:' 3^ 1 1 mi llHll 111 1 '■■•' '''' '' ■'. ■ mil \\\r ilinlili'iliiiniiliiii HlilKilll^fll i WB l >JI » Class TS^ gaa, Book, :- S* •-■: . Copyright "N? i_ COPHUGHT DEPOSIT. GALLERY OF ART GALLERY OF ART By JOSHUA READE POEMS *? New York THE READE PUBLISHING CORPORATION 1918 +%v% \ sw^> & CONTENTS Recollections 7 The Daisy and the Violet 8 The Harvest Moon 10 Going Through the Sieve 11 Change 12 Love's Last Flight 13 Memories 14 Seek Your Equilibrium IS Shall We? 16 The Death of Destiny 17 The Old School House 18 The One Dollar Bill 18 The Blue-Eyed Girl 21 The Reaper of the Forest 22 A Lesson From Nature 23 Identity 26 The Orphans 27 The White Immortelle 28 Ingratitude 29 John Henry's Scales 30 The Turtle's Rebuke 32 The Passing of the Hobo 33 A Buried Story 34 An Ode to Cabin John's Bridge 35 (A Story in Stone). Let Us Pay It 37 Conflict of the Shadows 38 Liberty 39 The Homestead 40 Are We Drifting? 41 The Past and the Present 42 Jean Adams '. 43 Have You Heard an Echo?.... 44 The Living Force 45 Ambition 48 Oh ! If You Have a Sweetheart 49 The Rivals 50 Why? 51 The Living Missile 52 The Conqueror.. 53 The Pedler 54 The Moonbeam and the Ocean 55 Just Hold a Consultation 56 My Foster Father 57 Kathleen 58 Evolution 60 What Is It? 61 That Old Fifth Reader 62 The Ocean 64 An Ever-Shining Constellation 65 The Grand Review 67 The Cornfield's Prayer 70 Defects 71 When the War Is Over 72 Woman Suffrage 73 Silent Night 74 Our National Loom 75 Mental Pictures 76 A Lazy Courtship 77 Habit 78 Falling Shadows 79 A Lonely Bird 80 The Awakening 81 Emancipation 82 The Invisible Door 83 The Optimist 84 Resurrection 85 The Stream 86 We Are Only Shadows 87 Conflict of the Days 87 Sincerity i 88 What Is Life But Hope 89 The Riddle of Life 90 Human Effort 90 Frolic of the Shadows 91 The Question 92 The School of Nature 93 Lady Jane 94 The Crossing 95 The Tomb of Time 96 Star of Hope 97 GALLERY OF ART RECOLLECTIONS HROUGHOUT the shifting scenes of life, From hilltop to the valley; Come echoes near of happy days, To sweethearts swift they rally. The groves contribute fallen leaves, The seaside, shells of ocean; The wings of love drop feathery plumes As thought gives force to motion. Where walks took place of carriage rides, And lonely places smile; To happy hearts in passing by, Suggest they rest awhile. A lazy tree across a brook, Where sunshine yields to shadow; Suggests a place where lovers sat, While plowmen turned the fallow. Where brambles pitched their tangled tent, And sunlight never entered; There lovers breathed the breath of peace, There waves of love were centered. Where willows drooped their weeping limbs, And age the house had battered; 'Twas there they passed some happy hours, As rain the shingles pattered. The noisy cities saw them pass, They watched the stream of people; They saw where wealth held up its head^ As church holds up its steeple. V V RTKfi § They walked where sands resisted weight, And foam its surface covered; They heard the roar of ocean waves Where thoughts of lovers hovered. As years have come and rolled away, As seasons brought their treasure, These lovers gathered gems of thought, When labor turned to pleasure. How often did these trusted friends When youth had passed forever, Unlock the door to treasure's vault, And count the gems together. £ & THE DAISY AND THE VIOLET PROUD old Daisy in a field Once said to a modest little Violet in a shady ravine: "Lift up your head, why do you live in that dark, gloomy spot?" "Because," said the Violet, "I am little and humble and satisfied with my lot." "You look rather lonely, where are your friends, little Violet Blue?" "Your enemies are my friends and my own are all true." "Look, little Violet, this big field over, it is white with my kinsfolk." "But," said the Violet, "you are trespassing in other people's clover." "I and my kinsfolk are privileged to grow where we please. "We toil not, we spin not, we live at our ease. "We have entered the race of National Flowers, "And my kinsfolk are claiming the award will be ours." GALLERY OF ART One sunshiny day when there was no wind or shower The Daisy grew faint in the hot, broiling sun, While the Violet was cool in its deep, shaded bower; Its roots were still moist, its ailments were none. The Violet peeped out from the shady ravine and said: "Oh, Miss Daisy, why so sad? Are you ill or has dis- appointment affected your nod?" "It is the latter, little Violet, the Government has chosen the Golden Rod." "Cheer up," said the Violet, honors will fade; "Desert that hot field, come live in the shade." "No, thank you, Miss Violet, I prefer to live where I can be seen. "I could never be happy, much less content to live in a ravine." « The little Violet felt hurt and made up her mind To speak no more to Miss Daisy, so proud and unkind. One early morn when Miss Violet Blue Was sleepy and lazy and covered with dew, An echo came hurrying down the ravine: "Is it birds that I hear; is it bees; is it boys, or is it a machine?" " 'Tis a reaper," said the Robin, as she flew over. "The owner is mowing his field of clover." "Alas!" said the Violet, "I fear for a flower that re- fused to come live in my shady bower." A click and a clatter all day in the field of clover, And the days of Miss Daisy and her kinsfolk were over. A sharp little sickle, treacherous and sly, Cut down Miss Daisy to wither and die. tKti fit "Ah!" said the Violet, " 'tis the same old story the whole world over; "Do not trifle or trespass in other people's clover." IVX- *4 The song birds all have started South In search of forests new; The Autumn days at once begin When the Harvest Moon is due. The seaside places close their doors When Labor Day is ended; The lunar rays of all our moons In the Harvest Moon are blended. The rice bird, once the Bobolink That sang throughout the Summer, In changing plumage, habits, name, Now falls before the gunner. The boarding schools for pretty girls Now call them back to cover; They rally to the Autumn call Like Southland draws the plover. The grasshopper and the katydid Help make the uplands sound; Their medley ceased as they disappeared, When the Harvest Moon came around. The raccoon feasts on roasting ears And prowls around at night; The darkies say coon hunt begins When the Harvest Moon gives light. When Labor Day is over And the dog days' end has come; And the Harvest time is coming on And the leaves are fading some, $ We feel an impulse stirring us, Ambition spurs us some; Our nature seems of better grade When the Harvest Moon has come. 5W^ GALLERY OF ART % GOING THROUGH THE HERE are many things of interest In this world in which we live; But they slip away and disappear Like water in a sieve. There are some whose lives they'd lengthen While there's some don't care to live; And are ready for depression To drop them through the sieve. There are glorious days of sunshine And our highest praise we give; But the darkest days are always those That push us through the sieve. There's a cable in some people's lives The thing for which they live; And it's this that keeps a love affair From falling through the sieve. It's the strength of loyal friendship In the lives some people live; That lifts their soul above the pit That lies beneath the sieve. When strands grow weak in love affairs From strain begin to give; The time is past for rescue And it's going through the sieve. GALLERY OF ART CHANGE 9 SAT upon a silent rock where fifty years before I sat upon the same old stone and mused on future store. But Change, the silent, subtle thing, like strokes that move the clock Had left its mark on all around except the stream and rock. The fighting perch had left the stream, the sycamore tree had fallen; The Rooks that once had nested there had flown and ceased their calling. The grand old trees that hugged the stream and beauti- fied its border Had fallen by the hand of Change, like others at its order. The echo that I used to hear, just fifty years ago, That hurried up and down the stream when youth was all aglow Had left the scene as did the man who gave the echo wings; To rise above the land of Change and all material things. The Eglantine that used to grow and shed its sweet perfume, Had vanished like the old farm bell that used to ring at noon. While sitting on this gray old rock that touched the river's edge I doffed my shoes, with trousers rolled, I splashed at fifty edge. But rounding up experience, that half a century told, And dipping in the treacherous stream with waters dark and cold, Anticipation sought by me, since fifty years have flown, Was dreamland for a barefoot boy and not for him when grown. 3 HE chilly blasts of Winter melted Beneath the breath of Love's burning ray; Flowers bloomed on barren shores and dark- ness Turned to light of day. Steps once heavy as of burdened tread With spirits drooping pale; Lightly came change lifting blithely A heart now hale. Hope arose as a glowing orb Above a horizon gray from doubt; And golden gleams forced entrance As shadows fled without. Entrenched within a heart as in other hearts In days of yore; Love built an altar, lit its fires, Warmed and hovered o'er. Ambition drew its plans e'er the bridal chamber Budded soon to bloom; Dreams sketched the grounds of home, The glow of Hope had reached its noon; When Nature drew her bow, the shafts of music Straight to a heart did go. Remotest chambers, responsive, gave way and vibrant Threw back echoes sweet and low. All Nature tuned to Love's impulsive ear, Joy arose as sorrow fled; Eternal peace remained throughout the year Unclouded skies were overhead. An influence riding in mid-air circled o'er, As a bird upon the wing; Emotion bubbling to overflow, Subdued all pain, destroyed its sting. An evening walk by winding stream And crumbling mill; 'Twas here they courted, loved, and heard The whippoorwill. Moonbeams shed a softer light In Love's Lane; And fireflies staged their gorgeous light Over hill and plain. One evening, change came o'er a scene Where expectation dwelt; And Hope no longer blazed the way To joy so often felt. A broken vow drew shadows As day was turned to darkest night; A poisoned dart pierced woman's heart 'Twas Love's last flight. ,35 MEMORIES LONG the pebbly brooks of time And hollows full of echoes; Are orchards filled with memories green And others dwarfed by yellows, But what good would our pleasure be If void of recollection; Or what would light our drops of dew Without the sun's reflection? Would life without its lights and shades Be one like everlasting; Or do we feel the ups and downs are clouds Our sky o'ercasting? Would not the ocean lose its charm If robbed of all its billows; Would not our forests lose their charm If all were weeping willows? GALLERY Diversity, then, will lift our hope And fire our inspiration; We must have change to check the trend Of selfish inclination. Let us gather, then, the lights and shades Of shifting scenes behind us; And spread them on the canvas That will rise and fall before us. SEEK YOUR EQUILIBRIUM HEN you meet with disappointment and your spirits droop and fail, Or the mercury of your temper rises up the danger scale; Just seek your equilibrium, between good nature and a frown, Drink a cocktail mixed with reason and your mercury will come down. When you've had your own way always, and by chance you're curbed a bit, Don't fly into a temper but make the best of it. Because the people change their minds don't let your- self grow sour, But seek your equilibrium when you drop the reins of power. If you've lengthened out your overcheck and been a little gay, Don't criticize your sweetheart if she should go that way, If you play Res, let her play Proc, while either is en route, But seek your equilibrium when you wish to beat dispute. The tendency in most of men in the ups and downs of life, Is to be a little selfish but teach patience to the wife. They ofttimes fly to jealousy before they have a cause, If they sought their equilibrium first, they'd always stop and pause. f>*tf2 16 GALLERY OF ART A woman's world is rather small and routine day by day, Don't judge her by what you've done, be careful what you say. Before you wound the living force that binds yourself to her, Just get your equilibrium and soften down your fur. «S SHALL WE? VERY pleasure has its sting Hidden beneath a crushing fate; Every Winter has its Spring Sometimes early, sometimes late. Every flower seeks the sunlight Bursting from its clasping folds; Soon to fade into the midnight Soon to yield the breath it holds. Every sorrow leaves its furrow Carved upon the face of time; Weighty thoughts that sink and burrow Reappear in force sublime. Hours we spend in pensive thought Void at first of recompense; Wend their way through sadness fraught Swell the tide of affluence. Shall we, then, when clouds of Winter Warn us of approaching age; Let our nature crack or splinter Foster streams to drown our rage? Better far to seek the sunshine Shimmering on some other place; Fire our faith while seeking pastime Brush the clouds from off our face. GALLERY OF ART THE DEATH OF DESTINY P from the valley of Destiny's reign Hope rose in triumph, Its opponent was slain. Thought, clothed in armor of new style and power, Has driven the old While the new holds the hour. How oft has the man who, burdened by care, Sank down by the loads That adversities bear. The clouds that hang low and the lights that are dim Are as millstones and drawbacks That handicap him. But Hope lives immortal while destiny dies, New thought illumines The old, cloudy skies. Suggestion, invading the old doubting minds, Will reinforce weakness, Force light through the blinds. % The past often rises as dreams reappear, But Hope when encouraged Builds Destiny's bier. The triumph of effort although it be late, Will often win battles And disappoint fate. Long live the muse who by patience tried out, Gave life a new vision To drive away doubt, Then Time, in its whirling and infinite course Will recompense effort From whatever source. 5? "f>ne 18 GALLERY OF ART THE OLD SCHOOL HOUSE OW many of us realize The dreams of boys at school Were not all passing fancies Nor proved an April Fool. The farmer's boy with stogy boots His trousers void of crease; His coat loose cut without a fit And often spots of grease, Forgot his raiment long enough To lift his range of thought; To future heights where knowledge dwells, The price of effort wrought. In after years when looking back To school days green in youth; His dreams had not been all in vain But ripened into fruit. THE ONE DOLLAR BILL O thou hast returned home at last Thou dirty, ragged one dollar bill; Laden with a myriad germs and microbes of many species, Yet, thou art worth one dollar still. Not all fathers whose offsprings cross the thres- hold And venture forth on errand bound, Will welcome the wanderer whether prodigal or minis- terial Though wrecked and ruined, received as sound. Oh, that thou couldst talk and thy wondrous story tell Of thy wanderings and sojournings, The lesson thou couldst teach, the story thou couldst relate Would equal a sage or philosopher's learning. GALLERY OF ART I cannot call thee a dreamer, nor dare I call thee a prodi- gal For Congress was thy creator; And thou wentest forth by full permission on thy mission bent And thou alone art thy own relator. But thou entered the great arena of life conscious in the faith That thy redemption was sure. No matter what was't thine appearance on returning, thy demeanor whilst away Or whether thy motives were evil or pure. No matter whether early or late, whether clothed in the same artistic coloring As in thy youth Or whether jaded, discouraged, emaciated or faded, thy mission performed. Thy long stay and appearance on thy return evi- dences the truth. How many hearts hast thou gladdened, how many too hast thou left lonely and sad; Legion is perhaps the number of bills thou hast paid And obligations discharged as well as a like number dis- appointed Who thought thee had. The degree of thy power hast been matchless When thy achievements have all been recorded; Though thou hast been no respector of persons for the pious, the lewd and licentious Thou hast befriended as well as rewarded; The high and mighty, the lowly and meek, the rich and poor, the good and evil Before thee have bowed; These to thee have all paid tribute in thanks, some in supplication and prayer In silence or aloud. Thou hath played many a role, thou hast been a traitor and a tyrant A Christian and an Infidel A Protestant and a Catholic, a coward and a patriot A prisoner and a sentinel. Thou, too, hast been priest and subject, parent and child, God and Devil. Thou hast also dealt both justly and unjustly, deception hast thou practiced Yet charitably aoted on the level. Virtue hast thou prostituted, yet thou hast also hounded and prosecuted him That hath done as did thee; Thou hast overtaken the fleeing criminal and him brought to justice And yet didst thou enable the guilty to flee. Thou saint and sinner, thou God and Devil, thou gay deceiver Thou innocent and heavenly dove, Thou darling of my heart, thou vile and slimy serpent, wrecker of homes An angel of mercy from above. Thou corrupter of courts, thou breeder of graft Yet thou art a shining example of righteousness and reform ; With all thy wickedness, cruelty, corruption, disaster, bloodshed and crime What goodness and greatness thou dost perform. ■ If thou couldst but speak thou wouldst plead guilty to all these charges And yet more; For thou knewest thy calling and redemption was sure no matter what was thy conduct A welcome return was for thee in store. Thou wert ever conscious of thine own immortality Since the day of thy creation For thy father who indorsed and bid thee God Speed is as thou knewest The father of a great Nation. His influence and power went before thee as thy Jehova in "the pillar of cloud by day, And the pillar of fire by night.' *j5**5j^> GALLERY OF ART Thou knewest full well that thy redeemer liveth Though his being was invisible to thy sight. Thy courage and fortitude was prompted by a promise in gold That fadeth not; Neither could moth or rust corrupt or thieves break through and steal; Eternal rest was thy promised lot. Thy creator did say of thee when thy mission endeth, Thy work done, That as from dust thou wast created To dust shalt thou return. Thus did Uncle Sam, the invisible father of the world's greatest Republic, Address his Prime Minister, his Financial Delegate, his Circulating Medium On its final return and at its death and cremation. K e THE BLUE-EYED GIRL MONG the moving pictures that appeared upon the Earth, Was the likeness of a blue-eyed girl, she was lovely from her birth. The hand of fate so often has in childhood's clinging hours, Stole through the door of Human Heart and robbed it of its bowers. This blue-eyed girl of loyal heart, of just and gentle breeding, Was born beneath a southern sky, where people did seceding. Among the many steamboats that rode our greatest river, Were those of which this blue-eyed girl helped guide without a quiver. 8? -f>*tf2 GALLERY OF ART But years have come and gone since then Her boats have left the river; the Pilot left a father's love to glorify the giver. This blue-eyed girl of southern blood whose people never hurry, To change their ways for northern ones or southern ease for worry. She always stood for gallantry, for right and southern views; She led the march for bravery, she saw the cowards lose. Of all the southern women who mingled in the strife, Not one of them could rock her boat while on the Sea of Life. rt/i- THE REAPER OF THE FOREST N early days our land was clothed With forests deep and stout; Where bear and beaver made their home And red men roamed about. Where Nature spread her wondrous wings And sheltered all her kin; Within the forest thick of trees That time has changed to thin; Like life within the golden grain Or meadows under cover; Or upland loud with insect voice Or piping flocks of plover. A reaper came of cruel kind Like that which reaped our friends; And gathered in the grand old trees To gratify its ends. The wild life like the stately trees Has passed since years have flown; A new creation now has sprung From seeds that Time has sown. v> GALLERY OF ART The raccoon haunts of long ago The bee trees and the trapper; Are folded in the passing years Like parcels in their wrapper. We mourn the loss of forests old Of wild life and its glory; Our hearts are sad, these noble things Have passed from life to story. A LESSON FROM NATURE HILE walking by a stony ledge Hard by a winding stream; My steps were automatic My mind was as a dream. When suddenly from an ancient rock, Some hundred feet in height, A stone-like ball before me fell, It was a Trilobite. In picking up the stony thing With circles belted round; My mind came off my rambling dream To tell me what I'd found. "Pray tell me, little Trilobite, About how old you be?" But its ear was deaf, its tongue was still, Neither could it see. In the fossiliferous age is when it lived And also moved about; Most life was then within the waves, And not so much without. As I am now, so once was it, As science still proclaims; For Earth its ages now are read By finding such remains. a, i* 4 GALLERY OF ART By evolution some men say, But all do not unite In tracing man's beginning To a little Trilobite. If such were true and life returned To the dead and stony thing, What message would this little fish To its present kinsfolk bring? I wandered further down the stream, Past flowers rich in blushes; I stopped to watch the busy bees And hear the song of thrushes. This charming spot in Nature's wilds With all its birds and bees; Embroidered by its pebbly stream And green and stately trees. I sat upon a fallen tree The trunk of which was mossy; A scolding chipmunk peered at me With eyes both black and saucy. I tossed to him a piece of cake With sugar over-crusted; He said: "You are a Biped "That chipmunks never trusted." I moved along and later came To brambles thick and tangled; I saw a cunning spider and the fly He well nigh strangled. He perched himself upon his throne In all his pomp and power; He wove his fine and subtle web For flies a deadly bower. I raised my stick to strike the blow That would forever sever The altar that he sat upon, But the spider was too clever. \j v v- % GALLERY OF ART He sprang from off his lofty throne, He grasped his ladder light; He hurried down his fire escape And disappeared from sight. From a hole beneath a solid rock I saw him reappear; It was the home that sheltered This wise and wily seer. In spider language he began My actions to decry; Because I sought to slay him Since he caught a passing fly. He neither had an Angel form Nor had he Angel features; Notwithstanding his horrid shape. He was one of Nature's creatures. He challenged human genius At evening, morn and noon; To compare their vast productions With his little private loom. He neither had an Angel form And wisely too but shy; "So you would slay your ancestor "For dining on a fly. "From me you learned your cunning "Your science and your art; "But now that you have bloated so " 'Tis time that you depart." A lesson thus to me was taught While journeying by this stream, More valuable than I could gleam From books or rambling dream. I saw throughout this wild retreat, And up and down the stream, The shadow of the Deity More real than in my dream. I\N >m It/X' GALLERY OF ART IDENTITY REATURES of circumstances are we Without our will or asking; Brought into this world where Change is King And names our time of lasting. Shall we, when life within us dies Our bodies then nonentity; Become a part of Spiritual force And recognize Identity. Or shall we, like a drop of rain That falls from cloud to sea Lose all we are and form a part Of great Eternity? Our life is filled with mystery Uncertain of its call; We're like a drop of dew that came And perished by its fall. From out the night the dewdrop came The sun revealed its glory; But Change cut short Identity And left no trace or story. Thus we who came without our choice Our future too must be, And we may lose Identity In the hidden Spiritual sea. We are sent adrift upon the earth As sculptors without a chisel; Some carve out a normal life While others only fizzle. Some start out and would succeed Were it not for others tangles That blocked their way and turned their peace To worry and to wrangles. BMW GALLERY OF ART 27 N^/ And thus it ever seems to be Of going and of losing; The loss to they who suffered most Was caused by others 7 choosing. US THE ORPHANS |HE sun was disappearing Behind a gathering cloud; When two little tots at a window stood And gazed on the passing crowd. The time was nearing Christmas When children's hearts are glad; But these two little urchins' hearts Were heavy, pained and sad. They saw the surging, busy throng That passed along the street Were loaded down with Christmas toys And many things to eat. Their mother, hedged by poverty Their father, dead and gone; Their wonder was: "Will Santa stop Or will he journey on?" A little bird came flitting down From a pine tree standing near; And alighted on the window sill Seemed tame and void of fear. "Let's feed him crumbs," said Robbie "And make him love us so "He'll come and see us often "When the ground is white with snow." Then little Nell, with choking voice And eyes that filled with tears Said: "Robbie, dear, we have no crumbs "Till mother reappears." nt* ** V 28 GALLERY OF ART THE WHITE IMMORTELLE HE White House where our Presidents Have hewn our National stone; That built the greatest Government The world has ever known; Has portraits of our rulers And holds echoes of the tread Of Men whose strokes of statesmanship Stand as statues for the dead. One morning when old Father Time Walked through the Halls of History, He whispered to his faithful muse "Let some of this be mystery. "Come join me and together walk "To see historic places; "The White House bids me enter there "To view our rulers' faces. m * "I have within this little box "Some scarlet, lasting flowers, "To place around the portraits "Of our greatest human towers. "This row of noble faces "Of the living and the dead "Has earned a decoration "Of Immortelles, overhead. "But why this lonely white one "Among the others red, "Are not the red for living "And the white one for the dead?" "The man that's just ahead of Time "Is who this white one's for; "We'll put that one on WILSON "For he bore the brunt of war." IS GALLERY OF ART INGRATITUDE HE Past rises before me Like a dream; The future ebbs and flows As the ocean stream. The Present neither was Nor is to be; Salutes us but once And then will flee. Our life is like The winding of a reel; Our accomplishment is our joy, Neglect is the pain we feel. The Present, well employed Adds to our spool; The Past, Present and Future Are problems of school. Hearken, oh man, unto us! Apply the Golden Rule; He who would wantonly The lower creation wrong, Spurns the weak and Encourages the strong, Man's inhumanity to man And to Nature His ossified feeling, Takes unto himself command, While it must do the kneeling. All flying, creeping, swimming, Moving things, Consider man an enemy And from him springs. When will he the lesson learn Of kindness; And from his way of malice turn? Oh, that he might upon The flaming forge of life Build the chain with links of love And not of strife, >*tf« as JOHN HENRY'S SCALES OHN HENRY studied research in our modern days of thought And practiced his profession by doing as he taught; Some classed him as a dreamer while a genius others said, He bore the stamp of honesty and by it earned his bread, He saw injustice springing up with most prolific growth, He heard men prostitute the truth without regard to oath; He saw that human liberty was bartered away like hogs, He saw the rights of honest men were going to the dogs. He set to work to study the scales that later weighed The ego of the alienist and plans deceivers laid; A searchlight gleamed above these scales with power to penetrate The armor of the outward man that truth might renovate. The many scales of justice that hang above the courts, Are stationary, immovable, of many styles and sorts. John Henry's scales were movable, well balanced, clean and bright, The scale which sank the lowest was the one which bore the right. These scales were used in medicine as well as courts of law To test the alienist's egotism and doctors in the draw, The plain and plodding doctor whose trousers go un- creased, Will hoist the fellow highest who must have his con- science greased. 3 : *@1 John Henry's inspiration for his scales and under dog Was mischief wrought by wicked boys upon a little frog. These boys had laid a helpless frog upon a tilting cleat, Then struck the other end and thus did justice cheat. They watched the helpless frog fly up and later strike the ground, More thoughtless, shiftless, reckless boys are seldom ever found. Hard by them ran a little brook from which the frog they caught To perpetrate their cruelty, without remorse or thought. John Henry picked a rugged stone and called this weight the truth; Now watch me test your tilting scales young rascals in your youth. He gave the frog the longer end on which to rest and look, The truth dropped on the shorter end, the frog went in the brook. No sooner had the truth been dropped upon the moving scale Than liberty to the frog had come that he might freedom hail. Now boys, be mindful through your lives as in your youthful days, That truth will always hoist the wrong no matter what it weighs. John Henry said in many courts where justice is re- quired, The judges now are doubtful men, the straight ones have retired. The people see the need of scales to weigh the wrong and right, That truth may lift the lighter weight and bring the wrong to light. These scales were made for honest poor and not for men of means, To lift the graft and perjury that is done behind the scenes. Ttf* w MB John Henry did not patent them for monopoly's selfish greed But gave the poor the benefit that they might their families feed. Throughout our ways of human life as now its trend is going, John Henry's scales are needed for the wrong that men are sowing. Tis sad, indeed, this picture of a country in its youth, That trusted words must all be weighed to ascertain the truth. MS THE TURTLE'S REBUKE jNE morning in October When the trees were changing clothes, And Miss Katy and Miss Hopper Were murmuring out their woes, A lazy little turtle Sat perched upon a log, That stood above the water In a quiet mountain bog. Near by him floated likewise Another little tad, Supposedly a lassie, The perching one a lad. The merry little twinkle In laddiebuck's bright eye, Suggested to the lassie To come up awhile and dry. Miss Lassie looked disgusted, She swam a little ring, "I never dry in Autumn "But I'll meet you in the Spring." Chorus : Now, Laddie, stop your coaxing, Drop that twinkle from your eye; The Fall is cold and cheerless And it's not the time to dry. GALLERY OF ART THE PASSING OF THE HOBO V^ m HE railway tracks of former days Were hobo's great white ways; It was there he bummed from town to town, But now he seldom stays. These tracks are changed since former days, They are not the same as then; Instead of being lonely now, They are alive with secret men. Whatever theft occurs these days Along the railway tracks, These secret men attach the crime To the tramping hobo's back. This rocky road the hobo shuns, And seldom ventures where These secret men may him entrap Within their clever snare. The public road is none too safe For poor old hobo now; Where once he slept on beds of hay He finds them empty now. No sooner does he reach a town And stop to rest a bit, Than some one taps his shoulder And he gets the worst of it. He is branded as a vagrant No matter where he goes; The world has turned its back upon The old time tramping hoboes. The tariff of our former days Some say was much to blame For sending out the unemployed Who later gained this name. GALLERY OF ART The parks throughout our largest towns And wharves where steamboats bunch, Were places where he used to rest And ofttimes found his lunch. The rich control the road to wealth, They watch their fortunes swell; They wind men up and pour them out Like water from a well. BURIED STORY STOOD by a mound where an Oak tree young was striking deep its roots; And here and there was a broken brick half hidden by Locust roots. Within the mound as other mounds was a story long forgot; But it, like others, faded now was one of the common lot. A yeoman once of sturdy build, of purpose true and bold; Invaded here a noble wood and lived 'till gray and old With ax and saw this forest great gave way before his blows; And here he reared a hewed log house to shelter him from snows. v^ 83W GALLERY OF ART The onward rush of time and age like other passing things, Had swept away the forest old and all material things. The homestead shared the forest's lot, the household, too, had vanished; The mound, alone, was left behind, all else by time was banished. In digging down through years long gone to trace this buried story, The yeoman, forest, home and kin all vanished with their glory. £ AN ODE TO CABIN JOHN'S BRIDGE *A Story in Stone. AIL Cabin John's Bridge! Thou mass of granite masonry suspended in mid-air; Upon thy side rests a tablet containing a story in stone, Of a hero who, as one of three, gave thee birth; Around whose public life, soon after thy suspension, There rolled the seething tide of turbulent tumult and revolt, Death scored a victory in a Lost Cause shattered, But its shadow still remains. The impulse of bitter sentiment, with chisel keen Hewed away that name, but as years came and went Its shadow overawed the other names. "$ IW A curious public inquired: "Whose name was this that fled?" "The name of Jefferson Davis, who, with his Confederate Government, "Is numbered with the dead." I stood beneath the hanging arch, beside its solid wall, In accents low I asked the question: "What lesson is taught?" Forthwith came back the answer from the cruel lips of Death: "There is naught but Death." Startled, I turned around and across the stream of Cabin John, Hard by the opposite wall stood Death, snuffers in hand, An ill omen forewarned. Not far away a modern building reared its head; It was here that in palmy days multitudes were fed, High Jinks and revelry reigned and music echoed through Cabin John's Ravine and across the river wide; While thousands in glee and merriment their appetites supplied, From bounteous fares served within that famous host- lery. The flowing bowl too frequently supplied was the trap which Death had set for pleasure and its sepulchre. In after years I came again; Silence reigned. The echoes of music and surging crowds had flown, All was withered and dead. A spark of impulse stirred the public heart, The shadow of a shattered Cause and its Hero challenged Death And refused to die, and lo! The name of Jefferson Davis reappeared and took its place where For half a century its shadow stood to mark the place Of a Story in Stone. ^z 8 F the men in National harness Of our Democratic thought, Who never dodged a bullet In the battles that it fought, There is one who earned promotion And who earned it from the ranks; And we owe him greater honors Than to pay it off in thanks. If our people's song of gratitude Be as joyous as the lark, It should echo in the White House In the name of Speaker Clark. We should treasure old traditions Of that outward flowing force The Democratic party chose When staking out its course. We owe it to the glorious Cause, Where. fire ever burns On the altars of our humble homes Like memory clings to urns. If we bow before sincerity As Democrats always should, We must pay the debt we owe the man Who stood as martyrs stood. From out the shafts of treacherous mines With windings deep and dark; Where labor earns its daily bread And hope has lost its spark; Within our workshops, busy mills Or other fields of labor Are voices calling for the man Where justice meets with favor. Throughout our glorious group of states Our thoroughfares of travel, Will come united calls for him Who spent his life in saddle. GALLERY OF ART This unpaid debt of gratitude Now like a treasure empty. We'll elect Champ Clark our President In nineteen hundred-twenty. CONFLICT OF THE SHADOWS IME once stopped in its swiftness of flight, K \ Daylight and darkness prepared for a fight; The past and the future, like brave knights of old, Were clothed in fine garments with laces of gold. The field for the conflict was shaven and shorn, The hour was midway between twilight and morn. No umpire was near to rule reason or law The conflict when ended was considered a draw. v\n> "ft As coming events cast their shadows before Did sunsets of life throw their mystical lore; The past and the present claimed title to length, Each girded in armor, reflected its strength. History entered the field with its shadowy past And prophecy came up to contest to the last. The former maintained it had always been king, And that prophecy could stand no show in the ring. The public, unthinking as is usually the way, Is governed by vision and by what people say; Vibration, the power that prophecy casts Proves vision defective through Revelation at last. Thus shadows in history that flee not but last, Are carved by the future and not by the past; The people who think and not those who wait Will feel shadows approaching though their appearance be late. w» i LIBERTY HE wild bird Beat its wings Against the gilded wires Of a narrow home; Supplied with choicest food Bounteous in all It grieved for fields In which to roam. Days of hunger, Storms and hunter's gun As premiums fain Would it give; Rather than rest secure Within a gilded home Remote from Nature And within it live. Choice music wrung From artificial strain, Adornments rare and brought From foreign lands, Depressed, a spirit Loath to leave The realms of Nature Whether sea or land. What word could best Express this generous gift Behind which lurked A selfish thought; From out a choking throat Sweeter in tune Than arts divine It piped forth Liberty. Some of bird lore, Of spirit tame, Like some of human kind Content with sleep and eat; x\f« •tn« Discharge rebellious longings For Liberty, And rather seek An easy seat. Thus far behind the line That bounds acceptance Where Liberty Bends and yields Lies Independence, Gorgeous of dress and plumage Green of youth And sweet its fields. THE HOMESTEAD LD homesteads stand as landmarks Of times in early days; When pioneers laid forests down, And blazed our great highways. Our noble forests one time stood, And afterward gave place To homesteads old that reared the men Who set our Nation's pace. Their generations afterward, In coming back to view The old and crumbling homestead, Had given place to new. The forest with its mighty oaks, Had disappeared forever; The yeoman and his noble spouse Had flown away together. They left a glorious heritage To float upon the river; Like flint to hold the spark of fire Their ancestors the quiver. Collateral trend in modern days, Like steps that tread the stone, Wear down the work their fathers wrought, And leave the home alone. \J RE we drifting, slowing drifting From the height our fathers stood, When they planted Independence Of our glorious brotherhood, Are we falling, slowly falling, From the grade our mothers had, Are we careless in our morals, Are we going to the bad? Are we rising, slowing rising, In the world's progressive race; Can we press forever forward, Can we keep a steady pace? Will our actions and our motives, Be in keeping with our claims; Will we foster truth and virtue, And escape all pain and chains? V V I Are we listening to the death knell That ambition ever tolls? Are we conscious of its victims, Have we glanced across its rolls? Do we realize the energy We are burning every day? Do we know the night of darkness Will subdue our light of day? If we help to build attunement And support its monoliths, We will dig the grave of discord, We will sever all its withes. We will gain the faith of nations Where despotic rulers hold, The destiny of their people When love has long grown cold. GALLERY OF ART If we study Revelation And neglect the public press; We will do ourselves more justice, We will live on less excess. If we must be retroactive Let us fall for such a cause, As inspired our Independence And the virtue in our laws. g THE PAST AND THE PRESENT |HE years we have lived are past now, Their pages we have read; Our future ones are uncut leaves, Their story most we dread. Yet When we in our backward look, Scale all our past and present, How different might we guide our ship, And make our lives more pleasant. The clouds of sadness now hang low, Where once the sun was shining; The chilly life of selfish trend, Has darkened all their lining. But what would be our lives if left To shimmer on the level; Without its hills and valleys Or its choice of God or Devil? And when we once more backward turn, And think we could do better, Than travel on a zigzag course But toe the mark and letter, We'd find ourselves as far at sea As once we were in the mire; For Life would be a chilly thing Without its evil fire. mm GALLERY JEAN ADAMS HADOWS were approaching when the sun went down And the moon was withholding its silver; Jean Adams was cooking her evening meal When the sound of a voice made her shiver. The place where she lived was a lonely one, Her children were grown and had scattered; Neglect had invaded her fences and hedge, Her vehicles were old and all battered. Her husband had gone on a journey at sea, To return when the Summer was dying; But the ship that he guided was wrecked on the rocks, Her hopes then ended in sighing. She lived on in silence, with sadness oppressed And the years of her youth had deserted; She believed that her husband would come back to her side, And her faithfulness never perverted. •j\fi The voice that had startled Jean Adams that night, Was vibration that sounded his coming; The night passed away and by light of the day, Lost Charlie was through his field running. The wreck of his ship and exposure to cold, Had wrecked his mind and his reason; He drifted far off to a magical isle, Where time was as short as a season. A home-coming vessel bore down on this isle, And carried away all the stranded; Among them was Charlie who hurried to Jean, As soon as the vessel had landed. m% 44 iin- GALLERY OF ART HAVE YOU HEARD AN ECHO? N echo once was said to live Within a rugged hill; It bounded through a deep ravine It stopped not at the rill. When twilight pushed the evening sun Behind the wooded hill, The echo called to lovers Who were seated by a mill. The valley and its little stream By which the mill was turned, Held many a lover's secret vow And many a hand was spurned. The echo often sent delight To those who sought its home; For lovers love a quiet place, A spot for them alone. When workmen came at early dawn To level down the hill, The echo could not there be found Nor at the gray old mill. The voice of love had loaned it wings On which to early start; It bade adieu to hill and mill It hid in woman's heart. Like shadows falling o'er the face Of sad and solemn sphinx Does sorrow cross a woman's heart, Or storming at its brinks. The echo of the river Nile In Cleopatra's day, When shadows fell across her throne The echo fled away. It fled before her dreamy eyes It kissed their tear-steeped lids; It bade adieu to river Nile And to the pyramids. ~0n? *s? GALLERY OF ART For love is like an echo's haunts, Unlike an endless ring; For when you think you own its soul It's gone and on the wing. Oh, if you hear an echo In wood or field or lane, Be kind to little echo It has a sweet refrain. Oh, if you hear an echo That caused a tear to start, It does not live in yonder hill But in a woman's heart. V V THE LIVING FORCE HE bird in its lessons taught man The theory of flight; That he might sweep the skies by day Or race with stars by night. The Wrights applied the principle Obtained from lessons taught, By giving birth to aeroplane, The dream that others sought. Throughout the ages past and gone No scientist would declare That craft of heavy burden Could maintain itself in air. To challenge gravitation And drive engines through the air, Are things that only lunatics In former days would dare. The problem conquered by the Wrights Was taught in Nature's school, And hither must the scholar go For wisdom, knowledge, rule. GALLERY OF ART The wireless spark, as fleet as thought, To distant lands has sped ; When halted and interpreted A thought on fire is read. Some say what now seem great inventions Or wondrous problems wrought Are only resurrected things That early Nations taught. These Nations like inventions That flourished in ages past Are buried deep beneath the dust The winds of centuries cast. But man of every tongue and race Self conscious of life or death, Both knew and realized his life began And ended with his breath. In Holy Writ 'tis said of God Whose eye is of all seeing, The breath of life he breathed in man And made a living being. In youth I wandered through the woods And fields of so much promise; I wondered at the stars by night, I was a Doubting Thomas. I had not then yet realized That I, myself, was double Or that my other self alone Could soothe my heart in trouble. Nor had I then in days of school In Nature's highest course, Discovered that my double was I And moved by sacred force. But journeying up and down through life Between its shifting scenes, I saw wisdom in the setting sun And in its noonday beams. v^ I GALLERY OF ART All nature came at ready call To testify at court, That life in every living thing Was the very same in sort. Throughout all nature's common school The highest thought transcending Is that God alone controls that life On which all is depending. If creation in its lower life Can challenge ours, the higher, Why do people worship lifeless gods While others worship fire? Unless it be that these to them, As objects, represent The living God, invisible, The Spirit Omnipotent. How passing few of human race Have found where God abides; The soul of man, his handiwork Is the place where He resides. Shall we, who having known ourselves As also others should, Encourage the outward evil man And neglect the inner good? Why not on learning one is two And one of two must die; The other is Immortality The image of Him on high. Neglect if must, the outer one, But feed the inner best Whose promise in the future life Brings peace and happiness. Our outer life's a spider's web Frail and of brittle thread, Whose fragile strength will perish soon From circumstance's frequent tread. V V >*WS GALLERY OF ART But the inner one will challenge time Or fate or force combined, Because it's wrapped by sacred threads Which God himself entwined. AMBITION MBITION! indestructible mischief, slumber- ing, Ah! but with one eye open sees the unseen. Fawning around the gifted, Fanning conceit of the egoist, Danger lurks between. Co-equal with all forces as to birth, Death has met its equal; It has raced with Satan, Some escape while others fall, Longevity is its sequel. How oft has the gifted contributed To civilization's chest When lured by wily voice? Ambition lifts, thinks of self, The cause a zest. Self-chosen monarchs, great or small, Bow before its altar; Begging, hoping that the power, Vanity worships would lift the seeker, Justice provoking. Thus must causes great, admit Though reluctantly, the frailty of their Creator. Desertion foreordained through human weakness Leaves the cause to die, Ambition its relator. SV*s> GALLERY OF ART OH ! IF YOU HAVE A SWEETHEART HEN looking for the milestones In our journey through this life; A few are hewn by pleasure's But most are carved by strife. The way is ever winding, The sky not always clear; By hope we venture forward, In doubt we're checked by fear. Our days of youth seem very short In kilts and tresses clad; When she a little sweetheart And I a bashful lad. The ever busy hand of fate, As years rolled on before, How oft I've wished for playing yet Around that same old door. That mother who from early youth My footsteps sought to guide; I often wish I had her yet To sit down by her side. Her loving heart and patient care In teaching me to walk Along the straight and narrow path And not the winding walk. She always looked beyond my faults Whatever was her mood; There's nothing worse in all the world That base ingratitude. She always said a mother's star Arose to never set; If she were living now I'm sure She would be a Suffragette. Oh, if you have a sweetheart And not a loving wife, Don't trifle with too many hearts But lead an honest life. +<**£■ Si GALLERY OF ART For once a woman's heart is pierced By broken confidence, That heart will never be the same, Though soothed by penitence. THE RIVALS HE Stars and Stripes though young in years, Has gained a worthy place Among the Nations of the earth And scored in every race. Unselfish men who volunteered To dig the trenches deep, Wherein the Cause of Liberty Could its equilibrium keep. These men put Cause above the price, They laid Ambition down; They glorified the work they wrought, And cast on price a frown. But human blood like other kind Deteriorates by lack of care; Unselfish men who died for Cause Were few and now are rare. What safeguards now are left to guide This young and powerful nation; Since wealth will take the place of trust And prostitute its station. Oligarchies always thrive Where wealth controls the hour; They blast the hope of liberty And crush its spark of power. Our people worship now a god Of heathen kind, an idol; In streams of wealth they seek to bathe, The fashion now is tidal. >^/ WHY? F truth is God and God is truth And Nature sprang from twain, Then why should false and treacherous force Inflict in Nature pain? If God inspired in Nature good And gave it Godly force, Then why should He deceive such force By evil and remorse? If trusting Nature ventures forth Inspired by faith and love, Then why should evil perch near by In plumage of the dove? If men or women start in life Upon the narrow way And sacrifice their lives for good By night as well as day; Then why should evil rob such ones Of laurels they have earned; And when they seek their treasure box They find their treasures burned? The mother, true to Nature's call Brings forth her helpless young; Why should her hopes be turned to tears By force that evil wrung? Why should the little trusting bud In Nature's great domain Be stricken by a cruel frost Or die for lack of rain? Why should a woman's loyal heart Be pierced by darts of pain And wither like the tender bud Or like a life that's slain? Why should the man who emulates The force that springs from good, Be handicapped by evil force And could not if he would? GALLERY What compensation will be paid To they who fall for good And why should payment be delayed To honest womanhood? If effort is to ever share In any recompense, Then why not share it while on earth Instead of penitence? And why is pleasure's season short And that of sorrow long; And why does evil have the right To chill the heart of song? «S THE LIVING MISSILE ITHIN a cosy little home A thing of life had stayed; But when the greatest battery spoke This little thing obeyed. In silence, clothed in power It hurried on its way; It left behind no evidence Of object, cause or stay. Void of range or engineer This subtle, little thing Ignored our gravitation laws, Continued on the wing. No sage or depths of research Have yet the problem solved; The destiny of a fleeting thought Or influence involved. & How very many missiles The human mind has thrown A human soul or human thought When either takes its flight, Emerges in the unseen world Its course an endless night. Will thought be mobile, once at large Will good or bad increase; Will human understanding find its home Since its release? The harvest of the coming years That spring from germs of thought, Will yield the kind and quality That the planting time has fraught. % •I\fl THE CONQUEROR |LASHING through the universe, unseen and unheard; Without form or vision, noiseless as a bird. Springing from reservoirs, boundless, measure- less, immortal, keen, Resistless in flight, omnipresent, results are seen. Lost but not destroyed, whirls on through ages; Leads the march of events, gives history its pages. Like ocean waves roll up their sands, Does Thought lift Hope, loose doubt its bands. Mobilized Thought, like truth that saves, Moves multitudes to action, in tidal waves. 3*f *i*«p GALLERY OF ART THE PEDLER HE sun was disappearing One evening late in June, Behind a grove of chestnut trees, Its light obscured the moon. A wandering Pedler, sore of foot, His pockets light of money Laid down his pack of pedler's goods; The day was hot and sunny. The traveler camped within this grove And like so many pedlers Was tired, sleepy, longed for rest And shunned the busy meddler. From out a hollow chestnut tree An owl with eyes stupendous, Sent forth its voice in dead of night, The hoot was most tremendous. The Pedler, used to Nature's noise And void of fear or worry, Slept on throughout this Summer night To awaken did not hurry. The owl in search of fluffy things For lining up its nest, Like other feathered creatures wild Oft gathered up the best. In flitting through this chestnut grove While Pedler took his nap, The owl descended while on wing And carried off his cap. This Pedler fond of out door life Was freckled, tanned and gaunt; His headgear caused but small concern His stomach growled from want. GALLERY OF ART Within the band of Pedler's cap The owl Chose for its nest; Secluded was the Pedler's wealth Long kept within his vest. In after years this chestnut tree To lumber was reduced; The Pedler's cap and money, too, The chestnut tree produced. % THE MOONBEAM AND THE OCEAN EAR old Ocean with musical voice And sleepless eye throughout the ages; Your years marked by grains of sand, Your history volumes and not pages. Your bosom bare to Summer suns And wintry winds that blow, Heave in emotion and sighing, fall With tides in their outward flow. When night pursues the fleeting day And its mantled darkness spreads; The moon ofttimes o'er your bosom steals And a beam of silver sheds. Sunbeams kiss your troubled surface, Health abounds within your waves. On your surface joy has ridden, Mystery hides within your caves. Planets long have shone upon you, Falling stars their light you've drowned; The moon alone has won your favor, On other planets you have frowned. Tell me why throughout the ages, The moon her light your lungs should fill. Why should she attract your waters, Why should you obey her will? nf* GALLERY OF ART JUST HOLD A CONSULTATION HEN you feel a trifle fighty And your blood is warming up, Just stop and hold a consultation Take a drink from Reason's cup. Take counsel from your inner self. It will be to your renown; And as your reason rises Your mercury will go down. The seeds of evil sowing In our idleness or wrath, Are wafted by the many winds To grow up in our path. These empty seeds float lightest And scatter round about, Their kernel has been ruined By the musty shell without. IV1< We need a consultation When the devil lurks around, To keep our boats from sinking Or from going on the ground. Or when our anger rises And we draw a firearm, We need a consultation To prevent us doing harm. The man who lets his malice run With no attempt to check, Will find himself a criminal, A ruin or a wreck. And then he pleads insanity To relieve his common lot; There's not so much insanity As there's devil, people's got. >^/ ** GALLERY OF ART When things go wrong in business life And men have ugly tones, Just hold a consultation And exempt it from your homes. Your wife has trials of her own to fight And needs your kindest voice; So hold a consultation And you'll help her to rejoice. When temptation of whatever kind Surrounds your outward being, Just hold a consultation And you'll set this evil fleeing. You will never be mistaken If you council with your soul; Then just hold a consultation And escape the evil toll. £ MY FOSTER FATHER WHITE frame house and big bank barn stood on the "Old Plank Road' ? ; The years I spent at this old place inspired this little ode. Both house and barn withstood the siege which eighty years bombarded, The nestor who commanded here was always well regarded. A family — some ten in all — was reared upon this place, But Death its reaper busy kept until it left no trace. Then strangers came and bought the farm with all its trees and hedges, They found it all in good repair and also free from pledges. I spent my days of early youth upon this old plantation; 'Twas here I wore my linsey clothes, I had but poor relation. JVfl 5*i ;▼• GALLERY OF ART This man with whom I went to live was strict and fond of labor; He planted hedges by the mile, this fence grew in his favor. In after years when I had grown and this man old and sadder, I took his picture by the gate, my sweetheart on a ladder. This picture showed the house and trees and all the front yard over; It showed his grandson standing by my faithful friend, old Rover. «S 3 KATHLEEN MONG the sweetest flowers that grow In yard or field or wood; Is a little blue-eyed five-year-old I've loved from babyhood. She is the fairest little bud Of all the flowers that bloom; The dart that strikes me deepest Is her budding ends so soon. 'Tis wrong in me to wish that she Could longer be so little; But the thread of life for her is long, While mine is short and brittle. Her lively, happy, charming ways, Her lovely baby words Are as full of little echoing notes As the sweetest song of birds. How often when away from her Amid the scenes of life My thoughts go back to this little bud In hours of peace and strife. I»HI V^' GALLERY OF ART m A hundred times at day or night This little blue-eyed girl Drives all my other thoughts away And sets my mind awhirl. My love for her I can't compute, It's far beyond my all; And when her days of blooming end I cannot them recall. When shadows ofttime cross my heart And all my light has fled, A flaming thought from Kathleen comes And helps me lift my head. Inspired by her I refuge take In poetry and song; And thus it is the nights grow short That formerly were long. She oft came tripping through my dreams, They scattered, flew or fled; I felt her little, soft white hand Fall gently on my head. And then her hearty little laugh Rang out like echoes sweet; She drove both sleep and dream away And I sprang to my feet. But lo! no Kathleen stood nearby Nor anywhere in sight; I only saw her in a thought While passing in its flight. Inheritance, one of Nature's cogs, In all its vast machine, Contributed much to this blue-eyed girl From her mother's regime. She, too, was once a little tot, And played and romped about; My happiest days were spent with her, But they fled and lingered not. •rtf# GALLERY OF ART it/1 « EVOLUTION ROM a window in a crowded street I watched the busy throng; I studied human nature As the people moved along. Some were tall and some were short And some showed taste in dress; While others, careless, loitered on And some were business pressed. I ventured forth in Nature's Realms Where lessons rare abound; From busy ants and bugs and bees, And reptiles of the ground. I paused beside a spider's den To observe its cunning ways And from it learned a lesson, I have treasured all my days. In looking at the monkeys And in watching them at play, There is reason for what Darwin And other great men say. There is no use in denying That man is an animal; There's one that's even lower Who is called a cannibal. We laud our civilization, We lift our soul in song; We build our church and college And our prayers are ofttimes long. But When we shed our outward mask And reveal the natural truth, There is animal in our nature And there is instinct in our youth. We walk throughout our fields and woods, By stream and deep ravine; We study Nature found on land, Or shell life in marine. GALLERY OF ART And when we run the species down And all their natural acts, There's none that outraged Nature As has man, nor been as lax. With all our light of wisdom, Our exalted sense of right; Why are we cruel, soulless, Why abuse our gift of right; If Evolution's lifting force Gained man his higher place; Then why should life below him Do less outrage in the race? >S e WHAT IS IT? HAT is this strange old influence The people christen Love; Which emanates beneath us As well as from above? Its attributes throughout the years Were lifted high in song; Our sculptors carved its form a god, Its mission right not wrong. It greets us in a God-like form With righteousness pretending; But when we tear away its mask Then evil is transcending. It lifts our soul in ecstasy As joyous as the lark; Then leads us into dismal swamps And stabs us in the dark. It clings to the heart that welcomes it Like powder does to mortars; It steals within our happy homes And robs us of our daughters. 62 GALLERY OF ART Thus love is like old Janus's god, Like Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; For when you think your love is God The devil is by your side. It bends its knee in humbleness, It lifts its hand to pledge; Concealed it hides a dagger With keen and poisoned edge. it*« si THAT OLD FIFTH READER NE lazy day in Summer when the sun was broiling hot, And the streets throughout the city were de- serted round about; I passed a little book shop in a dark and dingy nook, When its owner bade me enter and he'd sell me cheap a book. I was more or less a bookworm when the notion came my way, But why it happened to attract me then is more than I can say. I accepted his invitation and dodged the heat so stale, To look his book shop over for books he had for sale. Once in his little dungeon, with dust and must and nooks, The perspiration flowed so free it drowned my thoughts for books. Your place is rather close, old man, the air a trifle stuffy, But over there I see a book, the author is McGuffy. He wiped the dust from off the book his face was round and kind, And handing me the book he said: "By searching ye shall find." It was the book I treasure much and one I long have sought, Because it carried memories of school I once had taught. GALLERY OF ART Of all the school day readers or books I ever sought, Not one of them I treasure as I do this one I bought. It took me back to school days with all their shades and dreams, To playing ball, to fox and geese and skating on the streams. I gladly paid the bookman's price for this long sought for treasure, That I from out this faded book could gather so much pleasure. How often since in looking back to days both good and old, I read this faded reader for the wisdom that it told. H I love this book for reasons, but high above them all, Hangs the romance of a pretty girl I chanced to meet one Fall. We both began as teachers in the common school of thought, But later learned the lessons that the future since has taught. We swung around the circle in our teaching days of yore, She was thoughtful, bright and practical, while I dreamed of future store. Could I have seen my future self as she had seen its shadow My coloring would be a brighter shade and not look quite so sallow. But He who built the universe with all its strength and weakness, Provided those who blundered with little haunts of meek- ness. I cannot reconstruct the past, nor can the greatest pleader, But I'll do my best to reconstruct and read my old Fifth Reader. r^-rcfj 7%< 1/1% 5 Yielding, benevolently, drop after drop Of your salt-laden waters, To moisten the kisses Of sunbeams, trained. Indian giver selfish, stingy, Gluttonous sluggard, lying in wait To steal from the clouds Your gifts, in distilled rain. Deep within your heart Rest secret Revelation, itself Has failed to uncover And coming ages, as well will fail. Exploration has but one field That challenges the adventurer And that is your caverns, An untold tale. Your foaming billows Like the melody of distant bells, Roll away and end in silence On your white shore. Far down, beyond the reach Of human vision, life abounds And research will remain An unrecorded store. Far beneath your restless surface Treasures lay; Sunken vessels, homes for sea life, Human skulls inanimate. ^/ Darkness hangs its cloak Of mourning, hope a stranger; Courage dead, no ray of light To radiate. Charming ocean, always playful, Ever changing; Still the same, restless, Peaceful, noisy silent. Dullness never; bears acquaintance, Breath of freshness From your lungs; endless roar Instead of quiet. AN EVER SHINING CONSTELLATION ilHERE are many constellations In the starry skies of night; Some of them are visible Others far beyond our sight. The firmament has many stars The hand of God has set; They have shone throughout the ages And continue shining yet. How many little twinkling stars That form the diadem Of the Great Jehovah's handiwork And the light which falls from them. Of all the brilliant diamonds Or gems of rarest find, Their rays fall short in piercing space Compared with starry kind. But all these many clusters Of bright and shining lights, They fade away throughout the day But hold the fort at nights. i\n< % GALLERY OF ART How much they bring to memory In summing up the good, A greater constellation Of our bounteous babyhood. These darling, precious babies With their tiny hands and feet; Their funny baby antics, Their faces round and sweet. Their puckered rosebud mouths And their tiny little toes, Their only weapon of defense Is pouring out their woes. They trust their lives to bigger folks These darling, helpless dears; Confiding in our loyalty, Remote from any fears. What grander picture can be seen In all our halls of art, Than a mother singing lullabies Which bubble from her heart. Above the shadows that o'er us fall Like worlds that long have stood; A constellation that ever shines Is our glorious motherhood. The men, they have their brotherhood Whose light is ever ready To shoot its rays for fallen ones But never shines so steady. There may be many Damons In the skies of human night; A few perhaps are visible But most are out of sight. If men would be as constant As God ordained they should Their constellation might compare With boundless womanhood. GALLERY OF ART THE GRAND REVIEW NE evening in the Autumn when Jack Frost the earth did chill, And the songbirds all had flown away as did the whip-poor-will; I was lonely, sad and pensive, as the sun was going down, While the moon was mounting upward past the spires of the town. I walked down to a crumbling mill which time was fast destroying; Where I could sit in solitude and free from all annoying. The race that once its water poured and turned the mil- ler's wheel Had long since dried, the miller died and the pond be- came a field. While seated by the ancient mill with Nature still as death, The trees had lost their coats of green, the flowers had lost their breath; How many men have come and gone, since first the mill did grind, And where are they who disappeared, those yeomen good and kind. My mind turned back through years long gone as if in great review To canvass scenes and friends of old, to all I ever knew; The multitudes who came and went along the great highway, Abided but a season and none of them did stay. It seemed a part of Nature's plan this transitory state, To come and go, to live and die and abide the will of fate; But where are all the multitudes whom time has swept away, Has their passing been their finish, will their night re- turn to day? \ V 5< GALLERY OF ART Will I ever see the faces of the scholars once I taught Or see my loving parents in other ways than thought? Will the multitudes who passed away return in Grand Review, To enter on a new career and start in life anew? In the midst of looking backward as my feet swung to and fro, They were moving automatic as my mind did not then know, But within me came the answer to the questions that I ask; "It is I who lives forever, it is you who is the mask." 'It is I who makes you happy, it is you who makes you sad, It is I who never ruffles it is you who oft gets mad; It is I who paints your landscapes, lifts your star to heights sublime, It is you who soils the painting, it is you who fails to shine. " "The mask is you, the natural man who passed in great Review, "Your passing is your finished one, you cannot your life renew; "But I, who you thought I was you, will live for you anew, "But you, like other natural things, forever pass from view.' Thus me in rapture by the mill did feel an inner thrill, My soul to me was speaking then, while all around was still; "Has me through all these years, usurped the place of I "By thinking I was me and me was I?" My soul did me thus company keep throughout the great review It pointed out the living way, the one to live anew; GALLERY OF ART Near by me stood an elm tree, to all appearance dead, But from its roots a sapling small began to rear its head. Thus life in Nature gets its source from a pre-existing one, But if death kills off the living force, transition then is done; "Though you may die," my soul did say, "yet I will live for you "That you again may see your -friends in the future Grand Review." Attached to the bark of an elm tree, a little above my head, Was the faded mask of a locust, but the locust it had fled; The mask had eyes, and wings, and feet, and body same as when It moved and had its being but the life was the locust then. My soul then said: "As that mask is, so later you will be, "But I will guide the living you to the land of immor- tality. "To reach that land you need not wait for resurrection day, "For when your natural light goes out, then I will lead the way." Throughout the years of natural life how very, very few, Themselves at last did realize that one time one was two; And fewer still are they that live who realize the force That they themselves control the time of resurrection's course. The earlier man begins in life his transformation task, His resurrection is assured when he has dropped his mask: AN • t w • H/Jv The nearer the outward, natural man lives to the inner one, The higher will be his earthly joys in the race on earth he'll run. Man's body in his future state when starting out anew, Is fashioned by his earthly work to appear in the Grand Review; Progressive is the future life, like those who earn renown, And better you weave your future robe than march in a hand-me-down. The butterfly a worm once was and crept upon the earth, Despised by all of human kind, no one did praise its worth; But e'er the frosts of life had come, this ugly, hated thing Began its transformation task, to fly about in Spring. Ah, then, the Heaven we read about, is not a distant land! It is the entire universe, around on every hand; We enter Heaven when our soul departs and it guides for us the way That we our transformation end, when we shall end our day. Q ml THE CORNFIELD'S PRAYER DRY and wilting field of corn, One hot and sultry day, Petitioned to the burning sun, To lift some water from the bay. The meadow also joined the corn, That hot and burning day; And said: "Unless you moisten me "I'll surely make no hay." The sun then let a beam descend Upon the quiet bay; And turned some globules into steam Which rose that sultry day. GALLERY OF ART A land breeze carried this steam aloft Where it might soon congeal, And a friendly current hurrying down Brought rain upon the field. Both corn and hayfield then rejoiced, And took on courage new; They stopped their moody, wilting ways And bore a greener hue. They smiled on birds and beetles, To the herds upon the hills; They kissed the burning sunbeam, They waved to thirsty rills. Praise God from whom all blessings flow, And e'en this ball of fire, Unlike its cold and placid moon You are loved for aught you ire. Although we sometimes angry get Your beams and heat don't cherish; But were it not for these alone All plant life soon would perish. •nti DEFECTS FEW of us are normal and well rounded, Are gentle and jolly good souls; But most of us are seconds, are wabbly, And flattened somewhat at the poles. A few of us in reason are balanced, Our judgment notwithstanding the test; But most of us fall below zero When guaged by a temperate test. When we look at ourselves as reflected In the mirror the public hangs up; Defects fall short of our vision While we drink from an egotist's cup. Stop ART To err is said to be human, To forgive is surely divine; But to rise above all human defects Is as hard as to reach the sublime. WHEN THE WAR IS OVER HEN the Eastern War is over, And the Dove of Peace appears To drive away the vulture, It can bathe in pools of tears. It will witness mighty graveyards Where in former happy days A busy population thrived And commerce coursed its ways. l\A< It will see the robe of darkness hang Where once prevailed the white, And all around will sadness reign, And clouds obscure the light. It, too, will hear the rumbling Of the modern Juggernaut, In its onward, cruel mission, To the living's common lot. ^i It will squeeze the population And extract the people's might To pay the awful war debt When peace gave way to fight. The many homes with empty chairs, The men who fell in war; The lonely ones now left behind, Ask what the war was for. v^ GALLERY OF ART WOMAN SUFFRAGE HEN the light of Christian chivalry Rolled the pagan shadows back; Emancipation loosed the girth That bound a woman's pack. Throughout her years of slavery For her patience and her cause The force of Equal Suffrage formed And bade injustice pause. The world has taken inventory Of deeds that woman wrought; The muse had made its balance Of the good that she has taught. The rumbling of the mighty force Behind subjection's door, Is bursting out upon the world, Its sign has gone before. The high and lofty mission That is woman's lot to fill; Has cast its shadow forward In Obedience to her will. In the wake of human effort Stand as monoliths in stone, Achievements wrought by women When they bore the load alone. The world has come to realize That a great and lofty cause Can trace its birth to womanhood And the justice in our laws. Thus change has mobilized the force That soon will move the world To higher, nobler, loftier heights When LIBERTY is unfurled. 11/1-* 2 V '3 HE globes of dew in Summer time When fired by morning rays Of the sun we scold so much about On our hottest Summer days; Are like the frail white spider's web That is spun from silken thread, And will perish soon from forces thrown, Or Nature's softest tread. The finest tints of Nature's art The gorgeous beauty spread, Have all appeared when night put on Her evening robes and sunlight disappeared The stars that pin the curtains back That screen the light of day, Shed forth their soft and silvery light And cool the heat of day. In silent night the land of dreams Bring out the stars of night; But these are not celestial kind, And disappear in flight. In silent night the moonbeams kiss The ocean's tossing waves; They light the deep and dark ravines And smile on lonely graves. When night its shadow rolls across The mountain, hill or plain, The noise and tumult heard by day Leaves night without refrain. Silent night, the refuge land, Where rest and peace abound; Eternal night, how few seek out Or draw its cloak around. Silent night brings out the stars Of human kind and power; They shed their light when cowards fail, In dark and trying hour. Vw/ OUR NATIONAL LOOM HE loom that weaves our National cloth From threads the people spin, Has woven fabrics time has failed To fade or wear them thin. Some threads of thought the public spins Like gossamers float away; And empty spools are never wound By thoughts that go astray. But legislators, great or small Who operate this mill, Derive both right and tenure From the force of public will. The shades of thought that people spin When years are bound together Are colored by one eternal change That's going on forever. Thus National warp like other things That serves the public will, Is reinforced by new-spun threads Or changed by public will. •x\f* The crowds that saw this National mill Controlled by men long past, The threads were then of statesmanship But now of business cast. But change, that plays on everything Has left upon this loom, The same eternal verdict That its coming is too soon. H/I-* *7< GALLERY OF ART Then how little do they realize Who operate this loom, Their night is fast approaching And will overtake them soon. As all who one time ran this mill Must from their colleagues sever, So later they who come must go For change goes on forever. £ MENTAL PICTURES OW many of us realize The multitude of pictures We draw upon our memories That move not, but are fixtures? And when we turn our active mind From business thoughts to leisure We find our early, youthful ones Afford us greatest pleasure. We sometimes seek for missing ones Inspired by notions clannish; But disappointment long has taught That these, like dreams, will vanish. How can we hope to always find That all the mind recorded Would never vanish, fade or change But all our wants rewarded. We grasp for things that we let go Indifference held us captive; Remorse alone admonishes us For acts that then were passive. And thus we wend our wandering way Experience as our teacher; How changed would be our new career If we could mold its feature. v^ |HE night was light and lovely For the moon was bright and full; When a pair of sturdy lovers Moved by oars each helped to pull. Their craft, a little dory, flat, The water warm and still; The only sound beside their oars Was that of the whip-poor-will. Now Ephraim and Delilah Had courted long and prudent; In computing expectation's grist Delilah was the student. To what extent the wily waves Vibration plays with lovers, Had tickled around slow Ephraim's heart Was figured out by others. Throughout their rides and drives and walks This Sagitarius lover Had kept his bow in evidence His arrow under cover. 'Twas on this ride, Delilah thought This everlasting question; Her Ephraim true would this time pop Without her forced suggestion. But he was of the older school Of devotees of marriage, And thought a woman's wants were filled By hopes and horse and carriage. There chanced to be a party spread At a house some miles away Where a man they called a wealthy Duke Had come to spend the day. S V R?f*N Slow Ephraim caught the passing waves Of hope's delayed rebuke; He realized Delilah's heart Was beating for the Duke. That evening as they journeyed home Not waiting for suggestion, Slow Ephraim grasped Delilah's hand And straightway popped the question. 11/1 v tfcdl •3 HABIT LD Habit having once held sway In cities long since buried, Took passage for the new found world And here old Habit tarried. It found such easy subjects Throughout our range of states; They swallow hooks and sinkers And never wait for baits. It shapes itself in many forms; Is sometimes nude and careless. It's pushing gowns above the knees, It's making most men prayerless. It has coaxed the farmer into town, The maid from out the kitchen; It has set a craze on playing ball And raised the price in pitchin'. It has hoisted up a woman's heel And turned her head to pictures; She finds the grip that fashion holds Is about as staid as fixtures. But these were not the seasons' change Nor the planets' moody spells; They were falling shadows fate threw down And the riddle misfortune tells. Behind these shadows, as above them, shone When favor lent its power, The limelight shed its gorgeous rays And influence ruled the hour. The patient, conscious of certain pain The surgeon's knife controls, Seeks refuge in the sleepy drug And the force that fate unfolds. * But the victim of misfortune's knife Who falls from favor's role, Must stand the pain, endure the sting And pay disfavor's toll. How soon the lustre fades away How changed the charming spot, When favor lifts its fairy sails And leaves misfortune's lot. How treacherous is the force That rules in favor's gilded court; No matter whether public ones Or homes or inns or sports. No sooner are we in than out, Or up than we are down; The smile that favor casts on us Misfortune turns to frown. >x\f* fei So GALLERY OF ART And thus we find that shadows rule In all the haunts of favor; That night exceeds the length of day And pain the ruling savor. £ A LONELY BIRD WOODPECKER that had lost its mate Took refuge among the oaks, A lonely bird he vowed he'd be Ignored all other's coax. When Autumn came this lonely bird An oak tree's top did fill With acorns that he hid in holes He pecked in with his bill. A pair of squirrels once was reared Within its lifeless top, And often spent their winter nights Within its hollow knot. When Winter with its ice and snow The ground had covered o'er, These squirrels then sought other haunts Where nuts they might find more. One morning when the snowflakes fell, These squirrels just discovered The woodpecker's store of acorns, And by them close he hovered. A fight ensued, this plucky bird His voice and feathers up, Beat off the hungry pirate squirrels Without an empty cup. 1 sv**> LLERY OF ART THE AWAKENING HAT is the great awakening Vibration now foretells, That is pushing back the curtain And opening up the wells Of emotion that was long Confined by dominating force That shackled rights of womanhood And inspiration's course? This force in inspiration Clothed in poetry and song, Burst forth and carved poetic age Its echoes lasted long. The selfish and the practical Dethroned poetic age And boasts in its creation Of the seer and the sage. But the rise of Woman Suffrage And the Eastern conflict's toll Is firing up emotion In vibrations from the soul. Once more the minds of many Of this cold and selfish age Seek refuge now in poetry That will soon become the rage. For the soul will not be shackled By the selfish or the cold; But will reassert its mighty force As it did in days of old. Thus the great and new awakening Of the high and nobler part Calls for better class of literature And of poems from the heart. GALLERY OF ART EMANCIPATION FORCE there was upon the earth When man at first appeared; Its virtue and beneficence Has made its name revered. Emancipation is the name By which this force is known, And supplication rises up From forest, stream and home. The monarch on his gilded throne The beggar in the street, Alike, this force is sought in vain By every one we meet. The dreamer and the one who toils Bows low before this power; Their minds though busied otherwise Implore it every hour. The widow with her children small No income save her labor; Emancipation fills her heart, She prays to win its favor. The cup of disappointment serves Its bitter dregs of sorrow; We seek Emancipation's force To clear our sky tomorrow. The broken hearts that love has pierced, The tangle webs of marriage; The fondest hopes of early days Falls lifeless by miscarriage. These lacked Emancipation's force To steer them through the waters, Where disappointment always lurks And Satan harbors plotters. When finance mobilizes clouds And price takes place of reason Emancipation's soothing breath Brings comfort for a season. **\ When men or women chance to step Beyond the walk that's narrow, Emancipation pulls as hard As does the plowman's harrow. The prisoner in his narrow cell Or he whose light has fled; And all the world to him is dark And all his influence dead, Emancipation is the god That has the right of way; Besieged by every living thing By night as well as day. «5 ?* THE INVISIBLE DOOR STOOD by the door of the Invisible, Its opening to watch and await; But the door was like its concealment And opened not, early or late. What life or condition existed Within the Invisible state, Will ever withhold its own secret Since no one returned to relate. Perhaps I had not then discovered What I thought was the Invisible door, But was only the Invisible secret That others had sought for before. The Creator who built the great universe And filled it with all that is seen, Created an Infinite portion Put wisdom between it a screen. The door that I stood by was wisdom Which in truth is an invisible thing And yields only to Infinite effort From power that knowledge will bring. tfagtf 7^| Throughout the scientific world And all our range of thought, An Optimist found the wisdom The world at large has taught. Celestial worlds were hiding Behind the ages' screen, Until Gallileo pierced it And wisdom since is seen. »vr In business life the Optimist Ofttimes must yield and bend To Pessimistic people who See a different trend. There is sunshine in the Optimist, Good natured in his life; No frowns on clouds and worries And he turns his back on strife. '5» The beauty of the rosebud Is the unfolding of its breath; The sadness of its whole career Is its closing up in death. I'd rather be an Optimist And see all things look bright, Than wear a pessimistic look And hide away from sight. HE flowers died, The leaves had faded and fallen. Dear old Indian Summer Wept at their bier As they passed away. Spring came, Clothed in her robe of green, Her breath rich in perfume Proclaiming the arrival Of Resurrection Day. 8! The voice of Spring Thrilled all Nature And her coming Brought cheer to all life That bided its time. From out the cold earth Life appeared, the worm transformed Floated on wings of gorgeous plumage; Nature threw out Her lifeline. Thus the going and coming, The ebbing and the flowing Foreshadows the Creator In all His wondrous ways. Sadness passes With the going And gladness With the coming, Wailing winds give place To Springtime lays. Invoke the power Of Springtime, No matter at what milestone We may have reached In our going. .•Mi te, f/WC. GALLERY OF ART There will come new life In an ebbing, While we journey on In the Stream of Time That is ever flowing. THE STREAM SAT beside the river In the days of long ago; When my dreamland lay before me And when youth was all aglow. It was daytime then in dreamland And through Faith the range I found; But my missiles then projected Missed the mark and struck the ground. There have rolled between that sitting And the place where now I stand, The years that drained that river And cast shadows o'er the land. The enchanting scenes of reverie And Fancy's glorious dream, Have passed away forever And I'm floating down the stream. Its banks are bleak and treeless And there's little sun to shine; The current's swift and cruel In this restless Stream of Time. But I, like all before me, While in this Stream of Time; Must leave my friends and trust to fate When left without a line. SJr*> GALLERY ART WE ARE ONLY SHADOWS UR mind should be our motor To guide us through this life, But we're shadows, only shadows In the field of human strife. The public press reflects us And it moves our acts and ways; We are governed by its bidding And the kind of hand it plays. We should laud our independence Challenge critics, court not praise; But we're shadows, only shadows In these fickle, restless days. The opinion of the public Is the mirror we hang up And we pay for disappointment As our traveling drinking cup. We are all starched with ego We want our way and own; But we wilt and bend as shadows From the light the press has shown. e^s THE CONFLICT OF THE DAYS HEN we're grown and old and wrinkled And we turn our backward gaze, We covet early gardens filled With happy, sunny days. When we're young we're looking forward When we're old we're looking back; We are somehow retroactive And our forward look is slack. te» iZ When the days of youth beguiled us And we bent our forward gaze; Then we swapped our gold for pewter, In those bright and sunny days. When we're young we dream of future When we're old we dream of past; But the crepe about the dreamland Is for the days that now are past. When we're old we see the shadows Of the things that might have been; All our present days are doublets The real gems were then. And so our mind will wander O'er the conflict of the days, And we sit and think and ponder Whether worry ever pays. SINCERITY OU cannot mold a diamond From the dull and lifeless clay; You cannot pull the curtain back And see the stars by day. Nor can you judge the kind of wood That lies beneath the paint; You cannot judge a woman's heart That's hampered by restraint. You cannot judge a human soul By garment, groom or style; But judge it by resisting force Like diamond, acid, file. You cannot measure friendship's strength By all day cloudless skies; GALLERY OF ART But judge it by the blow it strikes When falsehood falls and dies. Chorus: Then listen to the throbbing heart Sincerity bares for you, And choose between the polished, false And the plain, unvarnished, true. WHAT IS LIFE BUT HOPE ASKED a cunning spider As she wove her silken rope To teach me what to use for mine, She answered "Out of Hope." I asked a black and shiny ant To tell me what is Hope; Her answer was: "The Faith we have In bridge or chain or rope." I next sought out an aeronaut In feathers clad, unclean; She taught that man on wings of Hope Could fly in a machine. I turned away and asked a leaf What message it could bring; It said: "Through Hope when Autumn passed New life would come with Spring." , And then it was I sought a man A learned one and old; I asked of him: "What then is life "To which we cling and hold?" "A substance," was his answer, "The thing that Hope stands for; "When once it's dead and perished "It has passed forever more." 5? go % GALLERY OF THE RIDDLE OF LIFE ITH all our lights of knowledge When they're mobilized and trained Upon the frowning secret As to why was life ordained; The curtain ne'er has parted, The bolts refuse to turn, The door still shields the secrets We yearn so much to learn. We search, we probe for wisdom Invoke the divining rod; But with all our knowledge and effort The secret still lingers with God. Why should there be creating With the label of passing on all? The beginning is certain to perish And the rising is certain to fall. The celestial as well as the earthly Is wasting and wearing away; Is wisdom creator or created, Is it labelled to pass or to stay? With the advent of life came wisdom The riddle remains unsolved; Why is life still so mysterious And why must creation be dissolved? tig HUMAN EFFORT HEN the clouds hang low about us And misfortune's chilly hand Depresses all our efforts And our boat is forced to land; We drop our oars if rowing Or we slack our tugs at pull ; We generate emotion And our hearts with blues are full. v^ I v Ser*> GALLERY OF ART We question compensation For the sacrificial loss; We give up human effort And get our pay in dross. Then we wonder what's the premium For toil of being good; Or just why we're slipping backward, Can't go forward if we would. But we brush from off our shoulder That ugly, doubting thing That darkens aspirations and wounds Hope when on the wing. We summon up our courage Hoist our sails, untie our rope And we sail above depression In our aeroplane of Hope. as FROLIC OF THE SHADOWS HADOWS long and shadows short, Shadows fat and lean, Appear upon the field of life And pass beyond the screen. Some shadows tell of real life, Of story, prose or verse; Some tell of blessing's fleeting trail And misery's blighting curse. Some are cast by past events, While some appear before To tell of things in hiding now Behind the future's door. In shadow land there's night and day, There's some that 's never seen; There are some that act in colored light And some behind the scene. GALLERY OF A Some shadows tell of shadowy deeds Design had covered o'er; But subtle fate removed the shield That formed the hidden door. Thus shadows come and shadows go But many reappear and reveal A hidden secret when the truth Is drawing near. & THE QUESTION HY should we hail as sacred The human burial place; The refuge for the mask in dust Where soul has left no trace? In rounding out epitome Of the mask in burial place, It is dust divorced from memory The last of human trace. It is better far that flowers Should lose their fleeting breath; To decorate the living Than to waste it all on death. Why embalm the sums of money By investing it in stone, That death should rest above the dead And stone should stand for bone. We show our lack of wisdom When we worship passing dust; We cloud the gleam of memory By covering it with rust. We should turn our vision forward And to hope should be more just; We should worship the immortal And transfer our faith in dust. We should help to lengthen memory And to lift our soul in song; For the mask will fall and vanish While the soul will journey on. THE SCHOOL OF NATURE HE sculptor with his chisel The artist with his brush The poet with his language The singer like the thrush Are not so grand as Nature In her wonderland and deeds We bow in benediction At her beauty wrought from seeds. Not all her marvelous beauty From seeds derives its source But springs from other causes In her great and wondrous course. She molds and shapes the snowflake Cuts crystals rare and fine Casts shafts of moon and starlight And creates a sun to shine. The Creator and not the creature Is the object all should hail When we look upon His handiwork And all its great detail. The artist, sculptor, poet And all who enter school Of Nature's greatest teaching, Find there knowledge, wisdom, rule. How little do we realize As we wend our way through life That we're careless in our lessons From the school that's free from strife I-/ How grateful should all human life, How humble should it be; For the freedom of the wisdom That is plain for all to see. LADY JANE NOBLE river high of bank And rich in song and book Pours out its surplus waters In the bay near Sandy Hook. A busy city grips the throat Of this historic river; New Amsterdam and Peter passed As did the bow and quiver. Within this wondrous city On a fickle April morn, No so very long ago Our Lady Jane was born. She's as happy as the day is long This winsome Lady Jane; Her smiles for all who know her Are like sunshine after rain. Her eyes are like the stars of night, Her cheeks like roses red, Her lips like priceless rubies That adorn the crowned head. The mother of our Lady Jane Was born in old Kentucky; She's a thoroughbred of that great state And I think, mighty lucky. The father hails from Utah state, He's fair and tall and plain; He's professor in Columbia And adores our Lady Jane. I met her in the Campus When the grass was fresh and green, In the good old Summer time Of Nineteen-seventeen. LSV*V GALLERY OF ART 95 v*/ She charmed alike the youthful, The grown-ups and the old Who saw her in the Campus When her carriage through it rolled. She charmed our good friend, "Didum," And our lovely girl, Anne Holt And all the little kiddies Who cantered like a colt. The author of this lyric Who loves the good and plain Enjoyed a lively one-step When he danced with Lady Jane. And of this little Lady Jane Not half has yet been told; She's the dearest little lassie And she's less than one year old. % THE CROSSING HE road was smooth but winding; There was Summer time to cheer; There were song birds in the forest; There was change throughout the year. There was music in the meadows; When the bobolink arose; And bubbled forth his melody Like poetry after prose. The hills were void of shepherds; Though the flocks like flakes of snow, Extended from the summit, To the brook that flowed below. Beyond these scenes of beauty, Flowed a stream of current swift; I'll ford this stream deep though it be; My burden then will lift. GALLER Y I looked above the current; But no cable stretched across To save myself from sinking Or meeting certain loss. So I set my mind to action; I spun a line of thought; And I crossed this dreaded river, With its tide and dangers fraught. THE TOMB OF TIME P from the shafts through the dust of ages Come gems that were buried from historic pages; Shielded by time and cut by its wheel The spool of the past now yields to the reel. How often has science gathered to guess The age of this dump or compressor that pressed; How near or how far they have arrived at the truth Of the depth of this dump or the days of its youth. Legions of effort compose this great dump, Roots of great governments decayed with their stump; A sepulchre vast and a tomb of unknown Is all that is left that the ages had known. The grave diggers of past and of time yet to come May blast through the rock, through the shade and the sun; But chemists, geologists, historians, all Must stop in their research when they strike the last wall. Down through the shafts the past century has sunk In search of vast treasures in Time's hidden trunk; Explorers return with tidings but few Amid the dust of the ages they found nothing new. JMS' 3 flakes of snow were falling, The clouds hung low and dark; Depression hedged me round about But Hope still held its spark. The stars of youth were shining Above the cloudy scene, Their shafts of light by patience Will pierce the cloudy screen. Again these stars of former days Will shed their shafts of light For me, who never wounded Hope Nor plumed its wings for flight. In human life are also stars Celestial in their light, They soothe and lift a drooping heart And turn the dull to bright. From out the unknown, in one life Such human Star appeared; It led the way to triumph And it then became revered. Did such a Star cross o'er the path And drive away the doubt That hindered much this book of verse And put the doubt to rout? Oh, worthy Star, then shine in verse As time winds up her thread, And yours will not be sunset grey But sunset bright and red. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111