and lift the soul in prayer2 ,then orisons are soulless ,though voiced on bended knee1 ,and small must be our knowledge ,of the ,great ,deity4 ,,mountain ,,brook4 ,beneath the shade deep in a dell1 ,where fairy spirits ever dwell1-- ,away from haunts of men1 ,a living thing of godlike birth1 ,by ,nature's law springs from the earth ,to gladden vale and glen4 ,ten thousand fairies clad in green ,enliven the sequestered scene1 ,with noiseless dance and mirth1 ,and minstrelsy of heaven conspires ,with liquid laughs and wind-played lyres ,to charm the scenes of earth4 ,the rocks and trees bedecked with moss1 ,the million leaves with shimmering gloss ,drink from the dancing spray1 ,which rising from the dashing foam1 ,seeks its bright aerial home ,and greets the orb of day4 ,no discord here my spirit jars1 ,no artful smile my comfort mars1 ,for ,nature's self is true2 ,here beauty1 grace1 and peace conspire ,to make my inmost soul desire ,some heart with kindred view4 ,who dwells in such companionship1 ,builds fountains whence the soul may sip ,heaven's sweetest gift to man1 ,sees beauty reign as ,god designed1 ,has purer love for all mankind1 ,and lives near ,nature's plan4 ,loved mountain brook1 so pure1 so true1 ,i'd rather spend an hour with you1 ,and harmonize my soul ,with the sweet melodies you sing1 ,with all the joy your concerts bring1 ,that sit where flowing bowl ,and jocund laugh of merry crowd ,in accents wild1 profane1 and loud1 ,break on the midnight air2 ,for you bring peace and joy and rest1 ,refreshment for a mind distressed1 ,and banish grief and care4 ,when ,i shall sleep my final sleep1 ,fain would ,i rest where you will keep ,a tuneful voice for me2 ,then to my spirit will be given ,the foretaste of a promised heaven-- ,nature's sweet harmony4 ,,to ,a ,,mountain ,,brook4 ,shy sylvan spirit singing so sweetly1 ,dancing to measures that flow with your song ,frolic your fairy feet faultlessly1 fleetly1 ,as down the mountain vale haste you along4 ,babbling buoyantly by banks and bushes1 ,laughingly onward you speed to the sea1 ,while from your mossy sides1 joyously gushes ,fountains from ,nature's bowl1 healthful and free4 ,naiads and ,nymphs hold revels at midnight1 ,dancing to music that swells from your flow2 ,dryad and ,faun peep out at the moonlight1 ,thro' rents in green curtains that over you grow4 ,here would ,i pour my soul out in wooing ,the spirit that dwells in your charmed home2 ,here would ,i linger gladly1 if knowing ,my waiting might lead it at last to come4 ,let me while here with you catch the spirit ,of peace and comfort abiding in you1 ,then will my ,nature truly inherit ,a love for the beautiful1 noble1 and true4 ,,the ,,stream',s ,,story4 ,i sat me down in a forest old1 ,beside a low murmuring stream2 ,i lent my ear to the tale it told1 ,for 'twas more than fancy's dream2 ,it spoke of days when the earth was young1 ,when it flowed more cheerfully1 ,when its water sang the rocks among1 ,as they danced down toward the sea4 ,in the ancient days my banks were filled1 ,nor shrank ,i from heat or frost1 ,for the shaded1 moss-crowned earth then held ,the drops1 so that none were lost4 ,the old forest then stretched far away1 ,and its sheltering arms embraced ,sweet perfumed plants and flowerets gay1 ,whose lives long ago have ceased4 ,for the sturdy woodman plied the blade ,and the forest soon lay low2 ,then the burning sun and the want of shade ,soon shrank my full crystal flow4 ,now when the rain comes1 my waters roar1 ,and my spoils are sad to see1 ,for the earth-vaults where ,i kept my store1 ,hold no surplus now for me4 ,man's greed for wealth has my beauty marred ,and robbed me of early joys1 ,but ,i sing again1 with hope restored1 ,when ,i see the girls and boys ,who come with their songs in merry ,may1 ,o'er valley1 hill1 and plain1 ,to plant young trees on this ,arbor ,day1 ,so in joy ,i smile again4 99 99 99 99 99 ,to wander all day1 by a purling stream ,that flows through some mossy dell1 ,and watch its silvery waters gleam1 ,and list to its music's swell ,as it dashes down some wild cascade1 ,on its race to the wide1 wide sea1 ,with sweeter strains than old ,orpheus played1 ,is supreme delight to me4 ,,the ,,second ,,sunday ,,in ,,may4 ,softly the breezes dance o'er the meadows1 ,wafting the perfume of sweet-scented ,may2 ,flecked are the green fields with sunshine and shadows1 ,telling so gently of earth's perfect day4 ,from moss-covered rocks whereon we are seated1 ,nature spreads scenes such as art cannot yield2 ,with flowers of rare beauty our vision is greeted1 ,our ears1 with the bird-notes of forest and field4 ,dogwood with tints from pink to pure whiteness1 ,columbine crimson with pinnacled sheen1 ,pinks of carnation1 and orchards in brightness1 ,vie with the meadows of velvety green4 ,the bobolink chatters in notes of perfection1 ,the oriole sings a love-song to his mate1 ,the whippoorwill clings to his perch for protection1 ,the crow laughs ha6 ha6 when the evening grows late4 ,squirrel and humming-bird flit by like spirits1 ,jack-in-the-pulpit stands ready to preach1 ,the roll of the anthem the wood-choir inherits1 ,surpasses the harmony mortals can reach4 ,the song of the bird-note1 the hum of the bee1 ,the tinkling of waters1 the bursting of leaves1 ,the perfume of flowers1 the blossoming tree1 ,are sermons from ,nature the pulpit ne'er gives4 ,my soul sings with these1 with these has communion1 ,they lift me in thought to realms pure and bright2 ,they speak of a ,nature with which to have union ,dispels all my sorrows and gives me delight4 ,every sigh of the breeze1 every note of wild bird1 ,every plant that springs up from earth's fertile sod1 ,are sermons of eloquence when rightly heard1 ,that soothe me and bring me nearer to ,god4 ,,nature',s ,,child4 ,i would rather dwell with ,nature ,and be her favored child1 ,to love plant1 tree1 and creature ,that live in forest wild2 ,and feel the satisfaction ,that ,i can understand ,the beauty and attraction ,of motives1 noble1 grand1 ,that fashioned for man's pleasure ,this brilliant world of ours1 ,than possess the jeweled treasure ,of all earth's kingly powers4 ,,lake ,,george1 ,n4 ,y4 ,beautiful1 beautiful ,horicon6 ,over thy waters so blue1 ,sunshine and shadow in silence flit on1 ,painting fresh scenes on the ecstatic view4 ,blue are the skies that kiss the green tops ,of sentinel mountains grand1 ,pure are the waters descending in drops1 ,or rushing in torrents from mountain to strand4 ,like emerald crowns thy islands rise1 ,and mirrored back are doubly seen ,gray rocks of the mountains1 the cloud-flecked skies1 ,gorgeous adornments1 and fringes of green4 ,silent and wild are the fairy shores ,save song of the warbling bird1 ,or the glen wherein the cataract roars1 ,or the pine tree's branch by strong breezes stirred4 ,when sunset purples the dark ravine ,and throws crimson on thy breast1 ,soft-tinged are the hues that e'er lie between ,thy shores and the peaks that rise in the west4 ,i see in my fancy days long past1 ,i hear the brave soldier's song1 ,the bugle that summoned hosts at its blast1 ,whose notes died in echoes the green shores along4 ,i see in the past ten-thousand oars1 ,and a thousand boats so grand1 ,as they leave the marge of thy southern shores ,to meet the ,french foes of ,montcalm's command4 ,i see ,abercrombie grandly brave ,with his fifteen thousand men1 ,glide swiftly1 silently over the wave ,to contest from which many came not again4 ,beautiful1 beautiful ,horicon6 ,how changed is the scene to-day1 ,the pageant of war and carnage is gone ,thy waters now bear the light-hearted and gay4 99 99 99 99 99 ,who loves devoutly ,nature wild1 ,and sees in her a ,master's hand1 ,will seldom be a wayward child ,though foul temptations round him stand4 ,magnetic forces draw him back ,from following low and slavish ways1 ,his soul revolts at the attack ,that foe of ,nature--,vice1 displays4 ,,the ,,thrush4 ,when on mountain road ,i travel1 ,stained with dust and dirt and gravel1 ,in cool shade ,i sit me down2 ,oft ,i see among the bushes ,feathered friends--shy brown thrushes1 ,sweetest singers of renown4 ,smooth his coat though brown and dusty1 ,his mellow voice is ever trusty ,and clear and soft and sweet2 ,on the tree-top oft he's singing1 ,in the woods his voice is ringing ,while hills his notes repeat4 ,i have heard him in the morning ,when the sun was just adorning ,tops of tallest forest trees1 ,pour his soul of song so tender1 ,that to ,god he seemed to render ,thanksgiving harmonies4 ,every feather he did quiver1 ,as his song he would deliver ,in bursts so wild and grand1 ,that creation's face would gladden ,as the air with music laden ,seemed fraught with choral band4 ,some notes that swelled his speckled breast ,were like soft zephyrs from the west ,that fall on ,june-blown flowers2 ,so full1 so sweet1 they lull the soul1 ,and like a spirit voice control ,my reveries for hours4 ,soulful song1 enwrapped in feather1 ,harbinger of pleasant weather1 ,sing softly unto me4 ,your tuneful notes at morn and even ,are antepasts of joys in heaven ,that bring felicity4 ,attune your joyous song for me1 ,and lift my soul that it may see ,the world in beauty bright2 ,sing on1 sing on1 until the wood ,shall laugh aloud in merry mood1 ,and sadness take her flight6 ,sweet warbling bird in brown attire1 ,your notes of praise do me inspire ,with love for ,nature wild2 ,your songs of joy so sweetly sung1 ,by heart and throat divinely strung1 ,proclaim you ,nature's child4 ,,robin ,,redbreast4 ,low and soft and plaintive1 ,now distant and now near1 ,is the voice of ,robin ,redbreast1 ,that in the tree ,i hear4 ,sometimes 'tis but a murmur1 ,so gentle and so sweet1 ,it sounds like a dying zephyr ,that echo doth repeat4 ,and then in bursts of music ,that make the forests ring1 ,comes the swelling1 happy ditty ,his birdship loves to sing4 ,and the voice is so enchanting1 ,so perfect and so clear1 ,all earth stands still to listen1 ,and the clouds bend low to hear4 ,again he tunes his liquid note ,to winds in tree-tops sighing1 ,or to the sound of waters ,that o'er the rocks are playing4 ,the sprightly1 sweet ventriloquist ,deceives you as to distance1 ,you sometimes think him far away ,beyond alarm's resistance1 ,and then again1 you think him near ,the place you are abiding2 ,he's in the same place all the time1 ,in covert he is hiding1 ,and telling you in measured notes ,his mate is yonder nesting1 ,while in the shade of leafy tree ,near by in song he's resting4 ,had ,i so sweet a voice as his ,i'd carol all day long1 ,charm with my presence all mankind1 ,and cheer them with my song4 ,the woods and fields should echo far ,my choicest minstrelsy1 ,while earth and sky would both unite ,to join the revelry4 ,,the ,,farmer4 ,of war and love some poets sing1 ,and some of fame and glory1 ,but few there are a tribute bring ,to him whose only story ,is written on the sterile soil ,with hand of honest labor1 ,whose plow and hoe bespeak a toil ,more grand than gory sabre4 ,my muse will sing of such as these1 ,and claim a wreath of laurel1 ,to crown each sturdy ,hercules ,whose only wish to quarrel1 ,is with the forest and the field ,to make them rich and fairer1 ,to make old mother earth to yield ,her fruits and flowers e'en rarer4 ,let merchants in the busy marts ,think farmers are mere cattle1 ,but they who know the farmers' hearts ,and of his earnest battle ,with thorns and thistles scattered wide1 ,like earth's destructive ,neros1 ,well know they are our country's pride-- ,our ,nation's greatest heroes4 ,the lily-fingered1 pale-faced men ,who live by ,a ,profession1 ,need not despise the farmer1 when ,he makes some slight digression ,upon what they call etiquette2 ,for in his heart he's civil2 ,though rough his hand1 his brow asweat1 ,his heart is free from evil4 ,he toils from early morn till night1 ,yet he is ,independent2 ,for ,nature's ,god defends the right1 ,and holds a crown resplendent ,to place upon ,his honored child ,whose life is heavy laden1 ,but keeps a spirit undefiled ,to enter into ,eden4 99 99 99 99 99 ,though brown and dusty be his garb ,from wrestling with the soil1 ,the farmer is ,god's nobleman1 ,made so1 by honest toil4 ,,the ,,old ,,farm4 ,the dear old farm has a sacred charm ,that extends to farthest bound1 ,every rock and tree is dear to me1 ,and hallowed seems the ground4 ,its beautiful stream whose waters gleam ,as they dance on to the sea1 ,sings sweeter song1 as it moves along1 ,than other waters to me4 ,no leaves are so green1 as those that screen ,the revered old farm-house doors1 ,from the burning sun of torrid ,june ,when his fiercest rays he pours4 ,each grove and field doth a mem'ry yield ,of dear childhood's blissful hours1 ,and in accents clear1 voices ,i hear ,that have now augmented powers4 ,my father's care and my mother's prayer ,are now ended here on earth1 ,but as time rolls on1 since they have gone1 ,i shall understand their worth4 ,there's a sacred charm in the dear old farm1 ,for loved ones have trod its soil1 ,and much ,i now see1 appears to me ,as fruit of their faithful toil4 ,,maple ,,at ,,my ,,father',s ,,door4 ,on velvet green of grassy floor1 ',neath maple at my father's door ,my couch at eve has been2 ,there gazing on the tranquil sky1 ,with all its astral brilliancy1 ,my spirit sang within4 ,then far away beyond the blue1 ,on ,fancy's wings my vision flew ,and scanned the realms of space2 ,then like a dove far from her nest1 ,returned to find a perfect rest ,within its dwelling place4 ,,oceanus' ,,mirror1 ,,trinity ,,lake1 ,n4 ,y4 ,see ,note on ,fidelity4 ,i've been charmed by many a picture1 ,that has brought its master renown2 ,i have looked on beautiful valleys ,from the mountain's lofty crown2 ,i have gazed on the sky at evening1 ,when the heavens were all aglow1 ,but they fail to charm me so fully ,as this scene in the waters below4 ,fair ,trinity lay in her beauty1 ,not a ripple was on her breast1 ,her borders of hemlocks and mosses ,with beautiful flowers were dressed2 ,clear as the air on her bosom ,were her waters so pure and deep1 ,they seemed like the magical mirror ,that ,flora and ,nereus keep4 ,where the rocks and trees bend over ,the marge of her western shore1 ,the boat glided slowly onward ,without the aid of the oar2 ,when glancing the eye at the shadows ,reflected from shore near at hand1 ,there appeared a bright panorama1 ,most charming--exquisitely grand4 ,down1 down1 far down in the waters1 ,and touching the brink of the lake1 ,was a picture no master painter ,with pencil or brush could make2 ,gray rocks1 green trees1 and bright flowers1 ,inverted and magnified1 too1 ,seemed perfect in all but proportion ,and their upturned chimerical view4 ,it seemed like a fairy enchantment ,inviting to feasts down below1 ,where grottoes and caverns of beauty ,illumine the flowers that grow ,to charm the nymphs of the water1 ,and beguile all the sylvan elves ,to the table of old ,oceanus1 ,where guests ever help themselves4 ,some spirit seemed calling me sweetly1 ,inviting me then to partake ,of the fanciful pleasures reflected ,far down in the clear1 placid lake4 ,o1 beautiful scene of reflection6 ,so perfect1 so grand1 and so pure1 ,in my mind that mirror enchantment ,to the end of my days must endure4 ,,morning ,,flowers4 ,the flowers all wash their faces fair ,with the dews of the smiling morn1 ,then turn to greet the god of the air ,as his light in the east is born4 ,they call th' breeze from th' slumb'ring west ,and a censer place in his hand1 ,then mingle perfumes1 choicest1 best1 ,to waft o'er the festive land4 ,the flower of th' heart may lave in deeds ,that refresh the worthy poor1 ,and th' soul's perfume is that which feeds ,the hungry1 weak1 and sore4 99 99 99 99 99 ,that spring unfolds to pleasure's eye2 ,there's wisdom in the falling drop ,that had its birth in yonder sky4 ,the breeze that fans the fevered brow1 ,or gives new vigor to frail man1 ,is but the breath of the ,divine ,sent to fulfill benignant plan4 ,,artist ,,nature4 ,when ,aurora springs from her couch of clouds ,and opens the gate of a perfect day1 ,and her brother ,sol in his daily rounds ,advances his steeds toward ,polaris' ray1 ,then the vernal bloom and the warbling bird ,that follow his track as he speeds along1 ,send their fragrance pure on the morning air1 ,and fill leafy groves with ecstatic song4 ,oceanus lends invisible bowls1 ,well filled with vapors that rise from his breast1 ,eurus is summoned to waft them afar ,and scatter abroad in the distant west1 ,where ,sol with his brush and an artist's touch1 ,paints on the sky all the glories of heaven1 ,in colors more bright and blendings more true1 ,than ever on canvas by mortal was given4 ,one sunset scene in ,hesperian sky1 ,when the courts of heaven are all ablaze ,with the glorious tints and pageantry ,that to mortal mind so clearly portrays ,the mighty power of omnipotent hand1 ,and the tender touch of a boundless love1 ,is an omen true--infallible proof ,of a ,deity who presides above4 ,,miscellaneous ,,poems4 ,,music4 ,when musical chords are tensioned ,to sentiments they should express1 ,and touched by a master artist ,whose deft hand gives the proper stress1 ,the effect is so ecstatic ,when vibrations fall on the ear1 ,the soul stands in silent rapture1 ,and our being expands to hear4 ,at skillful touch of the master ,a creation of joy is given1 ,that lends to the spirit pinions ,to waft it away toward heaven1 ,while it sings to the same measure ,and becomes a part of the song1 ,enraptured by the magic power ,which carries it gently along4 ,o the magic power of tension ,when a master hand has control6 ,it wins the heart's approbation ,and augments the receptive soul2 ',tis a rapture born in heaven ,to entrance our expectant ears1 ',tis angelic diapason ,such as harmonized once the spheres4 ,we each have an organ1 tensioned ,with a thousand strings and their keys1 ,all made by a ,master builder ,who permits us ourselves to please2 ,its wonderful combinations ,far surpass all the works of art1 ',tis the master-piece of creation-- ,the versatile1 strange1 human heart4 ,we have sole choice of the music ,that shall sound on the tensioned strings2 ,we may choose if sad or joyous ,shall be the final note it sings2 ,though fate may fling fiercest chaos1 ,its ,maker reserved to us powers ,that we need not ever surrender1 ,for the strength to possess is ours4 ,let my tongue sing songs of rapture ,and my heart-strings sweetly respond1 ,till the notes shall pass earth's border ,and reach the bright portals beyond2 ,and when in the great hereafter ,the tension shall be much increased1 ,my joys will be there augmented ,to know that earth's songs have not ceased4 99 99 99 99 99 ,i often long for some quiet nook ,away from the noise and strife ,which come from the steady daily round ,that absorbs my busy life2 ,away in some shadowy forest ,whose silence is supreme1 ,save the song of feathered minstrel ,and the murmur of a stream2 ,far away among the dark shadows ,that form ,fauna's trysting-bowers1-- ,but the time of this total seclusion ,should ne'er exceed six hours4 ,,rest4 ,when wearisome task is finished ,and flesh with fatigue is oppressed1 ,when muscles are tired and languid ,and sinews are sorely distressed1 ,no balm can renew their vigor ,like that boon from heaven called rest4 ,we know not its composition1 ,nor can we expound all its laws1 ,we grant the effect is pleasant ,tho' we cannot explain the cause2 ,we therefore accept the blessing ,and bid curiosity pause4 ,foremost in its rank of agents ,is a heavenly maid called ,sleep1 ,who stands in unbroken silence1 ,and ever her watch will keep ,o'er mortals whose labors and trials ,seem heavy1 oppressive1 and deep4 ,sometimes when sorrows are deepest ,this maiden refuses relief2 ,she's no balm for the broken-hearted1 ,no cure for a head bowed with grief1 ,no soothing touch for the anguish ,that robs like a heartless thief4 ,she flies from deep woe and sorrow ,and recedes from the blinding tear2 ,yet hastes to fatigue and trials ,and offers to them smiles of cheer ,such as turn to joy and gladness1 ,murky doubt and foreboding fear4 ,when death shall release the spirit ,from its prison-house of vile clay1 ,it will speed to an elysian ,of a cloudless1 unending day1 ,where with others of its kindred1 ,it will find a rest for aye4 99 99 99 99 99 ,well filled with murky ink1 ,when in my solitary den ,i sit for hours to think1 ,and trace my thoughts in liquid flow ,upon some virgin page1 ,that in the future it may show ,what thoughts my mind engage4 ,,success4 ,success knows no diminution1 ,for failure hovers so near1 ,that with trace of slight dilution1 ,success must cease to appear4 ,we look in vain for a substitute ,to take the place of success2 ,a proxy saps its vital cords1 ,it dies of paralysis4 ,nothing can take the place of success1 ,its measure must be complete1 ,if slightest imperfection is found ,it suffers a deadly defeat4 ,the marge that divides sturdy success ,from failure grim and gaunt1 ,is invisible space1 but separates ,abundance from woe and want4 ,like pack of wolves on army's trail1 ,fell failure lives on distress1 ,devouring with greed th' foul refuse ,that falls from th' hands of success4 ,success and failure closely abide-- ,success has a palace fine1 ,while failure dwells in a dreary hut1 ,like a herding place for swine4 ,success may not always achieve ,the object it has in view1 ,but lives while its motives and acts ,are earnest1 noble1 and true4 ,true failure can only be found ,in a being devoid of heart1 ,whose efforts and deeds are all dead1 ,or act but a sluggard's part4 ,success has a heart that can sing1 ,a hand and a spirit to try1 ,a word that is fraught with good cheer1 ,a soul that illumines the eye4 ,failure is cheerless1 sullen1 and glum1 ,his hand hanging idly by1 ,his voice is an echo of woe1 ,his face distorted1 awry4 ,,fragments4 ,this world was made of fragments ,each separate from the other1 ,yet in such close relation ,as to indicate a brother4 ,each atom of the universe ,has in itself attraction1 ,that finds response so much allied ,to voluntary action1 ,that one might quickly recognize ,a power1 supreme1 benign1 ,that emanates from master hand ,with forces so divine1 ,that every touch which nature gives ,to matter or to mind1 ,must indicate creative power ,superior to mankind4 ,what scientist can ever tell ,the mainspring of all action1 ,if all his reasons fail so prove ,molecular attraction8 ,it has its source from out the space1 ,beyond the astral heaven2 ,it had a purpose to perform1 ,or it had not been given4 ,we may not know its secret laws ,or understand its source1 ,but faith has taught us to be wise ,and recognize its force4 ,of all the teeming millions now ,upon this mundane sphere1 ,not one can give a reason ,for his living presence here4 ',tis strange1 and yet we know 'tis true1 ,we constantly are dying1 ,all things are old1 nothing is new1 ,and life with death is vying4 ,we know not when this all will cease1 ,we cannot understand ,why matter never may increase1 ,or seas become dry land4 ,enough we know to serve the end ,for which we were designed1 ,god never yet was known to send ,the blind to lead the blind4 ,if we but act an honest part1 ,and use the powers given1 ,when from this earth we shall depart1 ,we may be wise in heaven4 ,a ,,beacon ,,light4 ,adown the vistas of the past ,i cast my memory's eye1 ,and see bright scenes receding fast1-- ,some hopes in ruins lie2 ,yet still there shines a beacon light ,whose ray on me descends1 ,and shows in its effulgency ,a circle of true friends4 ,the magic charm this circle yields ,is richer far to me1 ,than cattle in a thousand fields ,or gems from the deep sea2 ,it whispers softly in my ears ,and cheers me on my way1 ,gives faith for doubt and murky fears1 ,and comfort for dismay4 ,,memory4 ,earthly scenes are worth preserving1 ,bitter though they sometimes be2 ,who would wish to sink in ,lethe ,all the fruits of ,memory8 ,none could dare offend his ,maker ,by a wish so rash and vain2 ,for by this kind boon from ,heaven ,life is all lived o'er again4 ,in the silent hour of twilight1 ,thoughts of by-gone days will come1 ,stealing o'er our better feelings1 ,bringing back our early home2 ,all the soothing words of friendship ,spoken by a tongue now still1 ,touch the fountains near our heart-strings1 ,and our eyes with moisture fill4 ,tender1 oh1 how sweetly tender1 ,are the musings of an hour1 ,when the mellowing scenes around us ,give to ,memory magic power2 ,thought recalls those scenes long parted1 ,life epitomized appears1 ,moments then reflect a lifetime ,reaching back through many years4 ,oh1 how blessed are those moments6 ,present scenes can never fire ,such a rapture in our bosom ,as fond ,memory can inspire2 ,naught on earth can e'er be spoken ,to attract the living ear1 ,like the words of the departed ,uttered when among us here4 ,time and ,death have made them sacred1 ,memory calls them oft to mind1 ,and her choicest1 dearest treasures1 ,she for them has oft entwined2 ,this is but a simple homage1 ,richly paying him who kneels2 ,he who's prompted by such feelings1 ,for his fellow being feels4 ,dark must be that soul enshrouded1 ,which ,oblivion would prefer ,to the soothing power of ,memory ,and the influence shed by her3 ,life itself is not worth having ,if deprived of such a bliss1 ,earth has not another treasure ,that we may compare with this4 ,,discontent4 ,let quiet people talk of peace-- ,contentment of the mind1 ,but he who lives at perfect ease ,can never bless mankind4 ,if each no higher end should seek ,than that which now he fills1 ,but be content1 subdued1 and meek1 ',twould bring a thousand ills4 ,advancement then would have an end4 ,progression then would cease1 ,invention have no earnest friend1 ,and science no increase4 ,but ,discontent1 though called a fiend1 ,is progress in disguise1 ',tis this by which our end's attained1 ',tis this by which we rise4 ,the pupil may surpass the sage ,if such his aim shall be1 ,may fathom truths for many an age ,were wrapped mystery4 ,the genius may invent some plan ,to ease the laborer's toil1 ,or add facility for man ,to cultivate the soil4 ,contentment never did aspire ,to elevate mankind1 ,it never raised the standard higher ,of science or of mind4 ',tis ,discontent that gains the prize ,in every useful art2 ,although it brings us tearful eyes ,and restlessness of heart2 ,but then it has a sweet reward-- ,progression is the fruit1 ,but some this sweetness have abhorred ,for others have the boot4 ,for he who blesses most mankind1 ,himself is seldom blessed1 ,and he whose deeds should be enshrined ,will seldom be caressed4 ,yet1 let our banner ne'er be furled1 ,our lives in quiet spent2 ,for 'tis a truth that all the world ,still thrives on ,discontent4 ,,our ,,politics4 ,the purification of politics is an iridescent dream4 ,u4 ,s4 ,senator1 ,john ,j4 ,ingalls1 ,kansas4 ,purification of politics ,is an iridescent dream1 ,is the ,ingalls way of saying that ,corruption's power's supreme4 ,have the people lost their honesty1 ,has the ,nation sunk so low1 ,that partisan strife can blind our eyes ,till we know not friend from foe8 ,if such be true1 this fair land of ours ,must fail to mature the ,hope ,that blossomed fair on ,liberty's tree1 ,but in impotence must grope4 ,beautiful land6 ,god's own favored land6 ,thy sons must united be1 ,statesmen should now hold the public helm1 ,throw factions into the sea1 ,teach politicians with all their schemes1 ,the people yet are supreme2 ,that ,augean stables--politics-- ,may be cleansed by ballot's streams4 ,,sunset4 ,softly the tints of expiring day ,tinge th' vaults of ,hesperian heaven1 ,leaving a trace of the sun's mellow ray ,to escort the shadows of even4 ,all of the gates of ,phoebus are drawn1 ,yet his splendor has left to sight ,a trail of enchantment to linger till dawn1 ,to charm the still hours of the night4 ,scenes of such cloud-land often reveal ,a grandeur that augments the soul2 ,heaven has no beauties it seeks to conceal1 ,no secrets inscribed on its scroll4 ,through the earth for an age we may roam1 ,and through space our vision may fly1 ,yet no pleasure is like that at home ,when we gaze on a ,god-painted sky4 ,when we think of the forces displayed ,to prepare for a cloud-scene at even1 ,of the elements deftly arrayed ,that a gorgeous effect may be given1 ,of the mists and the winds and the light1 ,of the blendings that art cannot teach1 ,of the mysteries hidden from sight ,that our knowledge would gladly reach1 ,of the order1 the purpose1 design1 ,in the pictures that hang in the sky1 ,we know that the hand is divine ,that arranged all their brilliancy1 ,then our faith lifts the curtain that hides ,the ,spirit that ordered the plan1 ,and assures us ,he ever abides ,to encourage and elevate man4 ,at sunset my spirit shall sing ,of the beauties the elements yield1 ,let my heart then its off'ring bring ,to the ,artist of sky and of field4 ,when my soul from its dwelling of clay1 ,shall escape to that unknown sphere1 ,may it be at the close of the day1 ,when the glories of sunset appear4 ,soothingly1 sweetly comes unto me ,the thought that my soul may rest1 ,in a land whose glory shall be ,like cloud-scenes that glow in the west4 ,,selfishness4 ,who lives for self alone should be ,placed in some lonely1 hollow tree1 ,and left to toad and bat and owl-- ,to creatures man considers foul-- ,where he shall be perpetual prey ,for frightful ogres night and day4 ,a narrow soul that lives for self1 ,should stand on some old musty shelf1 ,where spiders1 rats1 and vermin throng1 ,and listen only to the song ,of filing saw and creaky mill1 ,and owlet's hoot and whip-poor-will4 ,who lives for self is not afraid ,of meanest thing ,god ever made1 ,for he himself is that same thing2 ,though peasant1 plebian1 or king1 ,he thwarts the purpose of ,god's plan1 ,he lacks the impulse of a man4 ,no soul enwrapped within itself1 ,or dwarfed by pride1 or love of pelf1 ,can serve its ,maker or mankind ,as nobly as was erst designed ,by the ,great ,architect above1 ,whose being is ,unselfish ,love4 ,,retrospection4 ,i sit when the shadows are stealing ,the light of departing day1 ,and think of the scenes and pleasures ,i enjoyed in my childhood's play4 ,i can picture them all so plainly1 ,they seemed not a day gone by1 ,i recall the fields and garden1 ,the lake and the clear blue sky4 ,i can see the bright water flowing ,at the foot of the sloping hill1 ,the dam that impeded its progress1 ,the toy-wheel of water-mill4 ,i can trace every line and feature ,of trees and the shadows they cast1 ,the lanes1 the rocks1 and orchards1 ,that on journey to school were past4 ,i can close my eyes for an instant ,and draw a scene to my mind1 ,that seems like a photo-engraving1 ,as true1 as complete1 as defined4 ,time's flight has not dim'd or shaded ,one outline the scenes gave then1 ,though the years that have intervened1 ,are nearly two score and ten4 ,there's a central1 attractive figure1 ,with heart unselfish and warm1 ,that always appears in the picture-- ',tis my mother's benignant form4 ,i can see her in all the beauty ,and glow of a mother's pride1 ,as she patiently watched and labored ,for her children at her side4 ,how sweet to my soul is the power ,to so clearly these scenes portray2 ,i pray that to life's latest hour ,this bliss be not taken away4 ,,alone4 ,and the ,lord ,god said1 ,it is not good that the man should be alone2 ,i will make him a help meet for him4--,gen4 #b1 #ah4 ,alone6 ,god saw ,his creature man1 ,deprived of great felicity1 ,and changed the order of ,his plan ,that earth in harmony might be ,with all the products of the spheres1 ,which move in such perfect accord1 ,that through aeons of passing years ,they but proclaim a perfect ,lord4 ,the earth was fair and fresh and young1 ,the stars hung in a cloudless sky1 ,sweet perfumes on the air were flung ,from every breeze went laughing by2 ,the brook and bird in wanton glee1 ,attuned their notes in such refrain ,that earth was full of minstrelsy1 ,and heaven re-echoed it again4 ,god's image1 man1 heard not the strain1 ,no beauty charmed his listless eye1 ,earth spread her treasures but in vain1 ,in vain shone the bejeweled sky2 ,earth gave no food for hungry heart1 ,no solace-cup from which to sip1 ,defective seemed ,nature and ,art1 ,to soul robbed of companionship4 ,a help meet then to man was given1 ,to soothe and cheer his lonely way2 ,eve was an afterthought of ,heaven ,that crowned the last creation-day4 ,create anew1 ,almighty ,power1 ,a help meet for the desolate1 ,let no wild sophistry devour ,the solace ,thou didst last create4 ,,love4 ,written after reading ,shakespeare's sonnet commencing1 ,love is not ,love which alters when it alterations finds4 ,love is a sort of cannibal ,and lives upon its kind1 ,it dares all dangers1 fears no foes ,and to the world is blind1 ,while faithful heart unswerving beats1 ,or pines in forced retreat2 ,it deems all tortures fate may send ,are perfumed with the sweet ,aroma of implicit faith1 ,born of a kindred soul ,that to the outer things of life ,spurns puny hate's control4 ,love1 undeceived1 is perfect bliss ,when trust reciprocates ,the purest1 sweetest touch that ,heaven ,within the soul creates2 ,but fierce ,vesuvius cannot burn ,with such destructive flame1 ,as fires ,love's victim of deceit ,stung by the taunts that claim ,no truthful fountain as their source1 ,no mild-voiced ,justice to allay ,the cauldron of defenseless fraud ,distilled through treachery4 ,love that dissembles is not love1 ,but a subtle treachery1-- ,a siren with a charming voice ,that sounds o'er a mirror sea1-- ,a beacon light set to allure ,from a harbor safe and calm1-- ,a soothing drug whose deadly power ,yields to no proffered balm1-- ,a smiling face with winsome glow ,but poisonous1 blasting breath1 ,that breathes upon its victim1 draughts ,of sorrow1 tears1 and death4 ,love that would gain a mastery ,to wield for pelf or power1 ,is not a love born clean and pure ,o'er which no evils lower1 ,but like a miasmatic clime ,that yields delicious fruit1 ,it hides the venom it distills1 ,and seeks its sole repute ,in outward show and pageantry1 ,wherein are deep concealed ,the poisoned arrows plumed for death1 ,it would not have revealed4 ,unselfish love is but a spark ,of ,god's own spirit dropped from ,heaven1 ,the richest boon1 the sweetest joy1 ,that unto mortals ,god hath given2 ,within itself it hath a power ,to lift the soul on joyous wings1 ,attune the heart to harmonies1 ,and softly touch the tensioned strings ,that vibrate in such unison ,with other strings so like its own1 ,that not a discord may be heard ,in cadence1 blend1 or tone4 99 99 99 99 99 ,as a cricket sang his song to me ,on a late ,september eve1 ,the tone had a sadness in it1 ,that over my spirit did weave ,a spell of gloom1 at the requiem ,he sang in his solitude1 ,for the dying year1 th' fading leaf1 ,and flowers by frost subdued4 ,,lies4 ,if aught on earth my soul can fire1 ',tis the deception of a liar ,who with soft smoothness of the tongue1 ,has promises and pledges strung ,to suit all needs that come to hand1 ,to serve the purpose ,satan planned4 ,satan himself1 ,i think1 would shun ,the presence of that artful one1 ,who violates truth's sacred laws1 ,regardless of the end or cause1 ,but deems it strategy to live ,for the sole purpose to deceive4 ,if hell has any corner where ,vile culprits may be doomed to share ,the merits they richly deserve1 ,it should be held in strict reserve ,for them whose flattery and art ,are used to kill a trusting heart4 ,let me abhor1 loathe1 and despise ,the author of those fiendish lies1 ,who would for pleasure1 greed1 or power1 ,the confidence of youth devour1 ,and blight the soul with foul distrust1 ,or trample honor in the dust4 ,no sting of pain can e'er atone1 ,no purging fire was ever known ,for cleansing of a heart defiled ,by falsehood2 though it may be styled ,in diction1 affability1 ,it poisons like the upas tree4 ,beware the tongue that will deceive1 ,at last 'twill cause your soul to grieve ,though smooth its accents now may be1 ,its motive power is treachery1 ,its fruits are laden with disease1 ,although its tones may often please4 ,dissimulation's oily tongue ,will grace ,simplicity1 among ,her unsuspecting1 trustful throng1 ,that he may do her greater wrong1 ,and covertly defile the pure1 ,some envied purpose to secure4 ,,heartstrings4 ,the tiny trembling tendons ,that twine about the heart1 ,are chords that yield a music ,unknown to vocal art4 ,though soft the notes are sounded1 ,each vibration tells a tale ,of the mellow1 winsome sunshine1 ,or of fierce1 destructive gale4 ,though the strings be few in number1 ,they have compass far beyond ,the myriad chords around them1 ,that are less delicately tuned4 ,list we softly to the music ,as its volumes gently roll1 ,varied in their intonation ,by the tension of the soul4 ,ecstatic measures fill us ,with a rapture so profound1 ,that we fancy heaven's portals ,with such harmonies abound4 ,each note is rich in meaning1 ,each tone is full and clear ,to the charming sweet delusion ,of imagination's ear4 ,if you would hear this music ,and be charmed by its tone1 ,attune your heart to harmony1 ,for the music is its own4 ,no lessons conned in schooldays1 ,no studied forms of art1 ,can profit us so greatly ,as communion with our heart4 ,it will sing us songs of rapture1 ,though silent each may be2 ,it will help to solve the questions ,of life's great mystery4 ,if one would hear sweet harmony ,he carefully must live2 ,for these songs will be an echo ,of the keynote he shall give4 ,if heartstrings be but tuned aright ,sweet melodies we hear2 ,if strung with envy and deceit1 ,the tone is doleful1 drear4 ,then let us tune our hearts with joy1 ,and touch the strings with glee1 ,for honor1 truth1 and purity1 ,will bring soul-ecstasy4 ,,who ,,knows8 ,it matters not what be our lot ,upon this mundane sphere1 ,in spite of fears and burning tears ,while we shall linger here1 ,we must depend on foe or friend ,for many things we need ,to give the soul that full control ,which makes it strong indeed4 ,for noble end1 make him a friend ,who can reciprocate1 ,a kindly act1 not to it tacked ,the proof of reprobate4 ,god only knows whom we may choose ,and safely trust as brother1 ,the seeming saint may have a taint ,that proves him quite another4 ,in human dust we scarcely trust ,the egotistic pious1 ,who thinks that he from sin is free-- ,not subject to its bias2 ,a holy man does all he can ,for ,god and human kind2 ,he meekly lives1 but counsel gives ,in language pure1 refined4 ,,twilight ,,hour4 ,set to ,music by ,com4 ,t4 ,c4 ,adams4 ,i love to spend the twilight hour ,when stars their radiance o'er me cast1 ,with that benign mysterious power ,which calls up mem'ries of the past1 ,and brings anew the scenes of yore1 ,like sacred perfume from some shrine ,whose hallowed influence ever more ,proves life and love of birth divine4 ,sweet twilight hour6 sweet twilight hour6 ,how blissful is thy magic power1 ,at thy return new strength is given ,to lead me to the gates of heaven4 ,i love at such an hour as this ,to hold sweet converse with my soul1 ,anticipate a promised bliss1 ,or memory's charmed page unroll2 ,to feel life's not alone for me1 ,but has some aim1 some end1 some plan1 ,which to the soul gives dignity1 ,and leads toward heaven a fellow man4 ,i love at twilight hour to see ,the lamps of heaven in glory shine ,with beacon-light effulgency1 ,to guide me to that land divine1 ,where dwell the loved of former years1 ,and where no sorrow e'er may come1 ,where ,god shall wipe away all tears1 ,and ,i shall find abiding home4 ,oh1 twilight hour1 how sweet thou art6 ,thy coming oft relieves my pain1 ,thy soft communings with my heart ,prepare me for life's toils again2 ,drive thou away my sordid thought1 ,and give my soul augmented power2 ,teach me to use thee as ,i ought1 ,thou holy1 blessed twilight hour4 99 99 99 99 99 ,let us not lose the heritage ,our fathers did bequeath ,to sons whose grasp should hold secure ,the prize1 till hour of death ,shall still the heart1 and loose the nerve ,whose tension holds secure ,the magic love of ,liberty ,and ,justice1 strong and pure4 ,,the ,,hair4 ,since the days of primal story ,of ,eden's happy pair1 ,a woman's greatest glory ,is her glossy flowing hair2 ,it is a safe criterion ,by which to judge her life1 ,to ascertain1 if duly won1 ,she'd prove a worthy wife4 ,its color and arrangement1 ,its sunshine and its storm ,prefigure an estrangement1 ,or friendship true and warm4 ,we dearly love the sunshine ,of locks with golden hue1 ,that bear this blessed combine-- ,kind1 tender1 warm1 and true4 ,we read volumes of character ,in every lock of hair2 ,the life1 the mind1 the heart's prefer ,are plainly written there2 ,no printed index could portray ,the soul's environment1 ,so plainly and so perfectly ,as capillary bent4 ,beware the frouzy1 unkempt lock ,that speaks of negligence2 ,regard cosmetic's fancy stock ,of little consequence2 ,trust only such as speak of taste ,born of a cultured mind1 ,whose purposes are pure and chaste ,whose structure1 soft1 refined4 99 99 99 99 99 ,a thoughtful mind may lessons draw ,from faded leaf or broken straw2 ,may beauty see in some lone star ,that cheers the storm-tossed mariner2 ,may note in solitude some sound ,wherein soft harmonies abound2 ,may hear no voice from human lip2 ,yet dwell in blest companionship4 ,,liberty4 ,into the port where ,liberty stands ,inviting the nations to woo her1 ,malefactors swarm from foreign lands1 ,whose tenets would surely undo her4 ,criminals1 paupers1 the ostracised ,from all countries beyond the great sea1 ,flock into the land our fathers prized1 ,and baptized ,the ,sweet ,land of the ,free4 ,they come not to build a hearth and home1 ,or to clear and improve our rich soil1 ,but prowl like wolves that in forest roam1 ,and prey on fruits of our honest toil4 ,long were our shores a refuge secure1 ,for the honest1 the brave1 and the true2 ,with valor and pride1 men would endure ,the trials that for ,state might accrue4 ,men there are yet1 who come to our shore1 ,in honor high1 of great moral powers1 ,whose hands give strength to homes we adore1 ,and whose hearts are as loyal as ours4 ,for these there is room and welcome1 too1 ,for there's land quite enough and to spare1 ,but we pray that all the vicious crew ,to their homes o'er the sea may repair4 ,shall we quarantine disease and death1 ,whose subtle infections float in the air1 ,and grant free power to the pois'nous breath ,that would strangle our ,liberty fair8 ,sons of the ,nation1 arise in might6 ,and then swear by the ,god we adore1 ,this vicious crowd shall be put to flight1 ,and forever debarred from our shore4 ,freedom and ,liberty need our care1 ,if from wounds we would e'er keep them free1 ,for a frenzied brain would even dare ,to destroy through base treachery4 ,long live the land unto freedom given1 ,and forever may ,liberty stand1 ,with beacon flame from the throne of heaven1 ,and a symbol of ,light in her hand4 ,when stars shall fade from the dome of heaven1 ,and sun shall refuse his golden light2 ,when noon of ,time shall be changed to even1 ,and earth shall be lost to human sight2 ,when crash of worlds and revolving spheres ,shall lose in chaos1 identity2 ,and ,time shall be measured not by years1 ,but on shall roll through eternity2 ,then ,liberty's form may sink in dust2 ,but loyal sons shall transported be ,from the mundane scenes of moth and rust1 ,to the perfect home of ,liberty4 ,i ween that when such an hour as this1 ,shall marshal friends who have fought and died ,for the sacred cause of earthly bliss1 ,and ,freedom's cause have so magnified1 ,there shall be a special crown for him ,who has stood undaunted in the fight2 ,but the brightest star in the diadem ,is steadfast love for the ,truth and ,right4 ,,lo1 ,,the ,,departed4 ,the ,bison strong and the ,indian wild ,have departed from our plains2 ,the land where they lived has been defiled ,by man's greed for worldly gains4 ,the human tide that on them has rolled ,in merciless energy1 ,in search of that dazzling monarch ,gold1 ,swept on like a mighty sea1 ,till their prostrate forms1 mingled with clay1 ,enrich the soil once their own2 ,and naught but waters shrink in dismay1 ,and winds in wild sorrow moan4 ,o1 beautiful lakes and silver streams1 ,may your names their mem'ry keep2 ,dear mountains1 wake from your silent dreams1 ,when your sides so wild and steep1 ,shall hear your names in the ,indian tongue2 ,and echoes1 reverberate ,the mellow tones of the songs once sung1 ,at the hunter's evening fete4 ,,drifting ,,away4 ,how softly1 how still1 are we drifting away1 ,on the wide ,sea of ,life as it beckons us on1 ,though the sunshine allure us 'tis but for a day1 ,then darkness comes o'er us and hopes are all gone4 ,we are drifting away in a bark that is frail1 ,on a sea sometimes rough and whose waves often moan1 ,yet when all is peaceful we think not of gale1 ,but are drifting away in our bark all alone4 ,so softly we float on a smooth flowing sea1 ,that our helm and our anchors are cast to the shore1 ,we think them a burden and wish to be free1 ,from every encumbrance that can serve us no more4 ,we are drifting away with our hopes and our fears1 ,to an ocean of life unknown to us now2 ,we see a bright vision--though veiled by our tears1 ,it appears like refulgence to lighten the brow4 ,too slowly our bark seems to drift toward the prize1 ,we in ecstasy wish it to speed faster on2 ,but while we are wishing1 a mist dims our eyes1 ,and lo6 that bright vision has vanished and gone4 ,a gloom of thick darkness now spreads like a pall1 ,the winds of the tempest arise in their force1 ,and amid their wild shriekings for succor we call ,on ,him who reigns o'er us1 to mark out our course4 ,we plead for protection from ruin and pain1 ,repiningly think of our anchor and helm1 ,and could we secure those lost prizes again1 ,no tempest could shake us1 no wave could o'erwhelm4 ,but swiftly we're drifting1 we cannot tell where1 ,the current moves onward regardless of gloom1 ,we raise our weak voices and utter a prayer ,that ,god in ,his mercy is drifting us home4 99 99 99 99 99 ,the silver stream by the farmhouse door ,flows on and on forever1 ,but the feet that trod its oaken floor ,have crossed the mystic river1 ,and no wind kissed by a vernal sun ,can return them e'er again2 ,their earthly pilgrimage is done1 ,they dwell in a new domain4 ,,kindred ,,spirits4 ,oh1 give me some heart of a kindred spirit ,that smiles when ,i smile1 or that weeps when ,i weep1 ,whose solace is greater by far to inherit ,than the wealth of the mines or the gems of the deep4 ,some heart that will echo response to my feeling1 ,that thrills with delight when ,i speak of my joy2 ,that sorrows with sorrow too deep for concealing1 ,when cankering griefs make my own heart's alloy4 ,some heart that appreciates each little kindness1 ,that knows all my feelings1 tho' oft unexpressed1 ,that sees not my faults with a passionate blindness1 ,but clings to my soul when 'tis sorely distressed4 ,some heart whose affection can never be blighted1 ,that beats all in concert with that of my own1 ,that revels in pleasures with which ,i'm delighted1 ,and grieves at the sorrows which cause me to moan4 ,some heart that can never be swerved from its mooring1 ,though tempests may thunder and billows may roar1 ,that espouses my fate in spite of such roaring1 ,and when trials are sorest will trust even more4 ,my heart would exult to find such a treasure1 ,and return ev'ry throb in fidelity's pride1 ,would suffer if need be1 and call it but pleasure ,to live or to die for a heart so allied4 ,no frown of the world could e'er cause me to tremble ,while trusting my all in a heart such as this1 ,too fond to deceive me2 too true to dissemble-- ',twere a foretaste of ,heaven1 the acme of bliss4 ,can it be1 can it be1 the world is so varied1 ,human hearts never beat on chords that are even6 ,is versatile man so odd1 or so seared ,that perfect accord is known but in ,heaven6 ,my heart shall rejoice that some kindred vibrations ,soothe the devious marge of the pathway of fate1 ,and gathering strength through many privations ,shall learn in contentment to patiently wait4 99 99 99 99 99 ,to sit an hour on lichened stone1 ,or mould'ring log by moss o'ergrown1 ,and use our ears and eyes1 ,will teach us the effect and cause ,of many of great ,nature's laws ,that now are mysteries4 ,,school ,,days4 ,can we e'er forget our boyhood1 ,and the days we spent at school1 ,with the jolly youths and maidens ,who with pencil for a tool1 ,squared the area of a circle1 ,and minutely did compute ,the interest and discount ,on a promissory note8 ,as we worked those grazing questions1 ,we could see the cattle eat2 ,see the grass grow up by inches ,beneath their cloven feet2 ,we could surely hear a lowing ,that distinctly called our names1 ,inviting us to pastures ,to enjoy our childish games4 ,if the day were warm and pleasant1 ,the calling seemed more clear ,than when chilly winds were sighing1 ,and the clouds were dark and drear2 ,it was no imagination1 ,for a schoolboy's mind is real1 ,though we heard that calling often ,we answered it with zeal4 ,then we worked like real bankers ,and claimed three days of grace2 ,then we figured hare and greyhound ,in their leaping1 jaunty race2 ,we desired an illustration ,of the problems to be solved1 ,as no concrete computation ,from the abstract e'er evolved4 ,we solved the size of fishes1 ,when some fraction and a part ,were all the given bases ,to test our number art1 ,but we never were contented ,with the fishes in the book1 ,so we strolled off to the lakeside1 ,or down the purling brook4 ,then we had some given acres ,in the form of perfect square1 ,and a fence around its border ,with a circle must compare1 ,which would cost the greater money ,to fence it in with rails1 ,or build with posts and stringers1 ,sawed lumber1 and cut nails4 ,then we worked upon that problem ,which has never yet been solved1 ,how to live and be contented ,in the scenes life has evolved1 ,though in every operation ,much must be inferred1 ,we will find this root's extraction ,will often prove a surd4 ,as life's day of sunshine lingers1 ,ere the darkness draws apace1 ',tis a blessed satisfaction ,to look backward o'er the race1 ,and feel that in the running1 ,our best was ever done1 ,and know that at the ending1 ,some trophy must be won4 ,though the eye may lose its clearness ,and the touch may lose its thrill1 ,though the senses fail to gather ,all the promptings of the will1 ,may the mind retain its power ,to recall the days of yore1 ,till the spirit casts its anchor ,on that far-off unseen shore4 ,when on that shore safe landed1 ,it seems to be quite plain ,that the greatest satisfaction ,will be to think of youth again2 ,there must be a great transition ,from this mundane sphere below1 ,if the thoughts of early boyhood ,may not set all heaven aglow4 ,,perhaps4 ,perhaps had ,i chosen some other profession ,than that of moulding the human mind1 ,i might have secured a greater possession ,of lucre and treasures and powers combined1 ,than all ,i may now of these truly own2 ,but ,i have in my casket some jewels ,i treasure ,far more than all stocks and houses and lands1 ,in gold and silver their worth has no measure1 ,for none may compute warm hearts and true hands1 ,when the shadows of years are over us thrown4 99 99 99 99 99 ,there are two kinds of discontent-- ,malignant1 and progressive1-- ,the latter is the proper sort1 ,of it1 be quite possessive4 ,the former1 born of parentage ,whose motive powers are evil1 ,serves but one purpose here below-- ,to aid its father--,devil4 ,,important ,,moments4 ,there are times when the fate of nations ,may hang on a moment's call2 ,when spheres in their mute rotations ,may swing on a hinge so small1 ,that the breath of a spirit's pinion ,might unpoise a balanced world1 ,and lost to law's dominion ,through endless space be hurled4 ,there are times when the herdsman's calling ,may vibrate thro' alpine ranch ,till the pendent drop1 by its falling1 ,sweeps down in an avalanche1 ,till the mountain trembles and totters ',neath the mighty force of snow1 ,and the lives and homes of the cotters ,are lost in the vale below4 ,there are times when the mind's inaction ,has robbed the soul of power1 ,when moments of deep reflection ,arrive at so late an hour ,that they lose the force of their mission ,in the laggard way they come1 ,and like withered buds of fruition1 ,are lifeless1 powerless1 dumb4 ,there are words that have been spoken ,that have echoed on thro' years2 ,though the vessel has been broken ,that voiced them to our ears1 ,yet they come with increased ardor ,as the years are passing by1 ,since the soul stood on the border ,of vast eternity4 ,there are scenes that ever mirror ,their forms in thought divine1 ,that with lapse of time grow dearer ,till we hold them as some shrine1 ,wherein are kept the treasures ,of ,faith and ,trust and ,love-- ,a trio fraught with pleasures ,drawn from the realms above4 ,there are hours upon whose decision ,the fate of a soul may be2 ,though clouds may obscure the vision ,and we pray for a light to see ,the way that shall lead to heaven1 ,and keep our pathway bright1 ,we can use but the knowledge given ,and walk in our purest light4 ,let us scan each hour's requisition ,and answer every demand1 ,knowing that want of decision ,is a foe we cannot withstand2 ,if we shrink from performing our duty1 ,or tardily fashion our thought1 ,life loses its charm and its beauty ,and existence profits us naught4 99 99 99 99 99 ,we know that like all human ,our work is imperfect at best1 ,and will bristle with imperfections ,till our hands shall be at rest2 ,but to justify our blunders ,or pass them lightly o'er1 ,is the fatal way of inviting ,a thousand errors more4 ,,who ,,shall ,,judge8 ,we know not all that we have done1 ,nor may we ever know2 ,no field was ever lost or won1 ,until the final blow ,has registered itself in ,heaven1 ,and every impulse known1 ,that tells a reason why 'twas given1 ,to ,him upon the ,throne4 ,then let us boast not of our deeds1 ,nor let our true hearts fail1 ,because we think some plan succeeds ,while others ne'er prevail2 ,for he who works as best he can ,with lofty1 pure intent1 ,will not be judged by puny man1 ,but ,god ,omnipotent4 99 99 99 99 99 ,this earth is a place of probation1 ,a school wherein man may secure ,a knowledge of his true relation1 ,to the noble1 the true1 and the pure4 ,,the ,,future4 ,i know not what the future ,may have in store for me1 ,i only know that ,god is ,god ,and ,he may trusted be4 ,the past with all its pleasure ,and all its sorrow too1 ,has been but a probation ,to prove me false or true4 ,if in my earthly mission ,no progress has been made ,toward a higher spirit-- ,no growth of soul displayed-- ,then dark1 sad1 and foreboding ,the future must appear1 ,the soul must shrink in terror ,when death's hour draweth near4 ,if in the past no brother ,has felt my outstretched hand1 ,to aid him on his pilgrimage ,toward a better land1 ,no word of mine brought solace ,to a weary careworn soul2 ,no hand of mine has pointed ,to the ,christian's heavenly goal2 ,no thought1 or word1 or action ,to lead to better life2 ,no balm to heal deep anguish2 ,no anodyne for strife2 ,then shall ,i hear the sentence1 ,you did it not to me1 ,come from the sacred ,teacher ,who taught in ,gallilee4 ,if ,i have wronged my brother1 ,in action or in thought2 ,have forced him into sorrow1 ,or counted him as naught1 ,have borne false witness of him ,or robbed him of his peace2 ,unjustly taken from him ,or hindered his increase1 ,the words of condemnation1 ,you did it unto me1 ,will fill my soul with terror1 ,distress1 and misery4 ,my soul has wronged no being ,of just and honest part2 ,but on this sole reliance ,it would not dare depart4 ,not in its own weak merit1 ,not in itself alone1 ,but in the great redemption ,of ,him who did atone ,for man1 and bid him enter1 ,the gates of joy and rest1 ,through faith1 and prayer1 and penitence1 ,upon a ,savior's breast4 ,i shrink not at the future ,whatever it may be1 ,but joy in full assurance ,of faith's expectancy4 99 99 99 99 99 ,let me pass away when my work is done1 ,like a cloudless day whose setting sun ,leaves a smile on the evening sky2 ,let this transient clay when deprived of breath1 ,with the earth yet stay1 it alone knows death1 ,myself must live on and cannot die4 ,,ere ,,and ,,at ,,my ,,call4 ,ere ,i lay me down the burden ,that my soul on earth hath worn1 ,let me feel before departing1 ,that my tree of life hath borne ,fruitage that shall ever onward ,move mankind along the road1 ,toward the haven of the blessed ,toward the city of my ,god4 ,let some word that ,i have spoken ,or some act performed by me1 ,sound aloud thro' coming ages ,making captive souls more free2 ,not to bring me earthly glory ,nor to win me empty fame1 ,but to prove the mighty power ,in a risen ,savior's name4 ,let my work be all completed ,when the summons comes to go2 ,let there be no cause for weeping1 ,let there be no sound of woe1 ,when the spirit from my ,father ,beckons me from duty done1 ,to appear at ,his tribunal1 ,and receive the crown that's won4 ,let there be a joyous sunset1 ,lighting all the realm above ,with the radiance and the glory ,of a ,savior's dying love2 ,let my faith be firm1 unshaken1 ,let ,his hand be clasped in mine1 ,let me cross the mystic river1 ,leaning on ,his breast divine4 ,,boding ,,snow4 ,the sky that was blue and sunny1 ,has changed to a granite gray1 ,the sun that was soft and cheery1 ,refuses it mellow ray2 ,on the distant tree-top1 cawing1 ,sits a solitary crow2 ,these and the shivering children ,betoken the coming snow4 ,soon the flakes will be falling1 ,like down from an angel's wing1 ,that is sent from the starry regions ,for ,nature's covering2 ,the trees1 the plants1 the grasses1 ,with rev'rence bow their heads1 ,for the pure and fleecy mantle ,that ,god above them spreads4 ,,an ,,open ,,book4 ,how strange are the stories we sometimes read ,in faces we meet by the way1 ,they unconsciously tell of motive or deed ,that the tongue would refuse to betray4 ,each lineament is a page set apart ,to be studied and understood ,by the shade that reflects the mind and heart1 ,in their varied forms and mood4 ,the eye oft reflects the secrets of soul ,that are occult to all beside1 ,and form of the mouth defying control ,betrays what the heart fain would hide4 ,the quivering chin and tear-bedewed eye ,that respond to a kindred word ,that unconsciously fell from a tongue passing by1 ,oft betrays how th' heart has been stirred4 ,there are fountains so deep in some human lives ,that from them no draught can be drawn1 ,save the perfect mirage the face ever gives ,of the soul when reflections dawn4 ,how varied the pages we daily read-- ,some are joyous and full of glee1 ,while others may tell of brave hearts that bleed1 ,and then break in deep misery4 ,the facial page to me hath a charm ,that no printed book can impart1 ',tis no fancied tale1 'tis no false alarm1 ,but stern truths from the human heart4 ,pencils write plainly each act1 on the face1 ,each motive indulged is seen there1 ,no after decision can fully erase ,the masks faces ever must wear4 ,if the face would be fair and bright and young1 ,wear a charming1 a joyous hue1 ,to truth and to right heart-strings must be strung1 ,every thought1 every act must be true4 ,let the pencil of truth inscribe on the face1 ,let honor illumine the eye1 ,let generous thoughts and acts ever grace ,the face-page the world shall descry4 ,,some ,,characters ,i ,,much ,,adore4 ,an honest man with noble mind1 ,with heart sincere1 true1 and refined1 ,who lives for ,god and all mankind1 ,who cares for rich and poor1 ,and opens wide his soul to see ,the sweet designs of ,deity1 ,yet from all prejudice is free1 ,is character ,i much adore4 ,the man who all his rights will claim1 ,but gives another just the same1 ,and shares with equity the blame ,of faults done long before1 ,who will not shrink when sorely tried4 ,but firmly by the truth abide1 ,e'en when his own faults are allied1 ,is character ,i much adore4 ,a man who will not plead a cause ,that violates the nation's laws1 ,or seek to give ,justice a pause1 ,for gold or worldly store1 ,but ,pallas-like will e'er defend1 ,alike for foe1 or trusted friend1 ,the rights on which morals depend1 ,is character ,i much adore4 ,a man who rises by his worth ,and not through fortune-favored birth1 ,who owns himself1 though all the earth ,may bribes around him pour1 ,who wears distinction's jeweled crown1 ,but not from trampling others down1 ,or acts that cause ,justice to frown1 ,is character ,i much adore4 ,the teacher who sees soul and mind ,in pleasing harmony combined ,within the clay to be refined1 ,and scans it o'er and o'er1 ,that through instruction1 skill1 and love1 ,it may expand and so improve1 ,to honor earth and heaven above1 ,is character ,i much adore4 ,the man of ,god who feels no loss ,to bear the burden of the cross ,though waves of fury round him toss1 ,that sometimes hide the shore2 ,who guides alike the rich and poor ,toward ,him who said1 ,i am the ,door1 ,and bids them come though sick and sore1 ,is character ,i much adore4 ,the man who fills a humble lot ,as best he can1 and murmurs not ,at what he has1 or has not got1 ,but uses all his power ,to elevate his work and life1 ,and knows no mean ignoble strife1 ,with which the world is too much rife1 ,is character ,i much adore4 ,a faithful wife bent low in prayer ,o'er suffering one in wild despair1 ,while tender hands relief prepare ,upon th' uncovered floor ,of him who cursed her life by drink ,and caused her trusting heart to sink ,upon ,despair's cold1 cheerless brink1 ,is character ,i much adore4 99 99 99 99 99 ,nature has printed the largest book ,that eye has ever seen1 ,and filled it with colored pictures fair1 ,in white and gray and green4 ,she offers it free to all mankind-- ,noble1 generous deed-- ,but few there are in its pages rare1 ,have ever learned to read4 ,,some ,,characters ,i ,,can',t ,,admire4 ,the seeming saint with long drawn face1 ,who thinks that he has so much grace ,he should be throned on highest place ,to which saints may aspire1 ,and yet1 when dealing with a man1 ,will use some vicious1 subtle plan ,by which a vantage he may gain1 ,is character ,i can't admire4 ,the zealot who thinks ,god has given ,a delegated power from heaven ,to him1 to see that men are driven ,to escape a burning fire1 ,yet draws no souls by filial love1 ,but deems the world can never move ,by holy influence from above1 ,is character ,i can't admire4 ,the man whose prayer is long and loud1 ,whose knee is bent1 whose head is bowed-- ,with worldly goods richly endowed ,with all man can desire1 ,yet sees a worthy brother fall1 ,without responding to his call ,for aid to soothe starvation's gall1 ,is character ,i can't admire4 ,the teacher who devoid of heart1 ,unskilled in pedagogic art1 ,with looks and acts severely tart ,would loathesome tasks require1 ,of pupils dulled by daily grind1 ,or stirred by words unjust1 unkind1 ,which leave a canker in the mind1 ,is character ,i can't admire4 ,the mother who aspires to be ,a beacon light of charity1 ,regardless of the nursery ,whereof she seems to tire1 ,who thinks her husband needs no care1 ,but drives him wildly toward despair ,by meagre love1 and frigid fare1 ,is character ,i can't admire4 ,the husband who spends days and nights ,in low resorts1 mid brawls and fights1 ,in which his heart greatly delights1 ,but stops not to inquire1 ,if wife and child have needed care1 ,or from his draughts he may not spare ,the pittance they should justly share1 ,is character ,i can't admire1 ,the millionaire who doth obtain ,his wealth by brawn and muscle strain ,of those he poorly doth maintain ,through scanty meed and hire1 ,who will not justly1 freely give ,a recompense whereby may live ,in health1 the man who makes him thrive ,is character ,i can't admire4 ,the man who feels no poignant ruth ,at the dethronement of a truth1 ,that to old age from tender youth ,has felt no fervid ire ,when hate and envy swayed the tongue1 ,and took no pride in checking wrong1 ,no matter where it may belong1 ,is character ,i can't admire4 ,the man who lives for self alone1 ,the man whose truth and honor 've flown1 ,the man who hears a fellow groan ,or sees a soul expire1 ,and lifts no friendly hand to aid1 ,no sympathy of soul betrayed1 ,no fevered brow with balm allayed1 ,are characters ,i can't admire4 ,,on ,,brooklyn ,,bridge4 ,i stood upon the slender link ,that joins two cities into one1 ,and saw from thence the storm-clouds drink ,their moisture from the sun4 ,i watched their lowering1 frowning edge1 ,girt round with silver band1 ,saw castles tall and towering ledge ,assume their forms so grand4 ,i saw the marshalled hosts of heaven ,join for the mighty fray1 ,their ranks by tempest-winds were driven ,along their dark highway4 ,high in the heavens the giant forms ,of chariots1 horsemen1 towers stand1 ,whose home is ever 'mid the storms-- ,when chaos reigns1 most grand4 ,i saw the fragments of the cloud ,join with the nucleus form1 ,cirrus to ,nimbus quickly bowed-- ,sure harbinger of storm4 ,these were but outward signs ,i saw1 ,portending danger1 strife1 and fear1 ,yet still ,i knew by ,nature's law1 ,beyond the clouds1 'twas clear4 ,in spite of cloud and storm and strife1 ,of tempests wild1 severe1 ,there's sunshine in our daily life1 ,if one true heart is near4 ,no battle vanquishes the true1 ,e'en thought of death is sweet ,to him whose soul would e'er subdue ,the scorpion-sting--deceit4 ,one trusting1 true1 and tender heart ,can cure a thousand ills1 ,extract the poison from the dart ,of malice e'er it kills4 ,oh1 marshalled hosts of warring clouds6 ,teach me this truth to know1 ,there's light beyond1 though trouble shrouds ,the valley here below4 ,,their ,,life ,,is ,,what ,,they ,,make ,,it4 ,let melancholy mortals grieve ,and tell their tale of sorrow1 ,their gloomy spirits to relieve1 ,but all returns to-morrow2 ,for all the while they court their grief1 ,unwilling to forsake it1 ,and in the way they seek relief1 ,their life is what they make it4 ,they brood o'er sorrow day by day1 ,with dreams they are affrighted1 ,but never strive to cast away ,what most their spirits blighted2 ,and if fair fortune chance to smile ,and give no cause for sorrow1 ,they're not content to rest awhile1 ,but off they go and borrow4 ,avoiding all life's pleasant ways ,their life is always clouded1 ,they see no happy sunny days1 ,for all in gloom is shrouded2 ,they never see the flowers that bloom ,as on ,life's road they ramble1 ,but in the darkest paths of gloom ,are seeking for a bramble4 ,the pleasures of this life do not ,depend on its surrounding1 ,but if the heart's trained as it ought1 ,content will be abounding2 ,the silent heart's the seat of joy1 ,and by continual training ,life's trials scarcely will annoy ,the soul where peace is reigning4 ,then tell me not ,fate made them so1 ,and they cannot avoid it1 ,that all their life is doomed to woe1 ,and they have not alloyed it2 ,for all the while they court their grief1 ,unwilling to forsake it1 ,and in the way they seek relief1 ,their life is what they make it4 99 99 99 99 99 ,the atmosphere may be redolent ,with fragrance from some happy soul ,whose unconscious influence has sent ,attractive power1 like magnetic pole1 ,till laugh of bright eyes is contagious1 ,infectious1 the mirth of a smile1 ,and the ominous brow umbrageous1 ,casts aside its lowerings vile4 ,,the ,,lone ,,bird4 ,a solitary bird was seen by the writer1 making its toilsome flight against a strong storm-wind4 ,the peculiar undulating flight1 the gathering darkness of the night1 and the portentous indications of storm suggested this3 ,whither away on such winged undulations1 ,breasting the winds and the tempests wild glee1 ,lifting your form in graceful vibrations ,as onward you move like a billowy sea8 ,alone1 all alone1 on wing wide extended1 ,nerved for the tempest that sounds not afar1 ,night her dark mantle o'er earth has suspended1 ,thro' which may not shine e'en the light of one star4 ,stop1 lonely wanderer1 and tell me why mateless1 ,tell me the story of your solitude2 ,god1 e'en a bird has not left so fateless ,but somewhere there lives a companion for you4 ,tell me if death has robbed you of treasures ,that sweetened the tone of your vesper song2 ,tell me if fears have destroyed all the pleasures ,which justice and right say to you should belong4 ,tell me1 yes1 tell me1 and tell me most truly1 ,is there just cause why your flight is alone8 ,is there some stain whereby you are duly ,debarred from the pleasures that should be your own8 ,still but your wing and confide me the story1 ,chant it to me in a short plaintive song2 ,perhaps it may speak of a sweet transient glory ,that faded and died 'mid disaster and wrong4 ,perhaps ,i may speak some word that has healing ,for solitude's wounds1 e'en sweet tho' they be1 ,for sorrows augment by sacred concealing1 ,and steal from the heart ev'ry wish to be free4 ,dear blessed bird6 you have stopped at my pleading1 ,my soul aids my ears to catch your sweet tone3 ,if life is not sweetened by presence and breeding1 ',tis better by far to travel alone4 ,i have learned as my wings have borne me thro' groves ,where gods their ambrosial nectar sip1 ,that the heart's best experience ever proves1 ,joy comes not from presence1 but companionship4 ,a ,,lesson ,,from ,,nature4 ,o who has not felt his gay heart beat with gladness1 ,as forth he has wandered some morning in ,may8 ,it drives away care and relieves us from sadness1 ,it cheers the lone heart and makes us feel gay4 ,we see how all ,nature rejoices around us1 ,the plants as they spring from the earth seem to smile1 ,the fresh growing leaves of the groves now surround us1 ,and soft sounds of ,spring-time unite to beguile4 ,the earth is now teeming with bright vegetation1 ,the early spring flowers are now in their bloom1 ,and where'er we look there appears animation ,just bursting the cells of the last winter's tomb4 ,the soft breeze of ,may-day1 we welcome it near us1 ,as filled with rich fragrance it comes thro' the trees1 ,and the bright feathered songsters apparently fear us ,no more than the odors that float on the breeze4 ,they tune their sweet voices and sing their devotion1 ,their hearts seem so light1 so merry and free1 ,that ideal beauty graces each motion1 ,while they playfully dart from bush and from tree4 ,our hearts beat with rapture too great for expression ,while viewing sweet ,nature1 so lovely1 so gay1 ,and hearing those sweet lulling sounds in succession1 ,we wished in our joy it always were ,may4 ,thus tempted to linger and spend one short hour1 ,in looking around us in bliss most supreme1 ,we found a choice spot in a fine shady bower1 ,where near it there murmured a bright silver stream4 ,from this lovely spot we intently were watching ,the scenes that surround us on this merry ,may1 ,every strain of grove-music our ears were now catching1 ,and we saw every movement that came in our way4 ,a sweet1 tiny bird on a twig near the river1 ,was warbling softly his choice matin lay1 ,while near on a branch we soon did discover ,a serpent preparing to make him his prey4 ,then glancing the eye to a branch that was near them1 ,we saw there a nest that contained a young brood2 ,while this parent bird was singing to cheer them1 ,the other returned to the nest with their food4 ,the worm which she held in her beak she soon gave them1 ,then off in the thicket she darted again1 ,to seek for their food1 and from hunger relieve them2 ,but on her return how great was her pain6 ,for while she had wandered1 this serpent intruder ,had charmed her loved mate1 as he sat on the spray1 ,his sweet song had ceased1 and his notes became ruder1 ,but his fluttering wings could not bear him away4 ,we flew to the rescue--struck down the invader ,before the sweet songster had yielded his life1 ,put an end to this cunning and mischievous raider1 ,and quieted all of the songster's great strife4 ,we learned from the scenes of this morning's ramble ,that moments of happiness soon may decay2 ,while plucking the flowers to beware of the bramble1 ,which hid among blossoms may sadly betray4 ,we learned that the joys of this world are not lasting2 ,that what we call pleasure may be a vain show2 ,while joys seem the sweetest they only are blasting1 ,and happiness frequently ends in great woe4 ,we learned that when ,nature seems most to invite us1 ,to build some fond hope on some loved scheme of ours1 ,that there may be sadness preparing to blight us1 ,which evades all our watchings1 defies all our powers4 ,,my ,,mother',s ,,love4 ,nine months after writing this poem1 my mother died1 ,dec4 #bast1 #ahid4 ,my vision eye beholds a form1 ,bent low by years of life's fierce storm1 ,that moves with feeble tread2 ,though time has worn that weary frame ,the heart still keeps its sacred flame ,true1 undiminished4 ,no power but ,death can ever quell-- ,no mortal tongue can ever tell ,a mother's boundless love2 ',tis shadowed in the secret sigh1 ,or in the moisture of the eye-- ,e'en silence1 it may prove4 ,itself and ,i had but one birth1 ,it came from heaven to gladden earth-- ,and brighten man's abode2 ,to feel the magic of its power ,is richer boon than any dower ,the earth has yet bestowed4 ,favored in this has been my lot2 ,relentless ,death has robbed me not-- ,though fifty years have flown1 ,of all the ecstasy and joy ,that came to me when but a boy1 ,or since to manhood grown1 ,of that benign maternal smile1 ,whose magic influence can beguile ,my heart from worldly care1 ,and lead me toward that beacon-light ,of motive pure and act aright1 ,no matter when or where4 ,o blessed influence of the past6 ,may all my mother's counsels last ,until my heart shall cease ,to send its crimson current round ,the tenement wherein 'tis bound1 ,and ,death shall bring release4 ,still let these visions come to me ,of her ,i would so gladly see ,though far from her ,i roam2 ,they bring sweet memory of the past1 ,which but a few more years may last1 ,of happiness and home4 ,,the ,,evening ,,before ,,my ,,brother',s ,,fifty-,,third ,,birthday4 ,dear ,brother1 how the time speeds on ,and leaves its trace upon our forms2 ,the days of sunny youth are gone ,and age unfits us for the storms ,that gather oft for you and me-- ,to-morrow you'll be fifty-three4 ,it seems but yesterday since youth ,was all aglow within our hearts1 ,but still we recognized the truth1 ,old age has pierced us with his darts ,until from pains we are not free-- ,to-morrow you'll be fifty-three4 ,long years of toil and anxious care ,have left their records all too plain2 ,the failing eye1 the snowy hair1 ,the limbs and body racked with pain1 ,tell tales that all the world can see-- ,to-morrow you'll be fifty-three4 ,still on life's battlefield we'll fight ,and win such victories as we may1 ,believing still that right is might ,and faithful hearts shall win the day2 ,then let us shout and sing with glee-- ,to-morrow you'll be fifty-three4 ,and when a few more days are past ,and we are bowed with years and care1 ,the cheerful sunshine still may last ,to make declining years more fair2 ,ah6 much ,i hope that this may be-- ,to-morrow you'll be fifty-three4 ',tis sweet to think of boyhood's days ,and all the happiness they gave1 ,to summon back life's earliest plays ,and call lost childhood from its grave2 ,thus memory gives us victory-- ,to-morrow you'll be fifty-three4 ,since manhood's form was given me ,until this hour1 our ways have been ,in different lines of industry1 ,and scarce have we each other seen2 ,your birthday's held in memory-- ,to-morrow you'll be fifty-three4 ,,my ,,brother',s ,,birthday4 ,fifty-eight to-day1 fifty-eight to-day6 ,how years of your life have sped away1 ,and left in the brown of the dying year ,a quiet content1 devoid of fear ,at the onward march of ,time's noiseless feet1 ,which ever advance1 but ne'er retreat1 ,as they bear you on to that silent shore1 ,from which earth's mortals return no more4 ,with the night of time come the sunset cares1 ,the faltering step1 the snowy hairs1 ,the tottering frame1 and the stifled breath1 ,sure harbingers of approaching death1 ,that bring with their train a tranquil repose ,unknown to the tears and sighs and woes ,that belong to scenes of an active life1 ,whose atmosphere breathes of toil and strife4 ,as glorious day dies out in the west ,and sinks in crimson splendor to rest1 ,while the stars of heaven come one by one ,with reflected light from th' sinking sun1 ,so may life with you in its late decline1 ,leave a trail of light that yet may shine ,to illumine the path that others tread1 ,and cheer the way of the vanquished4 ,,to ,,my ,,daughter ,,blanche ,,in ,,heaven4 ,died ,jan4 #dth1 #ahic1 aged #aa years4 ,darling of my bosom1 ,pride of my loving heart1 ,hopes were sorely shattered ,when ,i saw your life depart2 ,in you ,i saw my future1 ,cheered by your smile and voice1 ,sorrow ceased its frowning1 ,my spirit would rejoice4 ,life was made much brighter ,by your presence sweet2 ,at your cheery coming ,heart-shadows would retreat2 ,soulful songs with meanings ,beyond your years were sung2 ,to chords of sweetest rapture ,your heart-strings e'er were strung4 ,from out the realms of heav'n ,still you speak to me1 ,and fancy draws the curtain ,that ,i your face may see2 ,perhaps in the hereafter ,i yet may fully know ,the purpose of your going1 ,your mission here below4 ,,the ,,voice4 ,to me comes a voice that none other ,hath power to hear or to know1 ,its cadence so sweet and consoling ,is a whisper so gentle and low1 ,that the flight of an angel might covet ,the silence it bears in its tone2 ,it speaks to me often1 to comfort ,my heart when ,i sit all alone4 ,i oft close my eyes at the twilight ,and that voice comes floating to me ,like the song of some fairy creature ,that dwells in a pearl-lighted sea2 ,when the shades of midnight infold me ,that voice lulls me gently to rest1 ,and tells me the time is not distant ,when my spirit shall dwell as its guest4 ,when shadows of night are departing ,and smiling ,aurora appears1 ,that voice of sweet invitation ,falls soothingly into my ears2 ,a form that ,i fondly cherish ,like a vision of beauty ,i see1 ,that comes on an angelic mission ,with counsel and solace for me4 ,how sweet is the voice that is calling-- ,is calling in rapture to me ,and leading me close to the border ,where into its home ,i can see6 ,it tells me the land is not distant1 ,that soon when my boat ,i must launch1 ,i shall know the voice that is calling1 ,is the voice my lost darling ,blanche4 99 99 99 99 99 ,when ,liberty lies wounded1 ,and shrieks in wild despair1 ,then patriots will cast aside ,the party garb they wear1 ,and honest hands and hearts unite1 ,to wash away the stain ,that narrow-minded partisans ,would selfishly maintain4 ,dear ,goddess of our fathers6 ,our hands shall e'er maintain ,the sacred trust of keeping free ,the realm where thou dost reign2 ,and counting not our lives too dear ,to offer unto thee1 ,we dedicate all that we are ,to our sweet ,liberty4 ,a ,,picture4 ,i sat by the farm-house window ,when the winter's sun was low1 ,and looked on the clear horizon ,o'er fields white-crested with snow4 ,a tree with its arms outstretching1 ,was limned on the distant sky1 ,and my fancy saw a picture ,such as gold can never buy4 ,perhaps to no other vision ,could the scene be just the same1 ,for blendings in the picture ,had on me a special claim4 ,my mother oft had looked upon ,that fair picture in the west1 ,while sitting in that self-same chair1 ,ere she laid her down to rest4 ,this gave a charm to the picture ,of especial power to me1 ,and my vision saw a painting ,that none else on earth could see4 ,i can close my eyes at twilight ,though now many miles away1 ,and see that lovely horizon ,at close of expiring day4 ,i can see the true formation ,of each rock and tree and field1 ,in a perfect panorama ,that time has not yet concealed4 ,it is not an idle fancy ,for me now to paint the scene1 ,since my mother's form has faded ,from the place where she has been4 ,i know it affords me comfort ,to recall from day to day1 ,that scene from the farm-house window1 ,since my mother passed away4 ,,my ,,room ,,in ,,boyhood',s ,,days4 ,after forty years4 ,sacred these walls wherein ,i find ,myself inclosed once more2 ,here in youth's pride my ardent mind ,on nightly tasks would pore4 ,sweet were these tasks1 for mental power ,comes with each duty done2 ,and ray of light charmed midnight's hour ,when thought its victory won4 ,oft did the battle seem severe1 ,sometimes defeat seemed nigh1 ,but pride and love must persevere ,when all our powers we try4 ,struggles bring a development ,that will not brook defeat2 ,within us dwells an element ,that makes just contest sweet4 ,if barriers in our mental path ,stand like a sullen foe1 ,summon the soul1 in righteous wrath ,strike a decisive blow1 ,and spare not till the victory ,puts ignorance to flight2 ,and let the battle-cry e'er be ,science and ,truth and ,right6 ,such victories1 when fairly won1 ,put slaughter's field to shame1 ,and ,honor's self shall place upon ,such victors1 wreaths of fame4 ,o happy hours within these walls1 ,but happier far to me ,is the expanded mind which calls ,deep thought1 best liberty4 ,that mental power which sees the world ,as beauty1 grace1 and art1 ,wherein ,god's loveliness unfurled1 ,speaks to a living heart1 ,and leads it tenderly to see ,the harmony of laws ,which unifies immensity1 ,and tells of the ,first ,cause1 ,yields greater solace1 richer lore1 ,than books alone can give2 ,for mind and soul form the great power ,by which we act and live4 ,the wealth that dignifies mankind ,is not in bonds and stocks1 ,but in rich thoughts1 noble1 refined1 ,needing no bars nor locks4 ,when man for manhood more shall strive1 ,and less for greed and gain1 ,the humble poor may nobly live1 ,and feel not hunger's pain4 ,these walls are sacred unto me1 ,for thought here learned to soar ,and build the ark of liberty ,i love1 exalt1 adore4 ,,nature',s ,,voice4 ,every tree and plant1 every tiny flower ,that grows in wood or field1 ,hath a voice that calls aloud to me1 ,and a beauty half concealed1 ,that draw my ears to hear a strain ,of music sweet and low1 ,and paint for me far richer hues ,than the sunset's evening glow2 ,they speak to me as no tongue can speak2 ,their voices are sweeter far ,than the tones that fall from human lips1 ,or strains of sweet music are4 ,,poundridge1 ,n4 ,y4 ,perhaps no spot upon this sphere1 ,has charms for me more sacred1 dear1 ,than those of old ,poundridge2 ,i love her hills1 her lakes1 her streams1 ,her rural haunts1 where ,nature teems ,with joys naught can abridge4 ,her dew-bespangled meadows shine ,with gems of radiance so divine1 ,when touched by matin sun1 ,that myriad pendant drops of dew1 ,lend to the mead a brilliant hue ,like earth with diamonds strown4 ,the woods that sleep on distant hills1 ,or watch o'er gently murmuring rills1 ,seem restful to the soul2 ,their silence brings sweetest repose1 ,a panacea for the woes ,that spurn ,m4 ,d4's control4 ,the healthful1 healing1 peaceful rest1 ,to frame fatigued1 to mind distressed1 ,seems but a foretaste here1 ,of that serene and blest abode1 ,which to the faithful child of ,god ,hereafter shall appear4 ,i love the rustic's rough demesne1 ,which yields to toil a wealth unseen ,to those of civic life2 ,for here ,i drank1 in youth's bright dawn1 ,the draughts of vigor which were drawn ,from labor's busy strife4 ,i love the house wherein ,i played1 ,the yard o'erspread by maple's shade1 ,the nearby babbling brook2 ,the fields o'er which my youthful feet ,sped onward toward the trout's retreat1 ,with dangling line and hook4 ,i love the path across the wood ,which once ,i trod in search of food ,for hungering1 thirsting mind1 ,the room where pupils used to meet ,and strive to make their work complete ,and manners more refined4 ,all these ,i love for what is past1 ,and still must love while life shall last2 ,but ,i do love still more ,the souls who fired my mental lamp1 ,and on my character did stamp ,truths fraught with richest lore4 ,i see my aged mother there1 ,my father in his old arm-chair1 ,and fancy hears their voice2 ,my brother yet so full of joy1 ,has passed the limits of a boy1 ,but still can much rejoice4 ,upon the hill1 the lakes between1 ,are sacred mounds of living green1 ,where sleep my precious dead2 ,a vacant spot reserved for me1 ,to which my heart looks longingly1 ,invites my weary head4 ,no greater boon could ,i e'er ask ,when ,i have finished earthly task1 ,than quietly to rest1 ,surrounded by her vales and hills1 ,her laughing lakes and singing rills1 ,and friends that ,i love best4 ,tho' many years now intervene1 ,my mind recalls each boyhood scene ,of field and wood and bridge2 ,these cherished memories only prove ,abiding faith and filial love ,toward restful1 old ,poundridge4 ,,tim4 ,we remember well when a schoolboy1 ,when pliant in mind and limb1 ,we had for a boon companion1 ,a bright youth whose name was ,tim4 ,he was sturdy1 strong1 and honest1 ,in body and mind he had vim1 ,so we learned by intuition1 ,to place much reliance on ,tim4 ,we fished and hunted together1 ,in summer1 the lakes we would swim1 ,skated their surface in winter1 ,with mercurial1 wonderful ,tim4 ,our tasks at school were a union1 ,and when thoughts were distant or dim1 ,a light illumined the pages1 ,that seemed a reflection from ,tim4 ,reciprocal visits were often1 ,he slept with me1 ,i slept with him1 ,talked till near dawn of daylight1 ,with fluent and scholarly ,tim4 ,decades have passed since that season1 ,my hair is reduced to a rim1 ,but my heart beats as warm as ever1 ,for that friend of my youth1 named ,tim4 ,as years fleet away1 we treasure ,the power of our mind to skim ,o'er the scenes of early doings1 ,with valiant and trustworthy ,tim4 ,a third of a century over1 ,still a friend have we now like him1 ,exact in his every bearing1 ,and his name is--unchanged--,tim4 ,we wonder if in the hereafter1 ,when we range with the ,seraphim1 ,happiness will be augmented ,by the kindly presence of ,tim4 ,we trust an expanded mission ,will fill us with joy to the brim1 ,as we ramble the fields of glory1 ,with genial and faithful friend ,tim4 ,,the ,,unwritten ,,letter4 ,on receiving sprigs of ,forget-me-not and ,lilly-of-the-,valley in envelope1 through mail1 with no note or name inclosed4 ,in form it was a letter1 ,unique in its every part1 ,the expression could not be better1 ,for it touched my inmost heart4 ,no pen had marred its beauty1 ,no ink had traced a line1 ,it did its silent duty ,like a messenger divine4 ,upon its page was written ,no ,english1 ,french1 nor ,greek2 ,but a universal language ,that only flowers can speak4 ,the colors were pure whiteness ,and heavenly tints of blue1 ,excelling all the brightness ,that art can bring to view4 ,the ,lily-of-the-,valley ,and sweet ,forget-me-not1 ,that grow where perfumes dally ,in sweet secluded spot1 ,when sent to tell some story ,that words cannot express1 ,are fraught with special glory ,and richest tenderness4 ,their perfumes speak of gladness1 ,their colors of delight1 ,they neutralize dull sadness1 ,turn darkness into light4 ,they link the heart of sender ,to heart to which they're sent1 ,and unto both will render ,the sweetness of content4 ,i love them for their clearness1 ,their whiteness and their blue2 ,but added to such dearness ,is the thought they came from you4 ,,all ,,things ,,are ,,second-,,handed4 ,on being asked to write an original poem4 ,there's no new thing under the sun1 ,said the ancient priest and preacher2 ,what seems now new is only done ,to quicken some old feature ,that lies effete1 or badly worn1 ,and lacks its pristine rigor1 ,that needs an energizing touch ,to give it life and vigor4 ,the sun that shines on us to-day1 ,shone on our ancient parents ,who walked upon the primal clay2 ,and science fully warrants ,that not one atom has been lost1 ,and not one atom added ,to all the atom matter host1 ,although some forms have faded4 ,the gorgeous colors that are cast ,on cloud-land morn and even1 ,are but reflections of the past ,that erst had spangled heaven ,with glories from that mystic throne ,whose blendings none can rival1 ,but whose expiring tints1 alone1 ,admit of a revival4 ,the rain that drops has dropped before2 ,our flowers were another's2 ,the songs we sing were sung of yore ,by long departed brothers2 ,the sounds we hear are but the tones ,or echoes of the past2 ,we live among the mouldering bones ,of forms too frail to last4 ,then ask me not for something new1 ,all things are second-handed1 ,the old may sometimes be more true ,than that more lately branded2 ,but taking things as best we can1 ,we know 'tis only human ,to shun a second-handed man1 ,or a second-handed woman4 ,but let us not be too severe ,on second-handed matter1 ,for nothing seems to be more clear ,than that we should not flatter ,our souls into a fatal state1 ,of scoffing at the common1 ,for who can tell what cruel fate ,may make of man or woman8 ,,faces ,,we ,,read4 ,one may read from the face at leisure1 ,from the leaf that reflects the soul1 ,the thought1 the desire1 and the measure ,that imprint on the facial scroll ,the innermost mind and its actions1 ,the heart with its strongest desires1 ,the passions1 impulses1 and factions ,which animate clay oft inspires4 ,ev'ry line of th' face has a father ,whose hand has engraven it there1 ,but shades of the spirit are rather ,betrayed in the hue of the hair2 ,the pencils of thought1 true to nature1 ,have written their records so plain1 ,that a skillful eye reads each feature ,that dwells in the heart and the brain4 ,one may peep into occult recesses ,which only the face will reveal1 ,may read what the tongue quite represses ,but the eye cannot fully conceal1 ,may fathom the deepest depressions ,where the soul has buried its woe1 ,where the heart would hold secret sessions ,with scenes and events long ago4 ,the writer applying for a room at ,newpoint ,inn1 ,amityville1 ,long ,island1 was informed that the house was full4 ,some friends1 stopping near1 kindly invited him to go with them4 ,he accepted4 ,after his departure he sent the following3 ,,amityville4 ,i was a stranger and ye took me in1 ,hungry and ye fed me1 ,no place for me at ,newpoint ,inn1 ,so home you kindly led me4 ,some say the world is cold and sour1 ,devoid of fellow-feeling1 ,but day by day and hour by hour1 ,to me comes a revealing ,that warm hearts beat where'er we go1 ,kind hands are gladly serving ,the kindred hearts which ever show ,they truly are deserving4 ,the world1 indeed1 may frigid be ,when icebergs float around it1 ,but warm1 true hearts of constancy1 ,have uniformly found it ,to be a place where fragrant flowers ,deprive the thorns of stings1 ,where sunny souls spend happy hours1 ,and ,nature laughs and sings4 ,we make our paths1 we dwell the lives ,selected by ourselves2 ,we shape the destiny that gives ,our fate to gods or elves4 ,then let us know this truth full well ,wherever we may be1 ,we have a power to help us dwell ,in the ville of amity4 99 99 99 99 99 ,robin is a singer2 sweet and pure and clear ,are the notes he warbles from his covert near2 ,softly1 oh6 how softly1 at the sunset's glow ,does he chant his vespers1 plaintive1 sweet1 and low4 ,robin is an artist2 he beautifies the stream1 ,the vale1 the hill1 the meadow1 until they truly seem ,to glow1 because his presence gives to each a tongue ,to echo back the music his minstrel throat has sung4 ,,true ,,wealth4 ,the smallest type of manhood that lives1 7,if manhood it may be called17 ,is that which knows no power but wealth ,that is measured in stocks and gold2 ,it looks in disdain on a working man ,who declines to bend his knee1 ,though in honor's scales he may outweigh ,the scorner1 in great degree4 ,there's a wealth that far surpasses all ,the houses and stocks and gold1 ,that ever was on the market placed1 ,to be by a hireling sold2 ',tis the wealth of manhood1 noble1 free1 ,and an independent mind ,that scorns to swerve from justice and truth1 ,but faithfully serves mankind4 ,,pious ,,pie ,,poem ,,puns4 ,dedicated to my ,ex-,pier4 ,one pious afternoon in ,june ,when pyronomics held full sway1 ,my pilot1 fancy1 led me on ,to seek new fields1 piebald and gay4 ,the pianet rested in shade1 ,the lark1 piano-voiced1 sang not1 ,but pining for some genial maid ,to pioneer me to a spot1 ,where pine or oak might shield from heat1 ,my thoughts turned piously to where ,pierian pleasures one might meet1 ,and pious converse jointly share4 ,pyrometers were all at home-- ,no doubt the figures mounted high-- ,she sighed and said she could not roam1 ,then pitt 7i7 ed me with cherry pie4 ,piacular may she not be1 ,and thus escape the eternal pyre1 ,no pirate's heart would dance with glee ,like mine1 to see that maid--,ex-,pier4 ,,fidelity4 ,a ,legend of ,trinity ,lake1 ,poundridge1 ,n4 ,y4 ,read at a ,farmers' ,picnic1 ,trinity ,lake1 ,sept4 #a1 #ahia4 ,the ,rippowams were a tribe of ,indians living along the ,sound near ,stamford and ,norwalk1 ,ct41 and extended their territory for some miles northward4 ,the ,kitchewonks were a tribe living on the ,hudson1 near ,sing ,sing and ,peekskill1 ,n4 ,y41 and found their way eastward4 ,in the early days of the ,indian occupation of these lands the ,rippowams followed up the stream running from the three lakes--,round ,pond1 ,middle ,pond1 and ,lower ,pond--while the ,kitchewonks followed that branch of the ,croton which finds its source in ,cross ,pond1 now ,lake ,kitchewan4 ,for the possession of these grounds there were frequent battles between these tribes1 as the lake-land abounded in fish and game4 ,the intercourse between these tribes1 both belonging to the ,mohegans1 was very limited1 at first1 but in course of time became more frequent and friendly4 ,a lime and marble ridge separates ,lake ,kitchewan from the three lower lakes and forms a watershed between the ,hudson and the sound4 ,in recent years a dam was constructed by the ,stamford ,water ,co41 and the three lakes were made into one1 and very appropriately called thereafter1 ,trinity4 ,the lakes are supplied almost entirely by springs1 as no streams of any size empty into them4 ,for several years1 in the spring time1 a floating island appeared in ,trinity1 upon which vegetation grew abundantly4 ,this island sank upon the approach of cold weather and remained in a state of hibernation until the spring came4 ,some person or persons who had no love for the romantic1 curious1 and beautiful1 loaded it so heavily with stones that it sank to rise no more4 ,in its departure the lake sustained the loss of an attraction which is known in but few lakes in the world4 ,a large rock1 estimated to weigh eight or ten tons1 is so nicely poised upon another rook1 upon a high point about fifty rods west of the lake1 that a gentle pressure of the hand will cause it to rock perceptibly4 ,directly opposite the picnic grounds are precipitous rocks1 below which the waters are extremely deep4--,,the ,,author4 ,when the infant world in its swaddling band ,of mist and cloud and storm1 ,assumed its forms of sea and land1 ,and the lakes and streams were born1 ,in this western world1 on the eastern shore1 ,four leagues from the inland sea1 ,came a liquid crown set with jewels four1 ,but in union only three2 ,for the northern gem was a solitaire ,and barred from the lesser three1 ,by a marble wall wrought strong and fair ,by the hand of ,divinity4 ,a silver thread from the ,trinity ,ran southward through the wood1 ,till it lost its flow in the land-locked sea1 ,and was merged in old ,neptune's flood2 ,but the northern gem in a mystic race ,sent a message toward the west1 ,and linked itself in the kind embrace ,of the ,hudson grandly dressed4 ,ten thousand moons had waxed and waned ,and flung on the mirror sheet ,a train of beauty1 with no discord stained ,since creation stood complete4 ,here antlered deer had slaked their thirst ,and fought their imaged form2 ,here rolling tones of thunder burst1 ,as a harbinger of storm2 ,here song of bird and sigh of breeze ,had ne'er met human ear2 ,the beast on land1 the fowl on trees ,dwelt here in peace and knew no fear4 ,brave ,kitchewonks had traced their way ,along the stream that westward ran1 ,while ,rippowams pursued their prey ,until this lake-land was their van4 ',twas here ,mohegan met again ,the blood that in ,mohegan flowed1 ,but each regarded not the vein1 ,though kinsmen1 foes they firmly stood4 ,this lake-land1 rich in fish and game1 ,was ground for strife and war and blood2 ,from west and south the warriors came ,in battle paint and surly mood4 ,the ,kitchewonks near northern lake ,upon the ,rippowams looked down1 ,and hoped their power and pride to break ,e'er harvest-moon had fully grown4 ,,almeta on the western stream ,now mourned her absent ,,ponomo1 ,for harvest-moon had sent its gleam ,across the ,hudson's tidal flow1 ,and at its full he was to come1 ,and her to lake-land safely guide1 ,where they should make their future home1 ,and she should there become his bride4 ,but he had with ,rippowams' band1 ,marched forth to meet her kinsmen dear1 ,and face to face they sternly stand ,prepared for battle-storm severe4 ,her heart bid her to dare the shock ,and seek him near the hostile camp2 ,her mind her heart would basely mock1 ,and boding fears her ardor damp2 ,the bondage of her heart so great ,her coward mind could never free2 ,she heeds no danger1 dares all fate1 ,and this her brief soliloquy3 ,i know that tribal laws demand ,my life if ,i should thither flee1 ,i must obey that great command-- ,god's higher law--fidelity4 ,no other lips my lips have pressed1 ,no other arms encircled me1 ,since he my maiden form caressed ,and each breathed vows of constancy4 ,for me at each returning moon ,he journeyed through the forest wild1 ,braved dangers that my heart hath won1 ,and now ,i must not be defiled ,by any doubt or any fear ,that death or suffering may bring4 ,i'd count such sacrifice not dear ,if ,i must be an offering4 ,what though my blood may stain the soil1 ,devotion mark me for a slave ,through weary years to strive and toil1 ,or fate should sink me 'neath the wave6 ',twere better far that such should be ,than ,i should violate my heart ,and all that's sacred unto me ,by acting a base traitor's part4 ,i must away1 ,i must away ,to meet him by the silvery lake6 ',tis crime for me to longer stay ,i will not1 cannot now forsake4 ,she speeds along the forest trail ,where warriors late in painted form1 ,had marched through ,kitchewan's fair vale ,to meet their foes in battle-storm4 ,her eyes are watchful to survey1 ,her ears detect the lightest sound1 ,her heart and mind to her betray ,where barriers to her flight are found4 ,she shuns them all by tact and skill2 ,most gladly she to him will prove ,the power that's in a woman's will1 ,the faith that's in a woman's love4 ,from hill and ledge she scans the ground ,while dangers seem her faith to mock2 ,but highest point by her is found1 ,she stands upon the swaying rock1 ,which seems unsteady 'neath her feet1 ,and makes her doubt if she can stand ,to make inspection so complete1 ,she may discern ,,ponomo',s band4 ,the trembling rock and trembling heart ,are firmly fixed1 no power can move2 ,but from its crest she must depart ,in search of him her heart doth love4 ,she stands beside the central lake ,along whose shores the war-whoop rang1 ,and softly for her own heart's sake1 ,this song of harvest-moon she sang3 ,the hunter's moon now floods the night ,turns darkness into day1 ,the wood and lake in mellow light1 ,charm grief and care away4 ,the sparkling water's silvery gleam ,my sorrow soothes for me1 ,and lifts my soul in fancy's dream ,to thoughts so pure and free4 ,so bright the light that fills the night1 ,the song-birds sweetly sing2 ,from tree to tree they take their flight ,on swift yet noiseless wing4 ,now come1 ,,ponomo1 come to me1 ,i wait your coming here2 ,you promised 'neath this hemlock tree1 ,at midnight to appear4 ,my heart1 my life1 my all is yours1 ,and you are all to me2 ,faith trusts your promise and assures ,unchanged fidelity4 ,i know your heart is warm and true1 ,your love not cold or dumb1 ,no earthly power can it subdue2 ,i know that you will come4 ,she hears a footstep drawing near2 ,her voice is mute1 her song is done1 ,she waits1 ,,ponomo to appear1 ,in shadowed silence all alone4 ,beneath lugubrious hemlock shade ,her heart beats with expectancy1 ,and ,kitchewonk's own dusky maid ,trusts ,rippowam's fidelity4 ,he comes6 ,she sees him near the lake2 ,she knows his form1 his step1 his voice2 ,no other charm for her could make ,her heart and soul so much rejoice4 ,they meet beside the water's edge ,where hemlock boughs in silence nod1 ,and there with mutual vow and pledge1 ,in presence of their living ,god1 ,they join the hand1 the heart1 the life1 ,while harvest-moon a witness stood1 ,that he the husband1 she the wife1 ,should share in life's vicissitude4 ,that sacred pledge was heard on high ,and written by an angel hand1 ,nor priest1 nor king1 nor majesty1 ,could marriage rites perform more grand4 ,no tribal laws or priestly hand ,can rivet adverse hearts in one2 ,compulsion has no iron band ,so strong it may not be undone2 ,but ties of mutual interest ,that spring spontaneous from the soul1 ,are never by themselves oppressed1 ,their silken cords have full control4 ,to know1 to feel1 to fully share ,the joys and sorrows of this life1 ,unites the souls of mated pair1 ,and make the husband and the wife4 ,,ponomo and ,,almeta there1 ,where juts of rocks 'neath hemlock boughs1 ,had breathed a mutual1 fervent prayer1 ,and each to each pledged sacred vows1 ,when o'er the lake the war-whoop rang1 ,and ,kitchewonks1 on every side1 ,swept down with shout and yell and clang1 ,upon ,,ponomo and his bride4 ,on north and south1 and on the west1 ,no way of flight then could they take1 ,so from the rough rocks' rugged side ,they plunged into the central lake4 ,a hundred arrows cleft the air1 ,but one alone had reached its mark4 ,,ponomo felt it roughly tear ,its way into his faithful heart4 ,he shrieked and sank beneath the wave1 ,,almeta followed after him2 ,their bridal couch was watery grave1 ,the war-whoop was their requiem4 ,the savage yell of victory ,re-echoed then from shore to shore1 ,while every rock and every tree ,seemed deeply tinged with human gore1 ,for when the moon from heavenly throne ,looked down and saw the ghastly deed1 ,it veiled itself and feebly shone1 ,as if in agony to plead ,that human souls might ever know ,that ,god himself cannot approve ,the hand that strikes avenging blow1 ,the soul devoid fraternal love4 ',neath crystal waters of the lake1 ,in silent1 undisturbed repose1 ,where sounds of strife no slumbers break1 ,heedless alike of friends and foes1 ,they slept the long1 long sleep of death1 ,through centuries of rolling years1 ,while o'er their forms the zephyrs' breath ,in playful eddyings oft appears4 ,their race has faded from the shore ,and left few traces that they were2 ,the war-whoop now resounds no more1 ,they bowed before ,white ,conqueror4 ,full many a fathom 'neath the wave1 ,their forms have mouldered side by side1 ,while shadowy hemlocks fringe the grave ,of dark ,,ponomo and his bride4 ,the waters then were deeper made ,which gave their spirits much unrest1 ,the lake their agony betrayed ,and seemed on every side distressed4 ,one spring when ,nature gaily dressed ,with charms that could the mind beguile1 ,there rose upon the lake's fair breast ,a hibernating1 floating isle4 ,devoid of life it seemed at first1 ,chaotic1 dull1 with beauty none1 ,but rays of sunshine on it burst ,and changed it to a paragon4 ,two alders sprang from near its edge ,and twined in close embrace1 ,while ferns and grass gave certain pledge ,that ,time should give it smiling face4 ,but when the frosts of autumn fell ,it sank from sight1 perchance to rest2 ,no searching mind could ever tell ,the secret of its rising crest4 ,for years1 at each returning spring1 ,the isle would rise from 'neath the wave1 ,as if to memory to bring ,,ponomo and ,,almeta',s grave4 ,but when the harvest-moon shone bright1 ,it meekly sank2 as years before ,when on that dread1 but fatal night1 ,the faithful sank by rock-bound shore4 ,its verdure grew1 its alders spread1 ,its fame extended many a mile1 ',twas type of resurrected dead-- ,this hibernating1 floating isle4 ,but vandal hands destroyed the prize ,and sank it 'neath a weight of stones1 ,while ,,almeta sends forth her sighs1 ,and ,,ponomo emits his groans4 ,here let them rest1 if rest they may1 ,amid the beauteous scenes around1 ,and wait in peace the final day1 ,when at the angel's trumpet sound1 ,the water shall give up its prey1 ,the earth shall full surrender make1 ,for heaven has not a type to-day1 ,more perfect than this sky-blue lake4 ,,finis4 ,after our labor is finished1 ,after the struggle is done1 ,a restful surcease awaits us ,at the setting of life's sun4 ,if when our toil seemed the sorest ,the heart refused to retreat ,from a grand and noble purpose1 ,till the vic'try was complete1 ,then shall joyous crown await us1 ,resplendent with jewels rare1 ,and a radiance of honor ,the face shall benignly wear2 ,not that our works were all faultless ,and free from error and wrong1 ,but because our sincere purpose ,made us brave and true and strong4 ,results of labor thus rendered1 ,are safely trusted to ,heaven1 ,for ,he who knows ev'ry motive1 ,understands why we have striven4 ,if to man were given the balance ,to adjust with equity1 ,his weakness and imperfection1 ,his greed and his jealousy1 ,might sway the poise from adjustment1 ,and his judgment go astray1 ,through the frailties of his nature-- ,imperfect humanity ,the ,infallible in knowledge1 ,whose true balance never swerves1 ,knows every man's ,gethsemane1 ,and the merit he deserves4 ,he will not ask figs of the thorns2 ,of talents will not demand ,a greater increase than is just ,from a faithful steward's hand4 ,feeling the weight of the mission ,incumbent upon our care2 ,searching the heart's deep recesses ,that vice may not shelter there2 ,working courageously onward ,the truth and right to defend2 ,and asking a perfect guidance1 ,we calmly welcome the end4 ,transcriber's ,note3 ,the following errors in the original have been corrected in this version3 ,,who ,,knows8 ,while we shall linger hear1 ,while we shall linger here1 ,,our ,,profession4 ,is a receipe one may offer ,is a recipe one may offer ,,fact ,,versus ,,form4 ,so are educational falacies ,so are educational fallacies ,,indulgence4 ,in love1 oft a maddened1 frienzied heart ,in love1 oft a maddened1 frenzied heart ,,the ,,thrush4 ,that bring filicity4 ,that bring felicity4 ,,sunset4 ,no secrets incribed on its scroll4 ,no secrets inscribed on its scroll4 ,,retrospection4 ,that seemes like a photo-engraving1 ,that seems like a photo-engraving1 ,,the ,,hair4 ,regard causmetic's fancy stock ,regard cosmetic's fancy stock ,,poundridge1 ,n4 ,y4 ,that spurn ,m4 ,d's4 control4 ,that spurn ,m4 ,d4's control4