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 THE GIFT OF 
 
 HENRY W. SAGE 
 
 1891 
 
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 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
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 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
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 * 'inifiiiiilni'iiHiii?. Missouri verse choice s 
 
 3 1924 022 020 360 
 
A Little Book 
 
 OF 
 
 Missouri Verse 
 
 Choice Selections from Missouri 
 Verse-Writers. 
 
 9> 
 
 COLLECTED AND EDITED BY 
 
 J. S. Snoddy, 
 
 WOODSON INSTITIJTE, RICHMOND, MO. 
 
 introduction by 
 Perry S. Rader, 
 
 REPORTER OF THE SUPREME COURT. 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 hudson-kimberly pnbllshing co., 
 Kansas City, Mo. 
 
 
Copyrighted by J, S. Snoddy, 1897. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It has been my desire for a decade that the people 
 of Missouri become more homogeneous. I am of the 
 opinion that we do not as a people rely enough on our- 
 selves. Clannishness is not needed or desired; but 
 we do need to believe that among Missourians there 
 . are to be found those who, with proper encouragement 
 at home, may become authors equal to any in 
 America. 
 
 We shall have more self-respect, a higher regard 
 for our State, more love for the inhabitants of our 
 commonwealth, and a livelier interest in each other, 
 and hence a stronger, because a more confident, citi- 
 zenship, if we will take a greater interest in Missouri 
 authors, buy and read more of their books, and other- 
 wise encourage them to believe that we are their 
 friends. 
 
 The people of Missouri have a common destiny. 
 They should so unite as to make this commonwealth 
 the brightest and best in the constellation of States. 
 This cannot be done if they have a higher regard for 
 the statesmen, authors, orators, and musicians of 
 other States than for those of our own. 
 
 We have not prized our writers highly enough. 
 We have fallen into the habit of going to other States 
 and other countries for our books. The merit of an 
 author in the estimation of Missourians, it has often 
 seemed to me, has increased about as the square of 
 the distance of his residence from Missouri. Somehow 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 we seem to have concluded that no Missourian can 
 write a book or a good poem. This ought not to be. 
 We are doing ourselves great harm by this practice. 
 A great writer or a genuine poet is of far greater 
 value to a commonwealth, even in a material way, 
 than a gold mine or a railroad. Take from Massachu- 
 setts the books she has made, and there remains little 
 to attract the attention of the American people. To 
 forever borrow from other States our ideas, our intel- 
 lectual food, indicates a general mental weakness; it 
 is also to invite the constant criticism and sneers of 
 other States. We must have more Missouri books. 
 There is no lack of native talent of sufficient bril- 
 liancy to write them; we also have a population that 
 appreciates polished prose and beautiful verse. We 
 need only to rely on one another, to encourage one 
 another. 
 
 If this volume is favorably received, it will encour- 
 age better verse. The persons who have written the 
 verses to be found within these lids have, through their 
 efforts, brought brightness to many a household. As 
 a native Missourian, who is proud of his State and 
 believes in her people and her future, I desire to ex- 
 press the hope that these literary efforts may arouse 
 among our people a greater interest in Missouri 
 writers. 
 
 Perry S. Rader. 
 
EDITOR'S NOTE. 
 
 Missouri lias never had a great poet. We can not, 
 as yet, claim for any of our verse-writers a place 
 among the immortals; yet some of them have almost 
 touched shoulders with genius, and many of the verses 
 produced iby these vrriters possess such merit as to 
 deserve preservation. Very few books or pamphlets 
 of verse written by Missourians have been preserved 
 in the libraries of our State; and, as far as T have been 
 able to ascertain, no one has made a collection of their 
 works with the view of preserving them. During the 
 past two years, with the assistance of some of my 
 pupils who have been interested in the study of local 
 literature, I have made a small collection of Missouri 
 verse. From this collection I have endeavored to 
 select and present in book form a number of such spec- 
 imens as would afford the reader a general view of 
 the attainments and merits of our writers. It would 
 be impossible to include all the meritorious verse in 
 these selections; much, as worthy as any selected, has 
 necessarily been omitted; many are too long, and all 
 the worthy short ones could not be contained in "a lit- 
 tle book." No comment is made on the verses select- 
 ed; the field of criticism I leave to others. 
 
 The biographical notes are chiefly to vindicate my 
 claims that the writers whose verses I have used are 
 Missouri writers. For this reason I have confined my 
 remarks to matter-of-fact statements rather than 
 eulogies. 
 
8 EDITOR'S NOTE. 
 
 I take pleasure In acknowledging my obligations 
 to those writers who have granted me free use of their 
 copyrighted works, and especially to Mr. William M. 
 Paston, of Platte City, who has cheerfully allowed me 
 to use a number of books from his private library. 
 My thanks are due to publishers who have kindly 
 given me permission to make extracts from their pub- 
 lications. Among them are 0-. P. Putnam's Sons, The 
 Peter Paul Book Company, Charles Scribrier's Sons, The 
 Ennis Press Company, the publishers of The New York 
 Independent, The Lotus, Midland Monthly, Ohaperone 
 Magazine, and others whose publications are men- 
 tioned in the table of contents. 
 
 J. S. Snoddy. 
 Woodson Institute, Richmond, Mo. 
 June 29, 1897. 
 
coi^TrE:;i>^Ts. 
 
 ALBXANDBE, SUSAN 175 
 
 Mother's Picture University (Mo.) Argus 48 
 
 ALLEN, EDWARD AKCHIBALD 175 
 
 The Home of Our Childhood 
 
 Illustrated Christian Weekly 123 
 
 The Jefferson Monument. T/ie Western Collegian 28 
 
 To a Pessimist The Critic 129 
 
 A Prayer for Charity The Chautauquan 162 
 
 ALLEN, LYMAN WHITNEY 175 
 
 In the Orchard New Yorh Independent 25 
 
 The Coming of His Feet.S^ew Yorii Independent 81 
 
 ANDIS, JESSIE 176 
 
 The Dishwasher Coin (Iowa) Q-azette 53 
 
 ARBTJCKLE, CLARENCE E 176 
 
 The Storm-Cloud and the Bow 
 
 Cassville (Mo.) BcpuhUc 54 
 
 BAILEY, JOHN JAY 176 
 
 The Bereaved New Jerusalem Magazine 62 
 
 BARNARD, WILLIAM C 176 
 
 To a Nightingale Chicago Ledger 59 
 
 Spirit Dreams Aurora (Mo.) Advertiser 83 
 
 BASKETT, NATHANIEL M 177 
 
 Purity and Hope in Death .... Visions of Fancy 116 
 
 BATTSON, HATTIE E 177 
 
 The God behind the Blue 110 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 BENTON, MARY J 177 
 
 Tribute to Joe Shelby Kansas City Times 108 
 
 BRYANT, MARY 177 
 
 Wild Iris 37 
 
 BYAKS, WILLIAM VINCENT 177 
 
 Undine Studies in Verse 19 
 
 Resurrection Studies in Terse 80 
 
 November and June Studies in Verse 84 
 
 CLINE, WILLIAM H 178 
 
 Popping Corn Kansas City Times 64 
 
 COBB, ELIZABETH DRAKE 178 
 
 A Star in the West IT 
 
 CODY, ADELA STEVENS 178 
 
 "Ich Dien" St. Louis Republican 99 
 
 White Clouds St. Louis SepuMican 153 
 
 COFFMAN, GEORGE W 179 
 
 Faith's Triumph 157 
 
 DONEGHY, M. W. PREWITT 179 
 
 Ane Drap o' Rain Century Magazine 137 
 
 DUGAN, ANNIE A. STEVENS 179 
 
 As Years Go By Rural VForld 100 
 
 DUNN, GEORGE W 180 
 
 The Temple of Justice Poems 155 
 
 EDWARDS, JOHN N., Jr 180 
 
 Faith St. Louis RepuUic 106 
 
 The Wind In the Eaves 118 
 
 The Bride of Death 13B 
 
 ELLIS J. BRECKENRIDGB 180 
 
 Another Birthday 
 
 Louisville (Ey.) Courier- Journal 79 
 
CONTENTS. 11 
 
 ELLIS, JOHN WILLIAM 180 
 
 Sonnet on Receiving a Rosebud 
 
 Cincinnati {Ohio) Enquirer 160 
 
 FBKRBL, GEORGE W 181 
 
 At. the Gate 171 
 
 The Mystic Angel, Sleep 169 
 
 FIELD, EUGENE 181 
 
 Tlie Little Peach. .Little Book of Western Yerse 47 
 
 Christmas Treasures 
 
 Little Boole of Western Verse 96 
 
 FREEMAN, THERESA J 182 
 
 The Legend of Zuni St. Louis Truth 147 
 
 GIBSON, R. B. LEE , 182 
 
 A Lyric of the Hazelnut Patch 
 
 Ind/ian Legend and other Poems 34 
 
 Eugene Field 40 
 
 An Indian Legend 
 
 Indian Legend and other Poems 74 
 
 GORE, JAMES F 182 
 
 Autumn Rain 68 
 
 GRIFFITH, WILLIAM EMORY 183 
 
 The Evening Primrose Poet Lore 89 
 
 The Sisters The Lotus 93 
 
 GRISSOM, ARTHUR 183 
 
 To a Butterfly Midland Monthly 20 
 
 Coaching Beause and Belles 141 
 
 The Old-Fashioned Girl Beaux and Belles 145 
 
 HASTINGS, FRANK S 183 
 
 Two Missions Kansas City Star 33 
 
 Baby Asleep Kansas City Star 70 
 
 Cripple Tim Chicago Tribune 91 
 
12 CONTENTS. 
 
 HEREFORD, WILLIAM B 184 
 
 To Biley Kansas City Star 65 
 
 The End of the Season Truth 73 
 
 Sweetheart of the Long Ago 
 
 Kansas City Times 133 
 
 HOFFMAN, M. L 184 
 
 Missouri St. Helena and otlier Poems 172 
 
 Back of All St. Helena and other Poems 71 
 
 HUTCHISON, HORACE A 184 
 
 Our Country. . Old Niek Abroad and other Poems 85 
 
 IVOBY, BEBTHA MAY 185 
 
 Murillo's "Immaculate Conception" 
 
 A Cluster of Bases 88 
 
 KELLEY, LILLIAN 185 
 
 Time and I Verses 140 
 
 Beflection Verses 163 
 
 KING, WILLIS P 185 
 
 The Long Ago Columbia (Mo) Herald 44 
 
 LYNCH, S. A 186 
 
 Lines to a Lily. . . .The California (Mo.) Herald 113 
 Nature's Lovers. ..The California (Wo.) Herald 166 
 
 McCAUSLAND, AUSTIN ABNOLD 186 
 
 Flos Cselestis The Sunday-School Times 95 
 
 August The Lotus 104 
 
 MeOAUSLAND, WALTEE A 186 
 
 Sleet 23 
 
 Mcdonald, j. allen i86 
 
 The Old Hat Richmond (Mo.) Conservator 164 
 
 McFADEN, MILDBED S 187 
 
 June Eoses Ohaperone Magazine 27 
 
 Only Cliaperone Magazine 60 
 
CONTENTS. 13 
 
 McINTYEE, MINNIE 187 
 
 The Three Sisters Kansas City Star 55 
 
 A Tragedy Kansas City Journal 72 
 
 Second Life Kansas City Star 151 
 
 McKINNEY, ELIZABETH U 187 
 
 Ode to the Night 143 
 
 MARSHALL, JULIUS LUTHER 188 
 
 Voices of the Past Slater (Mo.) Index 98 
 
 MUSICK, MARIA U 188 
 
 Just Beyond Carrollton (Mo.) Democrat 102 
 
 OGDEN, G. W 188 
 
 Dream Drift Kansas City Star 94 
 
 PAXSON, JOHN MEYERS 188 
 
 Christmas Trees in Heayen 
 
 Southern Homestead 39 
 
 Little Girl St. Louis Post-Dispatch 146 
 
 PAXTON, WILLIAM M 188 
 
 To a Red-Head Poems 63 
 
 PHIFBR, C. L 189 
 
 Air Castles Wild Flowers 61 
 
 QUARLES, JAMES A 189 
 
 Christmas Snow The Southern Collegian 30 
 
 READ, ALICE D 189 
 
 The Dream Ship 127 
 
 REBJDY, WILLIAM MARION 190 
 
 The Vanishing One '..... 132 
 
 To a Deaf Lady 135 
 
 Eugene Field 150 
 
 RUNCIE, CONSTANCE FAUNT LB ROY 190 
 
 This Would I Do. . .Poems, Dramatics and Lyric 78 
 
14 CONTENTS. 
 
 SCHWEIOH, VAN CLEAVE W 190 
 
 Wordsworth 139 
 
 SHARP, GRACE HEWITT 190 
 
 Cliarlty The Norns 114 
 
 In Answer The Norns 134 
 
 Life TJie Norns 154l 
 
 SMITH, T. BERRY 191 
 
 The Hieroglyphics of God. . .Central Collegian 41 
 Every Little Helps . . .Missouri School Journal 50 
 
 The Lightning The Sunday-School Visitor 52 
 
 Trifles St. Louis Christian Advocate 56 
 
 SPHAR, WILLENE MARIE 191 
 
 There 's a Time 138 
 
 STOCKTON, CORA M 191 
 
 Pansies 
 
 .... The Shanar Dancing-Girl and other Poems 170 
 
 SYDENSTRICKER, H. M 191 
 
 Psalm 133. . .Louisville (Ky.) Christian Observer 159 
 
 SYLVESTER, WILLIAM D 192 
 
 The Lily and the Vansj .Amsterdam (Mo.) Chief 38 
 
 THISTLE, MARY U 192 
 
 Air Castles 142 
 
 TOZIER, ANNE 192 
 
 The Sunflower Kansas City Star 49 
 
 The Charioteer Kansas City Star 67 
 
 Two Dawns Kansas City Star 119 
 
 TRIPLETT, FRANK 193 
 
 Tempus Puglt 87 
 
 VROOM, ADELAIDE B 193 
 
 What Brings the Yea.rl .Huntsvllle (Mo.) Herald 161 
 
CONTENTS. 15 
 
 WALSEE, GEORGE H 193 
 
 Violet The Bouquet 122 
 
 WARDER, GEORGE W 193 
 
 Governor Crittenden's Silver Wedding 
 
 Utopian Dreams 130 
 
 WEBB, LORBNA M 194 
 
 Rain in Winter 126 
 
 WEEMS, ANNA M 194 
 
 The Indian Pinli Moherly {Mo.) Headlight 105 
 
 A Flower There Bloomed 
 
 St. Charles {Mo.) Cosmos 107 
 
 The Magical Ring. .Barring Hall (Bug.) Record 117 
 
 WEETY, EDWIN ARTHUR 194 
 
 A New Year Retrospection 
 
 Ballads of the Bivouac and Border 120 
 
 WILSON, F. BURDETTB 194 
 
 The Haunted Castle 57 
 
 Dead Nations 115 
 
 WILSON, GEORGE, 195 
 
 By the River, Once and Again 
 
 Lexington (Mo.) Intelligencer 128 
 
 YOUNG, ROSE E 195 
 
 Evening Mists 51 
 
 ZUENDT, ERNST ANTON 195 
 
 Im griinen Wald Ehbe und Fluth 168 
 
A STAR IN THE WEST. 
 
 Here 's to Missouri, 
 
 Bright Gem of the West! 
 With her sons gaj and gallant, 
 
 The bravest and best; 
 With her wide-spreading prairies 
 
 And deep forest dells, 
 Her bright, rolling rivers. 
 
 And clear, springing vpells. 
 
 We love thee, Missouri ! 
 
 Though some may despise 
 Thy warm-hearted spirits 
 
 And bright, loving eyes. 
 We love thee, Missouri ! 
 
 Thy sweet, rustic grace. 
 Thy plain, home-spun manners, 
 
 And broad, honest face. 
 
 Thy mountains, Missouri, 
 
 Look fair as the morn ; 
 Thy hills and thy valleys 
 
 Are covered with corn. 
 Thy cattle are grazing 
 
 On a thousand green hills — 
 The tall trees are waving 
 
 Above thy cool rills. 
 
 17 
 
18 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 Blithe birds fhy green forests 
 
 Are singing among; 
 They make thy hiomes vocal 
 
 With music and song. 
 The rainbow hath fallen 
 
 From its home in the showers, 
 And it lies on thy prairies 
 
 A carpet of flowers. 
 
 Thy fields, O Missouri, 
 
 Are waving with grain, 
 Thy orchards are teeming 
 
 Near every green lane. 
 Thy proud, rising cities 
 
 Dot over the land; 
 Thy school-houses and churches. 
 
 How proudly they stand! 
 
 "While the star-spangled banner 
 
 In triumph shall wave. 
 O'er the land of the free 
 
 And the home of the brave," 
 'Twill shelter no prouder, 
 
 No nobler than thee, 
 Missouri! Missouri! 
 
 Bright home of the free. 
 
 Elisabeth Drake Cobb. 
 July, 1856. 
 
UNDINE. 
 
 Undine was but a rainbow, seen at eve 
 Above the sea, mixed with the crystal dew 
 That shines upon the violet's petals blue. 
 From such brief, dream-wrought lives, the sun- 
 beams weave 
 Enchanted shapes most potent to deceive 
 The haunted thoughts of poets. Yet she 
 
 grew 
 Through pain of love immortal, wise and 
 true, 
 Gaining a soul the while she learned to grieve! 
 
 Pair lives of joy shall pass and fade away; 
 They last but as sea-mist and blown, white 
 foam; 
 But twice-born souls of truth shall live for aye 
 
 And in far heavens find an eternal home, 
 A fairer life, a rarer, purer day, 
 Enduring a,s the sky's blue, star-set dome! 
 William Tincent Byars. 
 
 19 
 
TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Butterfly, with your point-lace wings 
 
 And body of silk and dust of star, 
 Why is it the dull brown throstle sings, 
 With the sweetness of mythical heavenly 
 things, 
 While you are still as dead things are? 
 
 Even the cricket, in dress of woe. 
 Cheers my way by the walls of wheat, 
 
 While you, a gaudy and idle beau. 
 
 Flutter about all day on show. 
 
 With never a note that is glad or sweet ! 
 
 Where have you come from. Butterfly? 
 
 Did you fly out of the sun at dawn? 
 Are you a bit of the summer sky. 
 Blown by winds from your place on high? 
 
 Where shall you go when the night draws on? 
 
 Frail in your beauty of lace and gold. 
 Where do you fly when the frost is come? • 
 
 Where do you hide when the heath is cold? 
 
 Alas! your beauty can not grow old. 
 And wherefore is beauty that must be dumb? 
 
 20 
 
TO A BUTTERFLY. 21 
 
 What is your mission here on the earth? 
 
 To bring us tidings of peaceful June? 
 Surely you have some honest worth ; 
 Oh, can it be you 're of lowly birth, 
 
 And once were only a black cocoon? 
 
 Out of a prison of mold you spring? 
 
 You in your beauty come from a clod? 
 You but a worm and a hideous thing! 
 You with your gold and gossamer wing. 
 
 Did you not come from the garden of God? 
 
 Butterfly, in that earthy womb, 
 
 While yet you hovered 'twixt life and dea<h, 
 Did you have dreams of the world of bloom, 
 Dreams of the day you should burst your tomb 
 
 As did the Savior of Nazareth? 
 
 And when at last you could fly away, 
 
 As free as the fragrant winds of morn. 
 Like a soul forsaking its tomb of clay 
 To dwell in a heaven of endless day, 
 Then were you happy that you were born? 
 
 Now, as we roam through the fields of grain, 
 So blithe and careless of foes and Fate, 
 
 Butterfly, let us be friends again; 
 
 Forgive my fancies adverse and vain, — •' 
 'Tis better, I say, to be fair than great. 
 
22 MISSOURI 7EBSE. 
 
 Whatever is lovely is good, else He 
 Who made all things with a certain aim 
 
 Would never have set you from prison free. 
 
 You in your beauty are more to me 
 Than all the glitter and sham of Fame. 
 
 Now, winged sprite, when I close my eyes. 
 
 And lift them so to the sun above, 
 Oh, I can see you in wondrous guise 
 Winging your way throughout the skies, 
 In all the hues of hope and of love! 
 
 Upward and upward you take your flight, 
 As if you were drawn by a magnet flower ! 
 
 What is the magic of this strange sight? 
 
 Are you in league with the God of Lig'ht, 
 And shall I find you in Eden's Bower? 
 
 Arthur Grissom. 
 
SLEET. 
 
 It sleets. 
 How it beats 
 
 On the window-pane! 
 The clouds hang low in the winter sky, 
 The beasts in the barn-yard low and cry, 
 The cold wind sighs through the dead, brown 
 
 leaves. 
 The ice hangs thick from gable and eaves. 
 Oh, it sleets. 
 How it beats 
 
 On the window-pane! 
 
 The earth is covered with a coat of mail. 
 The travelers flee from the driving hail, 
 The biids have flown from bush and tree, 
 The flowers are dead upon the lea. 
 Oh, it sleets. 
 How it beats 
 
 On the window-pane! 
 
 But after awhile will come the sun, 
 The sleet will melt and the waters run, 
 The clouds disperse, the birds will sang. 
 The winds blow warm, the flowers spring; 
 No more sleet 
 To beat 
 
 On the window-pane. 
 
 23 
 
24 MISSOVBI TERSE. 
 
 Black thoughts hang thick o'er my mind to-day, 
 I have not the strength to drive them away; 
 My heart seems gripped by the hand of Eate, 
 And almost o'erwhelmed with feelings of hate. 
 Oh, it sleets. 
 How it beats 
 On the window-pane! 
 
 Bat after awhile will come God's love, 
 Borne on the wings of the pure, ^hite Dove, 
 Driving the darkness from my mind, 
 Changing my hateful thoughts to kind; 
 No more sleet 
 To beat 
 On the window-pane! 
 
 Walter A. McOcmskmd. 
 
m THE ORCHARD. 
 
 The cattle wander home from the purple clover- 
 flelds, 
 Where the bees are drunk with honey and 
 perfume; 
 And my love trips on behind them, my meadow- 
 sweet that yields 
 Sweeter honey than the clover's purple 
 bloom. 
 
 It was here I wooed my love as the Winter 
 
 wooes the Spring, 
 In the orchard, when the trees are green and 
 
 white; 
 While the birds built nests above us and the 
 
 daisies blossoming 
 Filled the air with sweetest fragrance and 
 
 delight. 
 
 It was here I won my love as the glowing sun 
 slid down, 
 And the red light stole my kisses from her 
 cheek ; 
 And the apple-blossoms shook with an angry 
 glance and frown, 
 And the jealous robins vowed I should not 
 speak. 
 
 25 
 
26 MISSOURI VEB8E. 
 
 In the ripe October days, when the apples 
 change to red, 
 And the mellow fragrance floats upon the 
 air. 
 In the swaying, laughing orchard my love and 
 I shall wed. 
 With the yellow sunset shining thro' her 
 hair. 
 
 The cattle wander home from the purple clover- 
 fleJds, 
 Where the bees are drunk with honey and 
 perfume; 
 And my love trips on behind them, my meadow- 
 sweet that yields 
 Sweeter honey than the clover's purple 
 bloom. 
 
 Lyman Whitney Allen. 
 
JUNE ROSES. 
 
 I sit with my hands full of roses, 
 
 And fcndle their velvety leaves; 
 I drint in their beauty and fragrance 
 
 While mem'ry a tender spell weaves. 
 I float on their odor so subtile 
 
 To a June- time hid in the past, 
 And live over again in my seeming 
 
 A dream too enchanting to lasit. 
 
 There rises from out the soft petals 
 
 A face that is dainty and fair, 
 And sweet as the heart of the roses 
 
 That bloom in the summer-tide air — 
 While eyes like two purple-blue pansies 
 
 Look straight in the depths of my own, 
 And bring back that dead, sweet summer, 
 
 The gladdest, to me, ever known. 
 
 Oh, June, with your garlands of roses. 
 
 Once, only, you brighten each year — 
 And youth, with its beautiful visions. 
 
 Lives, too, in your warm, sunny cheer — 
 'Tis only a dream that is left me 
 
 To soothe me through toiling and pain, 
 And tho' it may fade with the roses, 
 
 'Twill wake with their blooming again. 
 Mildred S. McFaden. 
 
THE JEFFERSON MONUMENT. 
 
 [On the Campus of the University of Missouri.] 
 
 The granite of his native hills, 
 
 Mother of monumental men, 
 Virginia gave, whose page her Plutarch fills 
 
 With undiminished deeds of sword and pen. 
 
 More fitting far than molten bronze. 
 Or polished marble carved by art. 
 
 This monument of him who broke the bonds 
 That bound in fetters every human heart. 
 
 The column rises in all lands, 
 When sinks the soldier to his rest; 
 
 This cenotaph of rustic plainness stands 
 To him who gave an empire to the West. 
 
 Not with the blood of thousands slain. 
 With children's cries and mothers' tears; 
 
 The statesman's wisdom won this vast domain 
 With gain of honest toil through peaceful 
 years. 
 
 The highest honor of his State 
 
 And of his country came unsought; 
 
 It was not this, men, that made him great. 
 Of this is nothing on the tablet wrought. 
 
 28 
 
THE JEFFEBSON MONUMENT. 29 
 
 His pen declared his country free, 
 
 Equal and free his fellow-man, 
 Freedom in church and state, the right to be, 
 
 If Nature wills, the first American. 
 
 'Tis well the shaft by him devised 
 
 Bests here in Learning's classic shade; 
 
 To be her patron was by him more prized 
 Than all the honors that the nation paid. 
 
 Oh, may his spirit linger near. 
 
 As by old Monticello's slope; 
 Inspire MLisisouri's sons who gather here 
 
 With all the scholar's love, the patriot's hope. 
 
 And He who holds the nation's fate 
 
 Within the hollow of His hand 
 Preserve the Union ever strong and great 
 
 And guide the statesmen of our native land. 
 
 Edward A. Allen. 
 
CHRISTMAS SNOW. 
 
 Ye have come 
 
 From what airy clime, 
 
 Ye flakes of snow, 
 
 Flying below 
 With your crystals of rime, 
 
 That flutter and fall. 
 
 Covering earth with a pall 
 
 Of whiteness so rare 
 
 That with it can compare 
 Naught in our home? 
 
 Is heaven the place 
 
 Your presence doth grace. 
 
 With gates of pearly white 
 
 And walls with jewels dight; 
 Where the streets are paved with gold. 
 
 So clear and so bright 
 
 That no shadow of night 
 
 Can darken the way, 
 
 That is lighter than day, 
 Which the angels have trod from of old? 
 
 In troops ye have come, 
 Who, who '11 tell the sum 
 Of the flakes in the air, 
 Of the flakes that lie there 
 In heaps that cover the ground? 
 
 30 
 
CEBI8TMAS SNOW. 31 
 
 From the pole in the north, 
 The ice-king eomes forth; 
 To the stillness of death 
 He would freeze with his breath 
 All life that in field can be found. 
 
 But your coating so fair, 
 
 Like the fur of white bear, 
 
 Covers the feet 
 
 Of the shivering wheat, 
 And tucks itself in round and round; 
 
 Till as snug as a bug 
 
 In a warm woolen rug, 
 
 The blades go to sleep 
 
 'Neath the covering deep, 
 And rest in their bed safe and sound. 
 
 How graceful, how fair, 
 
 As ye float in the air. 
 And whirl in the dance with the breeze. 
 
 In ermine so white 
 
 Ye are fully bedight; 
 
 So feathery fine 
 
 Ye fairly outshine 
 The loveliest of brides that one sees. 
 
 Your fairy-like form 
 
 For a grace is a norm; 
 
 So slender and true 
 
 To the rapturous view; 
 
32 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 While the light of your eyes 
 The diamond outvies 
 As ye flasih on the breast of the leas. 
 
 Angels so rare, 
 
 With faces so fair, 
 Ye have come on a mission of love. 
 
 Your wings now are bright 
 
 With heaven's own light 
 As ye come from your mansions above. 
 
 Heralds, ye fly 
 
 From the throne in the sky 
 
 Bringing to earth 
 
 The news of the birth 
 Of Him who is greater than Jove ; 
 
 Whose garments of grace, 
 
 For earth's ruined race, 
 In G-ethrsemane's garden were wove. 
 
 How gladly we see 
 
 Such spirits as ye 
 In this world of sorrow and sin ; 
 
 'Ti» heaven ye bring 
 
 On the plume of your wing; 
 
 So spotless, so pure, 
 
 Ye are harbingers sure 
 Of the day when, without and within, 
 
CEBJ8TMA8 SNOW. 33 
 
 This world shall be clean 
 • From all that is mean ; 
 Till purged by the blood 
 That on Calvary flowed — 
 The earth to heaven is kin. 
 
 J. A. Quarles. 
 
 TWO MISSIONS. 
 
 .4. lily and a rosebud close in a garden grew, 
 The lily pure and spotless, the rose of red- 
 dest hue; 
 Vnd neither "born to blush unseen," its mission 
 soon must find. 
 The rosebud eager, longing, the lily calm, 
 resigned. 
 
 The rose upon a virgin breast in dreams of pas- 
 sion slept. 
 The lily in the hand of Death its silent vigil 
 kept. 
 The rose awoke to hear the strains of sensuous 
 music sweet, 
 The lily journeyed with a soul to kneel at 
 Mercy's feet. 
 
 Frank 8, Hastings. 
 
A LYEIC OF THE HAZEL-NUT PATCH. 
 
 A pleasant sort of pastime, when the Autumn 
 comes around, 
 
 Is to roam the hills and hollows where the 
 hazel-nuts abound. 
 
 The blossom-time is over and the wren has 
 taken wing. 
 
 And the jay, alone remaining, has the hardi- 
 hood to sing. 
 
 No other sound of cheerfulness is audible 
 about — 
 
 The Autumn comes in triumph, with her som- 
 bre banners out; 
 
 She crops the mighty forest with a melancholy 
 swipe. 
 
 And everything is gloomy, when the hazel-nuts 
 are ripe; 
 
 Yet merrily and cheerily, with baskets we may ■ 
 wend 
 
 Our way into the woodland, where the hazel 
 bushes bend. 
 
 My blessing on the hazel bush that never grew 
 
 so high 
 As to waste its screen of leafage, like the oak 
 
 tree, on the sky. 
 
A LYRIC OF TEE HAZEL-NUT PATCH. 35 
 
 Nor yet as dwarfed and stunted as the vine 
 
 against the earth, 
 Whose growth of leafy thickness forms a veil 
 
 of little worth; 
 The hazel, like a conscious bush, by intuition 
 
 grew 
 The proper height and thickness to seclude us 
 
 from the view; 
 As if it felt when Autumn came, with all her 
 
 locks aflow. 
 Every maiden would be coming with a basket 
 
 and a beau; 
 That merrily and cheerily, in couples they 
 
 would wend 
 Their way into the woodland, where the hazel 
 
 bushes bend. 
 
 When the hull is sere and tawny, and the nut is 
 dry and brown. 
 
 And beneath its gracious burden every twig is 
 laden down, 
 
 And yields upon the slightest touch its treas- 
 ures by the batch. 
 
 We feel as we were welcome to the finest in the 
 patch. 
 
 The rabbit scampers from our path, his flying 
 bounds are heard; 
 
 A covey of young partridges salutes the mother 
 bird; 
 
36 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 She answers from a neighboring shrub, but 
 
 watch her as we may, 
 Unwitnessed of our alien eyes, she '11 slip the 
 
 brood away; 
 And merrily and cheerily, we '11 hear her notes 
 
 ascend 
 Far off, amid the woodland, where the hazel 
 
 busihes bend. 
 
 And when a,t ere, the rising moon emits a mel- 
 low glow. 
 
 And our hazel-nuts are gathered, and it 's time 
 for us to go ; 
 
 And the cooling dews are falling;and the clank- 
 ing bells we hear 
 
 Of the cattle, winding homeward, thro' the 
 gloaming still and clear — 
 
 We rest ourselves a little and we gather up our 
 load. 
 
 And with a sense of gratitude, we journey on 
 the road, 
 
 And think of all the winter nights, the blazing 
 fire about. 
 
 When we '11 crack the nuts upon the hearth and 
 pluck the kernels out. 
 
 Thus merrily and cheerily, contentedly we 
 wend 
 
 Our way from out the woodland, where the 
 hazel bushes bend. 
 
 B. E. Lee Gibson. 
 
WILD IRIS. 
 
 The iris in the Southland opens early, 
 
 Before the mocking-bird is well awake; 
 The leafless alders hang their tassels merely, 
 And golden spice-blooms in the March winds 
 
 shake, — 
 The sweet azalea reddens all the brake, 
 And marsh-magnolia buds grow round and 
 pearly; 
 Then the blue iris blossoms by the lake. 
 
 beautiful blue iris, best and dearest. 
 
 Save the wild ivy, of all vernal bloom! 
 Not winter's chill nor wild spring-rain thou 
 fearest, 
 Nor rush of swollen torrents, white with 
 
 foam, — 
 For, by the brooklet is thy chosen home. 
 And all the lowlands flush when thou 
 appearest 
 With heart of gold beneath an azure plume. 
 
 Who, that has seen the iris, brightly glowing 
 With colors richer than the blue-bird's wing. 
 
 But felt his heart with rapture overflowing, 
 And blessed the Maker of so fair a thing, — 
 
 37 
 
38 MISSOURI YE BSE. 
 
 For, who loves beauty must love beauty's 
 King, 
 Almighty Monarch, in His grace bestowing 
 Such glory on a fleeting flower of spring. 
 
 Mary Bryant. 
 
 THE LILY AND THE PANSY. 
 
 A lily stood in the quiet lake 
 
 And nodded in the breeze; 
 The breeze that kissed the water queen- 
 
 The queen of little seas — 
 
 Moved on and touched the land 
 
 And told the flora there, 
 Of fragrance from, a little bud 
 
 To fill the desert air. 
 
 "Ah!" said a Pansy on the land, 
 
 "If all you say is true 
 We need not fear that we '11 be drown'd 
 
 By floods of rain or dew — 
 
 If lilies grow in the waters there, 
 
 "We, too, could do it here." 
 The Breeze then whispered soft and low, 
 
 "Each being in his sphere." 
 
 W. D. Sylvester. 
 
'CHRISTMAS TREES IN HEAVEN. 
 
 'Twas just two weeks since Christmas 
 
 When little Will, aged seven, 
 With anxious face asked of me, 
 
 "Are there Christmas trees in Heaven?" 
 Just two short months before, the lad 
 
 Had lost his little friend, 
 A neighbor's child with whom he played 
 
 From morning till day's end. 
 
 I answered him, "Yes, darling, 
 
 Far grander than was ours; 
 And the things to make Tom happy 
 
 Fall from the tree in showers." 
 But I could not help but ponder; 
 
 His words had left a leaven. 
 And I found myself half wondering. 
 
 Are there Christmas trees in Heaven? 
 
 I bethought me of that passage 
 
 Where the Spirit speaks to John 
 In the vision of the seven stars; 
 
 Thus doth the passage run: 
 "To him that overcometh 
 
 I will give to him supplies 
 From the tree of life that standeth 
 
 In the midst of Paradise." 
 
 39 
 
40 MISSOURI TERSE. 
 
 The fruit that shall be given 
 * In peace and mercy mild, 
 Bestowed by Him who gave all things, 
 
 The Father and Christ-child. 
 Oh, how glorious is the prospect 
 That to mortals poor is given, 
 ''"'hat some time we may gather round 
 The Christmas tree in Heaven! 
 
 John Meyers Paasson. 
 
 EUGENE FIELD. 
 
 It shall be long remembered, the pleasure he 
 
 bestowed, 
 The maker of the Lullaby, the builder of the 
 
 Ode; 
 The painter of our purest joys, our singer un- 
 
 defiled, 
 The tender imitator of the prattle of a child. 
 
 Nor shall it be forgotten : the garlands of his 
 rhyme 
 
 Are hung in fadeless folds about the subtile 
 scythe of Time; 
 
 His graceful verse, its flowing ease, bear wit- 
 ness of the art 
 
 Wherewith our perfect poet plumbed the lyric 
 of his heart. 
 
 R. E. Lee Gibson. 
 
THE HIEROGLYPHICS OF GOD. 
 
 "They are the hieroglyphics of God." — Archbishop Trench. 
 
 Why all of this toiling in nature, 
 
 This study of flowers and rocks? 
 What profit can come to the watcher 
 
 By night of the heavenly flocks? 
 Why gather the life of the ocean, 
 
 The life of the land and the air? 
 Why follow the wind and the lightning 
 
 In search of their mystical lair? 
 
 Most gladly I answer your questions, 
 
 O delver in classic lore. 
 Whose joy is the study of language 
 
 Brought out of oblivion's store. 
 You linger o'er human inscriptions 
 
 Exhumed from the crypt and the clod. 
 We study the language of nature — 
 
 The hieroglyphics of God. 
 
 These beautiful flowers that blossom 
 
 And grow without limit or dearth, 
 And after the winter come teeming 
 
 From hidden recesses of earth, 
 Bring message to us of the rising 
 
 Of long-sleeping men from the sod; 
 The message is written in flowers — 
 
 The hieroglyphics of God. 
 
 41 
 
42 illSSOUBI VEUaE. 
 
 The globe is a hoary old volume 
 
 Whose leaves are the layers of stone, 
 And on them in letters of fossil 
 
 The tale of the ages is strewn; 
 To read it we gather the fossils 
 
 And tracks where the Saurians trod, 
 And bring them in patience together — 
 
 The hieroglyphics of God. 
 
 Above us the scroll of the heavens 
 
 For patient translation is spread, 
 And mighty in bright constellations 
 
 Can the tale of the kosmos be read; 
 By scanning the skies thro' the centuries 
 
 While other men slumbering nod, 
 The watchers unravel their meaning — • 
 
 Those hieroglyphics of God. 
 
 We gather the life of the ocean, 
 
 The life of the land and the air, 
 And patiently search for the kinship 
 
 That each to his neighbor does bear; 
 No matter how strangely constructed — 
 
 No matter how common, how odd — 
 These creatures are chapters of record 
 
 In hieroglyphics of God. 
 
THE HIEROGLYPHICS OF GOD. 43 
 
 The wind and the lightning we study 
 
 Tho' mystery their origin shroud, 
 The one is of kin to the sunshine — 
 
 The other is born of the cloud; 
 They each may be caged for a moment 
 
 And energize bellows or rod, 
 But both are the symbols of spirit 
 
 And hieroglyphics of G-od. 
 
 Your puzzles were gendered by mortals— 
 
 Your problems invented by men 
 Who tarried awhile in the earthlife, 
 
 Then vanished forever again. 
 But ours is an Author undying 
 
 Whose pen is a magical rod; 
 Forever His scroll of the heavens is spread, 
 Forever His flowery page to be read, 
 Forever His fossils discourse of the dead — 
 
 All hieroglyphics of God. 
 
 T. Berry Smith. 
 
THE LONG AGO. 
 
 I 'm thinking to-night of the long, long ago 
 
 And a pair of blue eyes that were bright, 
 And a form that was timid and shrinking and 
 lithe. 
 
 And a hand that was pretty and white. 
 We sat on the banks of the swift-running 
 stream, 
 
 In the heat of the summer noon's glow, 
 And paddled our feet in the water and played. 
 
 In the sweet, in the blest long ago. 
 
 We talked of the time when, as woman and 
 man, 
 We would launch our small boat on the 
 stream. 
 And float in repose its smooth current along. 
 
 And life would then be like a dream; 
 When we 'd gather the flowers from its grass- 
 covered banks. 
 And dance to its ripple and flow; 
 But that was a time when we were both 
 young— 
 In the beautiful, sweet long ago. 
 
 The mocking-bird came and sang a sweet song. 
 And gladdened our hearts with his tune. 
 
TEE LONG AOO. 46 
 
 And we lingered and played on the banks of 
 tbe stream, 
 Till we saw the red crest of the moon 
 Throug'h the willow tops green that bent o'er 
 the stream, 
 And mingled their branches below. 
 And dipped in the clear and swift-running 
 brook, 
 In the sacred, the sweet long ago. 
 
 We lingered and played till the sun chased the 
 shade, 
 And the shadows grew narrow and long, 
 And the whippoorwill came to the banks of the 
 stream 
 And sang us his sad, plaintive song. 
 We lingered and played in the gathering shade, 
 'Neath the willow boughs bending down low. 
 And we tripped along home in the fast-coming 
 gloom. 
 In the beautiful, blest long ago. 
 
 I have floated, dear Ettie, far, far down the 
 stream. 
 Where the current is bold, rough and strong. 
 But I gather no flowers from its steep, rugged 
 banks, 
 And I miss the sweet mocking-bird's song; 
 
46 MISSOURI YER8E. 
 
 My sliy is o'ercast with great shadows of doubt, 
 As I view the swift current below, 
 
 And my heart will turn back to the stream 
 where we played 
 In the sweet, in the blest long ago. 
 
 I sigh for the sacred and sweet trust we gave, 
 Where the willow boughs bent o'er the 
 stream, 
 And the mocking-bird sang, and the sun chased 
 the shade. 
 Although like a child I may seem. 
 I long to return to the dear, blessed spot, 
 
 And catch (he departing sun's glow. 
 And gather the flowers on the banks of the 
 stream. 
 As we did in the long, long ago. 
 
 Willis P. King. 
 
THE LITTLE PEACH. 
 
 [From A Little Book of Western Ver^e, copyrighted, i88g, by Eu- 
 gene Field, and published by Charles Scribner's Sons ] 
 
 A little peach in the orchard grew, 
 A little peach of emerald hue; 
 Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew, 
 It grew. 
 
 One day, passing that orchard through, 
 That little peach dawned on the view 
 Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue, 
 Them two. 
 
 Up at that peach a club they threw, 
 Down from the stem on which it grew 
 Fell that peach of emerald hue. 
 Mon Dieu! 
 
 John took a bite and Sue a chew, 
 And then the trouble began to brew. 
 Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue. 
 Too true! 
 
 Under the turf where the daisies grew 
 They planted John and his sister Sue, 
 And their little souls to the angels flew. 
 Boo hoo! 
 
48 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 What of that peach of the emerald hue, 
 Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew? 
 Ah, well! its mission on earth is through. 
 Adieu! 
 
 Eugene Field. 
 
 MOTHER'S PICTURE. 
 
 A little case, the dust now covers; 
 
 A worn-out clasp, a broken hinge. 
 
 Some velvet of a faded tinge — 
 While memory round it sweetly hovers. 
 
 Within there is a gentle face — 
 The soft brown eyes, the glossy hair. 
 The peaceful brow, serene and fair, 
 
 Are all within the old-time case. 
 
 With sweet simplicity so rare, 
 A soul so pure, a heart so gay. 
 The picture shows in girlhood's day 
 
 Our mother's face so young and fair. 
 Susan Alexander. 
 
THE SUNFLOWER. 
 
 Did he hold your face between his palms 
 And -whisper, "Sweet, I love you"? 
 
 Was the wind of summer a storm of balms 
 With the bright sky blue above you? 
 
 Did you tremble there in the morning air 
 
 Like the aspen, tall and slender. 
 When he kissed you softly and called you fair 
 
 With passionate lips and tender? 
 
 My yellow sunflower, well I know 
 How you plighted faith, believe me! 
 
 Your careless face in the summer glow 
 Does not in the least deceive me. 
 
 Through shine and shadow, the livelong day, 
 Your face is turned to your lover, 
 
 And I know — ^I know what your heart would 
 say, 
 Though your lips will not discover. 
 
 Since your love came over the hill, and shone 
 
 On you, in your golden glory. 
 How many sunflowers, newly blown, 
 
 Has he told the same sweet story? 
 
 49 
 
60 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 You will not answer; you know full well, 
 As you hold none else above him, 
 
 That whatsoever your love may tell 
 You trust — because you love him. 
 
 O, false and fickle! he loves them all. 
 And he kisses each with passion. 
 
 Yet every sunflower, fair and tall, 
 Believes in the selfsame fashion. 
 
 Ah, well! you love him, and so I say 
 
 Be glad, ere you discover, 
 Poor golden bloom, as you will, some day. 
 
 That yours is a faithless lover! 
 
 Anne Tozier. 
 
 EVERY LITTLE HELPS. 
 
 A little ray of sunshine 
 
 Crept thro' a lattice closed, 
 And stopped upon a cushion 
 
 Whereon a babe reposed. 
 The child awoke and saw it. 
 
 Then laughed in happy mood; 
 And so a ray of sunshine 
 
 Accomplished something good. 
 
 T. Berry Smith. 
 
EVENING MISTS. 
 
 Evening mists roll up the river, 
 
 Gloom-touched clouds go drifting by, 
 Golden light-lines thread the wavelets, 
 
 Spun from out a flame-wrapped sky. 
 Dreams of sunrise tip the border 
 
 As the yielding shadows flow; 
 Resurrection, repetition, 
 
 Whispered from the dying glow. 
 
 Like the hope of great hereafters 
 
 Proving on the pallid face; 
 Like that hope resplendent silvering 
 
 Through the mists of growing grace. 
 Grander grows the swell of silence 
 
 Surging down the compact gloom; 
 Fuller yet the tide of memory 
 
 Lapping at a dream-fllled tomb. 
 
 Softly through the world of shadow 
 
 Sounds the cry of thrush or merle; 
 Softly over tree and river 
 
 Drifts of massing ether swirl. 
 But the wayward throb of longing 
 
 Beats beyond the realm of sight; 
 In the mist we lose the earth-world 
 
 While the world of dream grows bright, 
 
 51 
 
52 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 Hark the songs that float from heaven 
 
 'Cross the evening's great red seal! 
 Hark the autumn memories thronging 
 
 In the fading of the real ! 
 Nature mist-wreathed is a symbol 
 
 Of the tenser life within 
 Through whose glooms we catch the mystic 
 
 Making o'er the hushing din. 
 
 Rose E. Young. 
 
 THE LIGHTNING. 
 
 "O Gaffer," the grandchild sweetly said, 
 As back she tossed her curly head, 
 "I know what makes the clouds look red. 
 
 "The angels have their homes inside 
 And light their lamps at eventide, 
 As we do here where we abide; 
 
 "And when an angel opes his door, 
 The lamplight flashes out before 
 And makes the clouds look red all o'er." 
 
 T. Berry Smith. 
 
THE DISH-WASHER. 
 
 tWritten when twelve years old.] 
 
 With a table of dishes before her, 
 And a pan of hot water and soap, 
 
 With her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, 
 Who can with the dish-washer cope? 
 
 Such is the queen of the dish-pan, 
 And the tea-kettle sings by her side, 
 
 And the dishes rattle and clatter 
 
 As they are placed in the pan to be dried. 
 
 First come the goblets and glassware 
 For their bath in the hot soap-suds : 
 
 Then come the cups and the saucers 
 For a dash in the cleansing floods. 
 
 Last of all come the pots and the pans, 
 And the dish-washer ceases to sing. 
 
 And she clutches a knife very fiercely 
 And scrapes till the old kitchen rings. 
 
 At last the dishes are done. 
 
 And t tie song returns to her lips; 
 
 And the queen of the dish-pan retires 
 With several unmaidenly skips. 
 
 Jessie Andis. 
 
 63 
 
THE STORM-CLOUD AND THE BOW. 
 
 I stood in the valley at even, 
 
 And gazed on the dark storm-cloud; 
 As swiftly it rose o'er the mountain, 
 
 With mutterings deep and loud. 
 Ere long it hung over the valley, 
 
 And obscured the glowing skies, 
 While continual flames of lightning 
 
 Dazzled and blinded mine eyes. 
 The storm burst, but soon its fury 
 
 Was spent and 'twas over, when, lo! 
 I raised mine eyes to the mountain, 
 
 And beheld the glittering bow. 
 
 While gazing with awe on its splendor. 
 
 To me came a beautiful thought: 
 That the storm just o'er was an emblem 
 
 Of sorrow our life is fraught, 
 That often bursts darkly upon us 
 
 When our skies appear fair and bright; 
 The glittering bow a symbol 
 
 Of peace dawning after Care's night. 
 Each life has its blessings and pleasures, 
 
 And each has its load of care. 
 And often the burdens laid on us 
 
 Seem greater than we can bear. 
 
 54 
 
THE STORM-OLOVD AND TBE BOW. 55 
 
 But in time tbey will all fall from us, 
 
 If peace we will seek in prayer, 
 And our souls will be the purer. 
 
 As after the storm the air. 
 Through all the ages forever. 
 
 As long as the storm-cloud blows; 
 As long as Satan is loosened, 
 
 And prowling amongst us goes; 
 May the bow (unto men) resplendent. 
 
 On the face of the cloud appear; 
 May its shadow o'er all fall gently. 
 
 And hearts that are sorrowing cheer. 
 
 Clarence E. Arhuckle. 
 
 THE THREE SISTERS. 
 
 Life, Love, and Death are sisters three, 
 That captive held me for a space: 
 
 Life scorned my hopes; Love mocked at me; 
 Death only wears a smiling face. 
 
 Minnie Mclntyre. 
 
TRIPLES. 
 
 Little things are trifles, 
 
 And yet no 
 Little fragments stony 
 
 Make up this earthly ball. 
 
 Little crystal snow-flakes 
 Make up the mighty drift, 
 
 Little drops of water 
 Compose the river swift. 
 
 Little coral-builders 
 
 Erect the ocean isle. 
 Little deeds of kindness 
 
 Make saddened faces smile. 
 
 Night is made the brightCi." 
 
 By light of little star. 
 Little deeds and actions 
 
 Determine what we are. 
 
 Do no act of evil, 
 
 Though but a little thing; 
 Do life's little duties. 
 
 For happiness they bring. 
 
 T. Berry Smith. 
 
 56 
 
THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 
 
 They say there 's a castle far over the sea 
 
 In a forest so dim and old, 
 That the shadows of night overreach the day, 
 And light into darkness goes fleeing away — 
 
 A darkness like chaos of old. 
 
 And its halls have been haunted a thousand 
 years, 
 Is the story that 's oft been told. 
 And sighing is heard in the boughs of the trees 
 Like moaning of waves on some far distant 
 seas — 
 As they break on the sands so cold. 
 
 And the old folks say, at the midnight hour, 
 When the winds and the waves are still. 
 That sepulchered voices are heard to speak 
 And the casements rattle and the old stairs 
 creak. 
 And the shutters go round at will. 
 
 And the doors go open and the doors go shut 
 
 And strange lights are seen in the hall, 
 While sighing and wailing are heard in the 
 
 gloom 
 As phantom steps creep through the old oaken 
 room 
 And myst'ry is over all. 
 
 57 
 
58 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 Oh, a haunted castle is the human heart, 
 Like the one that stands by the sea, 
 
 Where our dead come back from that far-away 
 shore 
 
 To wander again as they wandered of yore 
 When walking with you and with me. 
 
 And footsteps are heard at the dead of the 
 night, 
 That ghostliest hour of all, 
 And sometimes there comes a soft rustle of 
 
 wing. 
 While fragments of song that we once heard 
 them sing 
 Go echoing through mem'ry's hall. 
 
 And the pale-faced forms that we have laid 
 away 
 Beneath the flowers and the dew 
 Will oftentimes come in a shadowy train 
 To roam through the heart's haunted halls 
 again — 
 Come to me, and to you and you. 
 And if haunted the castle that stands by the 
 
 sea, 
 Mine is haunted enough for me. 
 
 F. Burdette Wilson. 
 
TO A NI&HTmaALE. 
 
 ' The nightingale, when deprived of its mate, withdraws into some 
 
 lone nook of the forest and gradually pines away and dies." — Natural 
 History. 
 
 Sweet bird of the forest, 
 
 Thine heart-thrilling song 
 Is born of deep sorrow, 
 
 Yet speaks not of wrong. 
 
 Thy lone heart is singing 
 
 Beyond thy control, 
 And barters for music 
 
 Thy grief-laden soul. 
 
 Yes, deep in the forest, 
 
 Withdrawn from the day, 
 Sweet bird, thou art ringing 
 
 Thy lone heart away. 
 
 Bat long ere the morrow 
 Thy spirit shall be blessed, 
 
 T-hy heart will cease singing, 
 Thy soul be a,t rest. 
 
 William G. Barnard. 
 
ONLY. 
 
 Only a little casket 
 
 With linings of dainty blue — 
 Only the flash of a diamond 
 
 Prismatic in its hue. 
 Only a snap of the claspings, 
 
 Only the splash of a tear, 
 Only a sigh — a still heart-cry — 
 
 For broken dreams so dear. 
 
 Only a lover's quarrel 
 
 With all the bitter pain — 
 Only a broken engagement 
 
 Bending two lives in twain — 
 Only a sad remembrance 
 
 Of cruel words that sting — 
 Only the woe fond hearts oft know, 
 
 For love is a tyrant king. 
 
 Only a heart grown humble, 
 
 A spirit prx)ud grown meek — 
 Only an intense longing 
 
 For pardon — men too are weak. 
 Only a soft "forgive me" 
 
 Falls sweet on listening ears, 
 A tender thrill — ^a sweet "I will" — 
 
 And eyes grow dim with tears. 
 
 60 
 
OUTLY. 61 
 
 Only a glad renewing 
 
 Of plighted vows again — 
 Onlj two hearts o'erflowing 
 
 With joy akin to pain. 
 Only the flash of a diamond 
 
 On dimpled hand so white, 
 And not a sigh — nor faint heart-cry — 
 
 Love reigns supreme to-night! 
 
 Mildred S. MeFaden. 
 
 AIR CASTLES. 
 
 Why should we deem it idle, 
 Or a child's play or a snare, 
 
 For men to build their castles 
 In the air? 
 
 Beside them, who has buildings? 
 
 And God builds them, oh, so fair! 
 For this world is but a castle 
 
 Built in air; 
 
 The sun and stars a city 
 Floating on the ether rare; 
 
 And heaven a palace-castle 
 In the air. 
 
 G. L. Phifer. 
 
THE BEREAVED. 
 
 I tur-n mine inward gaze along that sea, 
 Where memory's troubled waves are ever 
 flowing, — 
 Where dismal wrecks of hopes and joys I see, 
 
 Still floating near, yet ever from me going; 
 And still above that murmuring sea of yore, 
 And all the ashy fruit it casts ashore, 
 I think I see my Darling. 
 
 Now, as I sit, deep in the dreary night. 
 And feel dark phantom forms around me 
 closing. 
 Or trace out images of past delight 
 
 Amid the embers on my lone hearth dozing, 
 I start to find myself alone, for there, — 
 Beside me, — where now stands a vacant chair, 
 I 'd thought to see my Darling. 
 
 I cast my eyes out on the midnight sky 
 
 And in each orb, so dreamily there twinkling, 
 Methinks I see, down glancing from on high, 
 A seraph's gaze; and mid that vast be- 
 sprinkling 
 Of high celestial radiance, — all night long, — 
 I search and search, throughout the angel 
 throng. 
 In hopes to see my Darling. 
 
TEE BEREAVED. 63 
 
 I hear a voice come from that seraph band, — 
 A sad, sweet anthem through that high host 
 pealing, — 
 I hear a whisper from the spirit land, 
 A thrilling hope to my sad soul revealing; — 
 A hope which tells me that when death shall 
 
 come 
 To my embrace, above yon starlit dome. 
 Once more I '11 see my Darling. 
 
 John Jay Bailey. 
 
 TO A EED-HEAD, 
 
 The lass I love has bonny auburn hair; 
 Her amber curls like golden sunbeams glare, 
 Or like the cloven tongues of lambent flame 
 That wreathe the temples of some child of 
 
 Fame. 
 Above her head a ciown of golden light. 
 Like Judah's altar, shimmers day and night, 
 And, like the vestal lamp of ancient Eome, 
 Will blaze forever in some happy home; 
 Or, like the lofty clifl;, as Groldsmith told. 
 That lifts above the clouds its crown of gold. 
 Though storms and tempests round her bosom 
 
 spread, 
 Eternal sunshine settles on her head. 
 
 WilUam M. Paxton. 
 
POPPING CORN. 
 
 In the fire-place's ruddy light, 
 Phyllis sat with me, one night. 
 
 Popping corn; 
 Merrily the white-coals danced, 
 While I oft at Phyllis glanced. 
 Sitting there like one entranced, 
 
 Popping corn. 
 
 Shadows deep above us hung. 
 To and fro her hand she swung, 
 
 Popping corn; 
 And the elf-like dance kept pace 
 With my heart-beats, as her face 
 Shone with new and added grace, 
 
 Popping corn. 
 
 Till, beneath the magic spell 
 Of the night, I told her — well, 
 
 Popping corn 
 Is a pastime full of guile. 
 And the "popping" — ah, you smile! 
 But take care, I pray you, while 
 
 Popping corn! 
 
 Will H. Gline. 
 
 64 
 
TO RILEY. 
 
 I hev shet yer book, Jim Elley, 
 
 An' with it shet my eyes 
 Jess ter swim a blessed minnit 
 
 la the summer of yer skies. 
 I kin feel the breath of June-time 
 
 A-playin' on my face, 
 That takes me back in mem'ry 
 
 To my mother's dear ole place. 
 
 When you talk about the ole times 
 
 It 's as sweet as kingdom come, 
 An' I 'm glad you 've written, Eiley, 
 
 On "Poems Here at Home." 
 I 've felt like doin' it myself, 
 
 But I couldn't find the time, 
 An' somehow, when I hed the thoughts 
 
 I couldn't make 'em rhyme. 
 
 I kin hear the pewee chirpin' 
 
 Ez he bobs upon the limb, 
 An' it all comes back so nacheral 
 
 Thet I thank you fer it. Jam.; 
 You hev heerd the children singin' 
 
 In honeysuckle-time. 
 An' hev tuk their voices' music 
 
 An' made it inter rhyme. 
 
 65 
 
66 MISSOURI 7ER8E. 
 
 You hev touzeled in the clover 
 
 An' laughed out loud in glee 
 At the fanny story told it 
 
 By the courtin' bumbly-bee; 
 You hev heerd the trees a-whisperin', 
 
 An' hev put it in yer book, 
 An' you know the purty meanin' 
 
 Of the ripple of the brook. 
 
 So I 've shet yer book, Jim Kiley, 
 
 An' with it shet my eyes 
 An' dream I am a-swimmin' 
 
 In yer summer's meller skies. 
 Here 's lookin' at ye, Eiley, 
 
 An' a-hopin' you will be 
 A-singin' up in heaven 
 
 When I reach eternity. 
 
 WilUam B. Hereford. 
 
THE CHARIOTEER. 
 
 Through the wan dark, before the day, 
 I hear his mist-white chariot roll, 
 
 As tenderly he bears away 
 A tired, tremulous human soul. 
 
 Mine eyes have seen him; and I know 
 By this clear vision, heaven sent. 
 
 Not as a warrior, not as a foe 
 Comes Death, but with a friend's intent. 
 
 And when, though life he young and fair, 
 His steed sh^ll stop beside my gate, 
 
 I will make baste to meet him there, 
 And softly whisper, "Thou art late." 
 
 1 'II fvyld his robe about me then, 
 And nestle down, and siuiling say, 
 
 "I hoped that thou hadst halted when 
 I saw thee journeying, yesterday." 
 
 Anne Tosier. 
 
 67 
 
AUTUMN RAIN. 
 
 O, the dark and dismal, dripping 
 
 Autumn rain! 
 I am weary of the dreary, 
 Ceaseless, moaning, droning, dripping 
 
 Of the rain! 
 
 I have spent the day in dipping 
 
 Into books, — 
 Scanning o'er a poem, story, 
 In a desultory dipping 
 
 In my books. 
 
 I have revelled in the glories 
 
 Of the Past; 
 And have tasted of tlie wasted, 
 Withered, olden, golden glories 
 
 Of the Past. 
 
 But the dark and dismal, dripping 
 
 Autumn rain! 
 I am weary of the dreary, 
 Ceaseless, moaning, droning, dripping 
 
 Of tbe rain! 
 
 68 
 
AUTUMN RAIN. 69 
 
 Will the cloud-eclipsed sun 
 
 Ne'er shine again? 
 Will it ever — will it never 
 Kiss this dismal, sin-sick world 
 
 And smile again? 
 
 Lo, behold! the clouds are lifting 
 
 Even now! 
 Earth grows brighter, heaven lighter, 
 For the shifting clouds are lifting 
 
 Even now! 
 
 Yes, complaining heart, the sun 
 
 Will shine again! 
 All thy sorrow ere to-morrow 
 Will have lifted and the sun 
 
 Will smile again. 
 
 James F. Oore. 
 
BABY ASLEEP. 
 
 Baby is slumbering under the trees, 
 Rocked in the hammock, fanned by the breeze; 
 Stray bits of sunshine playfully seek 
 Sweetest of kisses on baby's soft cheek. 
 
 Baby is dreaming and mamma bends low, 
 Counting the dimples as smiles come and go; 
 Angels are hovering, gilding her dreams. 
 Baby has played with them — see how she 
 beams. 
 
 Baby is sleeping while rocked to and fro. 
 Mamma is singing with voice tempered low; 
 Baby and mamma and angels and sleep 
 Under the shade-tree sweet vigils keep. 
 
 Frank S. Hastings. 
 
 70 
 
BACK OF ALL. 
 
 "While we look not at the things that are seen, but at the things 
 which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but 
 the things which are notseen are eternal." — St. Paui, II, Cor, iv. z8. 
 
 Back of the shadow, the substance; 
 
 Back of the semblance, the truth; 
 Back of all matter, the spirit 
 
 LiTes in perennial youth. 
 
 Back of the known is the unknown; 
 
 Back of the seen, the unseen; 
 Back of the infinite ages, 
 
 Infinite ages have been. 
 
 Back of each poem's a poem; 
 
 Back of each song is a song; 
 Back of the richest emotions, 
 
 Richer emotions throng. 
 
 Back of each deep aspiration. 
 Back of all ravishing dreams. 
 
 Back of the soul's secret thought. 
 Somewhere, the source of all teems. 
 
 Back of the truth is more truth. 
 
 Back of all truth is God; 
 Back to that source of all being 
 
 Souls through the ages have trod. 
 
 71 
 
72 MISSOURI YE BSE. 
 
 Back of each point and each atom, 
 Back of the infinite sphere, 
 
 Back of the infinite infinite, 
 Infinite energy 's there. 
 
 God is that infinite energy, 
 Back of and in and through all — 
 
 Up from that source rise all beings. 
 Wave like, they rise and they fall. 
 M. L. Hoffman. 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 A worn old horse, a cable-slot by many widths 
 too wide, 
 
 A humble hoof that found itself wedged pain- 
 fully inside. 
 
 A writhing form; an awkward job; a foot be- 
 yond repair; 
 
 A pistol-shot; the peace of death; an empty 
 wagon there. 
 
 Some poor man's bread and butter gone. Of 
 small things 'tis the least, 
 
 Only man's inhumanity to man and poor dumb 
 beast. 
 
 Minnie Mclntyre. 
 
THE END OF THE SEASON. 
 
 Ah! dress-suit, you and I have spent 
 
 A most delightful summer season; 
 The two weeks at the seashore went 
 
 Without a sign from you of treason. 
 If you had let the secret slip, 
 
 I think I should have gone demented; 
 I might as well have packed my grip 
 
 If you had told that you were rented. 
 
 I fancy that we looked quite swell 
 
 That night we led in the cotillion; 
 From our appearance none could tell 
 
 We were not worth at least a million. 
 We loved a dozen charming girls — 
 
 We really were beyond resistance — 
 And one, whose eyes and wayward curls 
 
 Still linger with a strange persistence. 
 
 But what 's the use to sigh in vain? 
 
 Instead we both should be contented— 
 I, peddling products of my brain. 
 
 While you continue to be rented. 
 And so I '11 send you back to-night. 
 
 With some regret, to Jacob Hirsch's; 
 And then begin again to write — 
 
 Hard fate! (society's light verses. 
 
 William B. Hereford. 
 
 73 
 
AN INDIAN LEGEND. 
 
 Gaining by sinuous path the frowning height, 
 Thro' wildwoods fragrant with the breath of 
 May, 
 
 I see below me in the morning light 
 The landscape stretch away. 
 
 My step along the echoing bowlders rings; 
 
 Some lone bird flutters from its dim retrejit; 
 Some black bats scatter, with bewildered 
 wings, 
 
 At my approaching feet. 
 
 Sharp bits of chiseled flint-rock strew the 
 ground. 
 Old arrow-heads — I hardly know their 
 name — 
 No more to whistle at the bow's rebound. 
 True to the archer's aim. 
 
 From ferny fissures springing in the breeze, 
 Wild roses rustle with their wealth of bloom, 
 
 Shedding from rifled blossoms, prized by bees, 
 Wafts of their faint perfume. 
 
 74 
 
AN INDIAN LEGEND. 75 
 
 Along the slant a swimming vapor furls, 
 Clings like a thin cloud in the silvery sky, 
 
 Till lightly shaken into airy curls, 
 A zephyr sweeps it by. 
 
 Here, when the solemn midnight waves her 
 wand, 
 Two Indian shades appear, with flowing 
 locks — 
 A maiden and her lover, hand in hand. 
 Glide o'er the moonlit rocks; 
 
 Glide up the rugged steep, from cleft to cleft, 
 Their light feet glimpsing under streaming 
 stoles. 
 And where they step, the gemmeous footprints 
 left 
 Glow, like ignescent coals ! 
 
 The hawk forsakes its nest with clamorous 
 flight; 
 Fleet hares go springing down the winding 
 way; 
 A copperhead uncoils in sheer affright. 
 And slips beneath a spray. 
 
76 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 The aged and garrulous pioneer who dwells 
 Where yon blue wreaths of towering smoke 
 arise, 
 
 To the sweet children of his household tells 
 The legend in this wise: 
 
 In days before the white intruder came, 
 A Shawnee girl, the floweret of her tribe. 
 
 Felt the strange wine of love suffuse her frame 
 And her whole soul imbibe. 
 
 But dark the deadly draught was mixed with 
 woe! 
 Her heart from its belov'd was sundered 
 wide, 
 And, all the hope she cherished thus laid low, 
 She droop'd at length and died; 
 
 Just as the flow'rets in their beauty fade — 
 The fresh young blue-bell by the jaunty rill, 
 
 And the meek violet in the woodland shade. 
 The aster on the hill! 
 
 They made beneath this bluff her narrow grave, 
 Where, rippling by the rocks, the brooklet 
 sings. 
 
 And the cool ferns and water-lilies wave. 
 And the wild birds wet their wings. 
 
AS INDIAN LEGEND. 77 
 
 Then, ere the forest doff'd its green array, 
 He who convoked her sad, untimely fate. 
 Threw, in a distant war, his life away — 
 The wrong to expiate. 
 
 The new moon framed on high its radiant arch, 
 When on rude bier, draped with a panther's 
 hide. 
 His mangled corse was borne with solemn 
 march 
 And buried by her side. 
 
 Tho' many a season has advanced since then, 
 And many a moon has waxed and waned 
 away, 
 
 And in their stead a mightier race of men 
 Holds undisputed sway, 
 
 From happy hunting-grounds, thro' which they 
 range. 
 They still return at noiseless dead of night, 
 The sweets of ardent pledges to exchange 
 On this eternal height! 
 
 R. E. Lee Gibson. 
 
THIS WOULD I DO. 
 
 If I were a rose, 
 
 This would I do: 
 I would lie upon the white neck of her I love, 
 And let my life go out upon the fragrance 
 Of her breath. 
 
 If I were a star, 
 
 This would I do: 
 I would look deep down into her eyes, 
 Into the eyes I love, and learn there 
 How to shine. 
 
 If I were a truth strong as the Eternal One, 
 
 This would I do : 
 I would live in her heart, in the heart 
 I know so well, and 
 
 Be at home. 
 
 If 1 were a sin, 
 
 This would I do: 
 I would fly far away, and tho' her soft hand 
 In pity were stretched out, I would not stay, 
 but fly. 
 
 And leave her pure! 
 ConstoMce Faunt Le Roy Buncie. 
 
 78 
 
ANOTHER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 The sun is bright and warm to-day, 
 
 And all the world is fair, 
 And Nature's intense, yearning breath 
 
 Is tingling on the air. 
 But a sad, sad thought has come to me, 
 
 Making my heart grow cold; 
 For though the world is fresh and fair, 
 
 I am growing old. 
 
 I had not thought of it before, 
 
 Life seemed so true and bright, 
 I thought myself a child at play 
 
 And none with heart more light. 
 But the years have slipped me by, I see, 
 
 Time's hurrying would not hold; 
 And so, — no use to hide the truth, — 
 
 I am growing old. 
 
 A few more years, — a few more years, 
 
 My past will lie behind; 
 Sweet in the shroud of purest hopes, 
 
 Dear to my inmost mind. 
 I think 'twill haunt my after life, 
 
 That spirit young and bold. 
 Taking me back to the Long Ago, 
 
 Ere I was growing old. 
 
 79 
 
80 MISSOURI TERSE. 
 
 And still the sun is bright and warm, 
 
 And still the world is fair. 
 Why should the breath of passing years 
 / 'Breathe me a sigh of care? 
 A thought comes stealing to my heart, 
 
 My sadder thoughts to leaven: 
 The older I grow to this old world. 
 
 The younger I grow to heaven. 
 
 J. Breekmridge Ellis. 
 
 EESUEEECTION. 
 
 The butterfly bathes in the pulsing light, 
 And its life is as one with the living day, 
 
 While the wingless worm in the gloom of the 
 night 
 Spins the web for its shroud of gray. 
 
 When the soul of the world breaks forth in 
 bloom, 
 And the butterfly feeds on the scent of the 
 rose, 
 When her life is a dream of light and perfume, 
 Can the butterfly know what the caterpillar 
 knows? 
 
 William. Vincent Byars. 
 
THE COMING OF HIS FEET. 
 
 In the crimson of the morning, in the whiteness 
 of the noon, 
 In the amber glory of the day's retreat. 
 In the midnight, robed in darkness, or the 
 gleaming of the moon, 
 I listen for the coming of his feet. 
 
 I have heard his weary footsteps by the Gal- 
 ilean sea. 
 On the temple's marble pavement, on the 
 street, 
 Worn with weight of sorrow, faltering up the 
 slopes of Calvary, 
 The sorrow of the coming of his feet. 
 
 Down the minster-aisles of splendor, from be- 
 twixt the cherubim. 
 Through the wondering throng, with motion 
 strong and fleet. 
 Sounds his victor tread, approaching with a 
 music far and dim — 
 The music of the coming of his feet. 
 
 81 
 
82 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 Comes he sandaled not with silver, girdled not 
 with woven gold, 
 Weighted not with shimmering gems and 
 odors sweet; 
 But white-winged and shod with glory in the 
 Tabor-light of old — 
 The glory of the coming of his feet. 
 
 He is coming, O my spirit! with his everlasting 
 peace, 
 With his blessedness immortal and complete. 
 He is coming, O my spirit! and his coming 
 brings release. 
 I listen for the coming of his feet. 
 
 Lyman WMtney Allen. 
 
SPIRIT DREAMS. 
 
 My spirit sits dreaming forever 
 The sorrowful dreams of old, 
 The passionate dreams of old, 
 
 Yes, wildly it dreams of the river, 
 The river I loved of old. 
 
 The sorrowful, dim, haunted river, the river I 
 worshiped of old; 
 
 Yes, dreams my soul by this river. 
 This river which lies in the South, 
 This death-shadowed stream of the South, 
 
 Where passionate star-beams quiver 
 To torture my soul for its troth; 
 And spirits come mocking my sorrow, yes, 
 mocking my death-broken troth. 
 
 Yes, o'er a lone tomb by this river. 
 This river I loved of old. 
 So weird since days of old. 
 
 My spirit sits weeping forever 
 And dreaming sad dreams of old, 
 Sad dreams of a beautiful maiden who faded 
 and died of old. 
 
84 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 Away from this sorrowful river 
 My spirit shall never more go, 
 No peri can tempt it to go, 
 
 But dreaming it sits there forever 
 And sighs o'er the waters that flow. 
 Yes, mingles its moans with the river, the soul- 
 haunted stream, in its flow. 
 
 William G. Barnard. 
 
 NOVEMBER AND JUNE. 
 
 I know the deep soul of the river 
 
 When the clouds steal its laughter away; 
 When its waters glide darkling and shiver 
 
 For sorrow of winter gray. 
 When they whisper farewell to the sun-time; 
 
 When they sob in their low monotone, 
 I have caught the lilt of their sad rhyme; 
 
 Its meaning and message I 've known. 
 
 I know the glad heart of the river; 
 
 Its secret is soul of my soul ; 
 Its whispers I catch as they quiver; 
 
 When its bright waters cumberless roll ; 
 When they roll and dance in the sunshine; 
 
 When they leap and laugh in their flow ; 
 When they spring to quaff of the day-wine ; 
 
 All the joy of the draught I know! 
 
 William Vincent Byars. 
 
OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 The stream, that from the northern hill 
 
 Into the valley brightly pours, 
 May ripple on and on until 
 
 It reaches flow'ry southern shores. 
 The same wild birds that sweetly sing 
 
 Mid northern scenes in summer-time. 
 When winter comes, their way will wing 
 
 To some far-distant southern clime. 
 
 The same great sea, whose voice awakes 
 
 The echoes of New England's strand. 
 Rolls on afar until it breaks 
 
 On Carolina's beach of sand. 
 The breeze that o'er the frozen peak 
 
 Of northern land, at morning, roves. 
 At eve, may kiss the maiden's cheek. 
 
 Who wanders thro' the orange groves. 
 
 Alike the mournful willows weep 
 
 Their dewy tears above the grave. 
 Where northern hero lies asleep. 
 
 And rests the gallant southern brave. 
 Alike the creeping tendrils twine — 
 
 Alike the flowers brightly bloom — 
 Alike the stars of evening shine 
 
 On northern and on southern tomb. 
 
 85 
 
86 MISSOURI TERSE. 
 
 Thus, nature doth the lesson teach 
 
 That God alike regards us all, 
 And that, impartially, on each, 
 
 His blessings He allows to fall; 
 And yet our passion-blinded eyes 
 
 Refuse the lesson taught, to read, 
 And oft we let dissensions rise 
 
 With bitter word and wrongful deed. 
 
 May He who on the troubled deep 
 
 Said to the tempest, "Peace, be still!" 
 When winds and waters fell asleep, 
 
 And surging seas obeyed His will. 
 Our country keep from cruel wars. 
 
 And love, akin to His, impart 
 To all beneath the stripes and stars. 
 
 And make us, ever, one in heart! 
 
 Horace A. Hutchison. 
 
TEMBUS FUGIT. 
 
 Time creeps on, — 
 
 The hours slow flying, 
 The rose-buds dying, 
 
 And childhood 's gone. 
 
 Time steals on, — 
 The fragrant flowers 
 Fill all earth's bowers, 
 
 And youth is gone. 
 
 Time speeds on, — 
 The blossom'd roses 
 Are withered posies, 
 
 And manhood 's gone. 
 
 Time hastes on, — 
 With wither'd, faded 
 Flowers earth is laded. 
 
 And life is gone. 
 
 Frank Triplett. 
 
 87 
 
MURILLO'S IMMACULATE CONCEPTION. 
 
 Flowing like a veil of sunlight 
 
 Gleams her silken rippling hair, 
 With her glorious eyes to heaven 
 
 Raised in mute and rapturous prayer; 
 Features glowing soft in beauty, 
 
 Every curve of grace so pure. 
 Face of heavenly joy and patience. 
 
 Great to love and to endure. 
 
 Like a lily, whose snow petals 
 
 Cannot hide the heart of gold, 
 On this lovely face the story 
 
 Of her life is clearly told; 
 Gleams the purity of Heaven, 
 
 Glows the strength of mother-love. 
 Deep the human adoration, ' 
 
 Grand the glory from above. 
 
 Peace and hope, ecstatic gladness, 
 
 Throw their light soft o'er her face; 
 Sweet, true prayers rise up within us, 
 
 As we murmur, "Full of grace." 
 Could a human hand inspired 
 
 Save by Heaven such beauty trace? 
 God reward thee, great Murillo, 
 
 For the gift of Mary's face. 
 
 Bertha May Ivory. 
 
THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 
 
 The earliest lark had climbed to meet 
 The sun, and though the forest spread 
 
 Its rustling skirts o'er vanished feet, 
 The light prints told of morning's tread. 
 
 While sifted through the bashful gloom, 
 The soft day-light fell pink and fair, 
 
 Till Earth's cheek wore a flush of bloom. 
 Though Time had planted furrows there. 
 
 For O a beauteous sisterhood 
 Of blossoms there together grew. 
 
 And there a little primrose stood 
 As Nature drew its curtains to! 
 
 And where it dreamed, the East grew shy, 
 With tremors of a rose-cocoon. 
 
 Till — like a golden butterfly, 
 Afar, scarce tilting on the noon. 
 
 The sun, in sky-flelda sloping west, 
 Had settled at the edge of sight, 
 
 With still, clapped wings, as if its quest 
 Had been the starry lawn of night. 
 
90 MISSOURI fERSE. 
 
 When lo! the primrose raised its head 
 
 To peep from out a curtain fold, 
 And as I passed, the twilight spread 
 
 For me, a little face of gold. 
 
 Although 'twas but a timid face,-T- 
 Though but a primrose Time had sown, — 
 
 None other saw It slyly raise 
 The beauty that was mine alone. 
 
 And somewhere O if I but see 
 In passing, dropped from hour to hour 
 
 Down through the years, Love has for me — 
 A little flower, a little flower! 
 
 William Emory Oriffith. 
 
CRIPPLE TIM. 
 
 The bootblacks and newsboys had missed 
 
 "Cripple Tim" 
 For more than a week, and were talking of him 
 When into their council, pinched, careworn, 
 
 and thin, 
 With cheeks pale and hollow, he came limp- 
 ing in. 
 "Bin sick, Tim?" said one; "Bin away?" said 
 
 another. 
 But Tim only murmured: "Bin a-nursin' m^ 
 
 brother." 
 And added: "Say, kids, here 's my kit fur two 
 
 bits. 
 Say, take it, some feller. I '11 throw in these 
 
 mitts." 
 
 The bargain once driven, his quarter in sight, 
 Tim entered the newsroom and started to 
 
 write; 
 And tears filled the eyes of the warm-hearted 
 
 clerk 
 As he read the result of Tim's labored work; 
 But it went into press just as Tim wrote it 
 
 down. 
 And was spelled out in whispers by the waifs 
 
 of the town. 
 
 91 
 
92 MISSOURI TERSE. 
 
 "burnin feVer tuk him an hes DeD 
 tim's onlY bruther liTTle teD 
 Gon up tu heVen fhats aLL 
 funral termorrer city haLL" 
 
 "Kin it go fur a quarter?" said Tim with a sob. 
 "I sold out my kit fur to pay fur the job. 
 'Cause he died in my arms an' I want's him ter 
 
 see, 
 Way up there with mother, how he stood here 
 
 with me." 
 
 Tim's kit filled with flowers they took to his 
 
 den, 
 Each newsboy and bootblack contributing 
 
 "ten," 
 And Ted's little coflBn as it sank 'neath the sod 
 Was a tribute from street-waifs sent straight 
 
 to their God. 
 
 To Nature's warm touch each heart like a rose 
 Unfolds in the garden of poor human woes. 
 
 Frank 8. Hastings. 
 
THE SISTERS. 
 
 Night, in the chambered East, 
 Sits, with Dawn at the door. 
 
 Dropped from her golden feast. 
 Star-crumbs scatter the floor. 
 
 Mice, from behind the sun. 
 
 Patter along the sky: 
 Nibbling the crumbs they run, 
 
 Touching with foot-prints shy. 
 
 Echoes, of purring sound, 
 
 Softly begin to grow. 
 Nothing more to be found; 
 
 Scamper — ^^away they go. 
 
 Dawn, in the chambered East, 
 
 Sits by an open door. 
 Night has gone from the feast: 
 
 Barren of crumbs the floor. 
 
 William Emory Griffith. 
 
 93 
 
DREAM DRIFT. 
 
 Dreams drift out of the shadow land, 
 
 Drifting to you and to me, 
 Bringing us shadows out of the shapes 
 
 That flit in its mystery. 
 Shadows of happiness, shadows of smiles, 
 
 Trooping an endless throng. 
 That fade as quick as the summer shower 
 
 Hushes a harvest song. 
 
 I am weary, too — aweary. 
 
 Yet the winds and the clouds sweep by. 
 And the fierce gray form of the winter day 
 
 Seeks not to mark their boundary. 
 Yet, I reckon oft in my foolish heart. 
 
 That out of this dream debris 
 That is hurrying by on the tide of time, 
 
 I can shape my destiny! 
 
 And once when T saw you bow your head 
 
 To hide the teardrops' trace, 
 I saw where they had marked their way 
 
 All on your face — your face! 
 And I wondered then if the dream drift 
 
 Had wafted a shadow fair 
 That had turned to space when you reached to 
 lay 
 
 Your hand upon its hair. 
 
 94 
 
DREAM DRIFT. 95 
 
 And I could not say as you turned away 
 Your eyes that the brine had wet: 
 
 "Life and its ciangor is too a dream — 
 Forget, forget, forget!" 
 
 G. W. Ogden. 
 
 FLOS C^LESTIS. 
 
 I, for a moment free one set of sun. 
 Walked in the sweet, supernal fields 
 Amid the flowering of that which yields 
 The essence of high deeds being done. 
 And, as I stood, a sudden fragrance near 
 Wrapped me about with happiness air-clear. 
 On search, I found the aromal joy to be 
 Outflowing from a lily newly sprung. 
 And instantly, the bending blades among. 
 I backward looked to earth for meaning of the 
 
 mystery, 
 And saw that — greater than man's wont of sac- 
 rifice 
 And gift of self to others' needs — 
 One added to the tale of noblest deeds. 
 And thus a flower had sprung in Paradise. 
 
 Austin Arnold McCausland. 
 
CHRISTMAS TREASURES. 
 
 [From A Little Book of Western Verse, copyrighted, l88g, by 
 Eugene Field, and published by Charles Scribner's Sons.] 
 
 I count my treasures o'er with care, — 
 
 The little toy my darling knew, 
 
 A little sock of faded hue, 
 A little lock of golden hair. 
 
 Long years ago this holy time, 
 
 My little one — my all to me — 
 
 Sat robed in white upon my knee 
 And heard the merry Christmas chime. 
 
 "Tell me, my little golden-head. 
 If Santa Clans should come to-night, 
 What shall he bring my baby bright, — 
 
 What treasures for my boy?" I said. 
 
 And then he named this little toy. 
 While in his round and mournful eyes 
 There came a look of sweet surprise. 
 
 That spake his quiet, trustful joy. 
 
 And as he lisped his evening prayer 
 He asked the boon with childish grace. 
 Then, toddling to the chimney-place, 
 
 He hung this little stocking there. 
 
CHRISTMAS TREASURES. 97 
 
 That night, while lengthening shadows crept, 
 I saw the white-winged angels come 
 With singing to our lowly home 
 
 And kiss my darling as he slept. 
 
 They must have heard his little prayer, 
 For in the niorn, with rapturous face. 
 He toddled to the chimney-place, 
 
 And found this little treasure there. 
 
 Tbey came again one Christmas-tide, — 
 That angel host, so fair and white! 
 And singing all that glorious night. 
 
 They lured my darling from my side. 
 
 A little sock, a little toy, 
 
 A little lock of golden hair. 
 
 The Christmias music on the air, 
 A- watching for my baby boy! 
 
 But if again that angel train 
 And golden-head come back to me. 
 To bear me to Eternity, 
 
 My watching will not be in vain ! 
 
 Eugene Field. 
 
VOICES OF THE PAST. 
 
 When sad of heart and spirit — ^tired, 
 We strive to pierce the gloom 
 
 Which shrouds our onward weary palh 
 Through sorrow to the tomb, 
 
 From out the gloom a ray appears, 
 
 Familiar faces shine, — 
 Sweet faces of our childhood days, 
 
 Enshrined by love divine. 
 
 They come like gleams of sunshine, 
 
 To gladden our later years; 
 They lift the gloom from off the heart 
 
 And dry up sorrow's tears. 
 
 The searcher on the path of fame. 
 
 The toiler by the way. 
 May gain a laurel, win a name, — 
 
 The marvel of a day. 
 
 But wearied with the world's applause, 
 How much his heart rejoices 
 
 When from the dreamy past he hears 
 The old familiar voices ! 
 
Y0ICE8 OF THE PAST. 
 
 They come like gleams of sunshine, 
 To gladden our later years; 
 
 They lift the gloom from off the heart 
 And dry up sorrow's tears. 
 
 Julius Luther Marshall. 
 
 "ICH DIEN." 
 
 Oh, humble motto of a royal knight! 
 
 I take thee for mine own; thou suitest me. 
 
 Whose state is lowly and of poor degree! 
 I cannot lead, like Edward, in the fight 
 The soul doth wage 'gainst evil for the right. 
 
 Yet I can serve as faithfully as he. 
 
 For lowliest deeds, well done, shall be 
 Plumes of true honor o'er a crown most bright! 
 
 And should my heart rebel when, laurel- 
 crowned. 
 Earth's victors pass me to the thrilling strain 
 Of martial music, I will crush the pain 
 That winds, with snaky folds, my heart around, 
 And say with him* — that poet true and 
 
 great — 
 "They also serve who only stand and wait!" 
 Adela Stevens-Cody. 
 
 *Milton. 
 
AS YEARS GO BY. 
 
 I mark how seasons come and go, 
 How waters ebb and waters flow, 
 And how, each year, sweet roses show, 
 And how each winter hath its snow. 
 As years go by. 
 
 I note the wild birds' tuneful song 
 Sent through the spring-time all along, 
 And how the hosts of Nature throng 
 With ne'er a bar or quaver wrong, 
 As years go by. 
 
 I mind how things, once eager sought, 
 Seem less and less until as naught 
 They come and beg to stay, unbought; 
 'Tis vain — the mind is better taught 
 As years go by. 
 
 1 see how friendships grow more near, 
 How life seems less and love more dear, 
 How fables vanish every year. 
 While truth shines on forever clear 
 As years go by. 
 
 100 
 
AS TEARS 00 BY. 101 
 
 I often muse, as time grows less, 
 Of how that siren — Happiness — 
 Is still besought to come and bless. 
 Yet oft refuses one caress, 
 As years go by. 
 
 I think — how close the future lies 
 Veiled from our troubled, tear-blind eyes; 
 And of that near-time, glad surprise, 
 When we shall enter Paradise — 
 As years go by. 
 
 Annie A. Stevens-Dugan. 
 
JUST BEYOND. 
 
 We laugli at childhood's idle tale — 
 
 The story quaint and old, 
 That near the rainbow's purple rim 
 
 There gleams a pot of gold ; 
 But eager youth oft sits aud dreams 
 
 Of journeys o'er the way, 
 In which the yellow gold still gleams. 
 
 Each showery April day. 
 
 While trusting hearts and tireless feet 
 
 Expect some day to go 
 Where "just beyond" the green earth meets 
 
 The dazzling bended bow, 
 And gather up the shining gold, 
 
 When the toilsome journey 's past. 
 And bear it home to cottage hearths, — 
 
 A thing of joy at last. 
 
 But the long, long journey is never made, 
 
 And youth to manhood grows, 
 And learns the gold is not attained. 
 
 Though the sky holds many bows. 
 For age comes after, with shadowy smile, 
 
 Eepeating the story old. 
 Of April skies with rainbow hues. 
 
 And heaps of yellow gold. 
 
J VST BE70ND. 103 
 
 And SO, forever, "just beyond" — 
 
 Lies something we strive to attain, 
 And whether we lose, or whether we win, 
 
 Life brings its joy and pain. 
 And we know its sky is a mist of blue. 
 
 With a tangle of golden stars. 
 And a rift of cloud, with rain-drops through. 
 
 And a bow with bended bars. 
 
 We know the earth is broad and green, 
 
 With its rippling, murmuring waves, 
 Its fields of flowers, and vales between, 
 
 And its quiet, hallowed graves; 
 For earth and sky seem ever to meet, 
 
 Whichever way we turn. 
 And 'tis "just beyond," to youth or age. 
 
 Whatever lessons we learn. 
 
 Oh, "just beyond" — there is always the bow 
 
 Of promise that spans our way. 
 For which eager hearts and tireless feet 
 
 Strive earnestly day by day, 
 Till, through the misty years that pass, 
 
 We are weaving the web of life. 
 With a shimmer of gold where sunlight falls. 
 
 Or a shadow which tells of strife. 
 
104 MISSOURI VERSTJ. 
 
 But "just beyond," at life's journey's end, 
 
 Are treasures more precious than gold; 
 We know it is true as we eagerly list 
 
 To the story sweet and old; 
 And above the glimmer of golden stars 
 
 Or the misty skies of blue. 
 Above the bended bow of bars, 
 
 Is a fadeless life that is true. 
 
 Maria U. Mustek. 
 
 AUGUST. 
 
 Under the quivering heat-haze, 
 
 Through whose shimmer the brown quail 
 wades, 
 A-list to the moist corn voices 
 
 Speaking from wind-struck blades. 
 Sultrily fanned by gauzy wings 
 
 A-tilt in a sheer bandrol, 
 And lulled by a sound from tangled shades, 
 
 The wood-dove's "cool, cool," 
 On a bed of billowy grasses. 
 
 Sunk in a languorous swoon, 
 O slumb'rous month, thou 'rt prone and a- 
 dream, 
 
 Under a pale day moon. 
 
 Austin Arnold McOausland. 
 
THE INDIAN PINK. 
 
 An Indian maid her sire beloved 
 Had guarded through the night, 
 
 For wounded sore and weak he lay, 
 Far from the bloody fight. 
 
 There came a foe beside their couch 
 Beneath the wildwood tree, 
 
 And bade her leave her sire to him 
 If she would yet be free. 
 
 With noble heart she kept her watch. 
 Nor faltered from her trust. 
 
 Resolved beside him there to live 
 Or perish if she must. 
 
 With dastard stroke he laid her low ; 
 
 And, where her blood flowed bright, 
 The spring-time marked the sacred spot 
 
 With flower of crimson light. 
 
 Anna M. Weems. 
 
 105 
 
FAITH. 
 
 My hopes. braTe-heairted, 
 Have long departed 
 
 Upon life's troubled sea; 
 Their barques, now scattered, 
 Are broken, shattered — 
 
 They '11 never come home to me. 
 
 Hopes, richly bedecked, 
 On realities wrecked, 
 
 Went down near home and shore; 
 Entombed by the waves. 
 In their coral graves, 
 
 They rest and rise no more. 
 
 So nothing will last; 
 We strive till the past 
 
 Envelops our mind's ideal, 
 Then we grope alone. 
 With tear and moan, 
 
 Braving the storms of the real. 
 
 106 
 
FAITH. 107 
 
 As we sadly grope 
 There 's yet one hope 
 
 No wave has overthrown — 
 All, all is not dark, 
 For Faith, in its barque, 
 
 Is sailing the sea alone. 
 
 John N. Edwards, Jr. 
 
 A FLOWEK THERE BLOOMED. 
 
 Once a flower there bloomed with hope in its 
 
 dyes; 
 'Twas born of the light of the soft sunny skies; 
 But faded one day 
 And fell by the way; 
 And now, when I see it with tears in my eyes, 
 I think of the glad hour when first I beheld. 
 Ere strangely and rudely the spoiler had felled; 
 And then evermore. 
 With heart sad and sore, 
 I fear the wild gloom which its beauty dis- 
 pelled. 
 
 Anna M. Weems. 
 
TRIBUTE TO JOE SHELBY. 
 
 [General Shelby died in Kansas City, Missouri, February 13, and 
 was buried February 17, 1897. J 
 
 The civil war is over, yet memory oft revives 
 Tlie scenes and incidents of active, noble lives. 
 But methinks the brave, true men who wore 
 
 the blue and gray 
 Ne'er mourned a common loss so sadly as 
 
 to-day. 
 A gallant hero 's fallen; and General Shelby's 
 
 name 
 (With its familiar record of military fame) 
 Is tenderly repeated in trem'lous, tearful tone, 
 And grief's memorial offering by loving trib- 
 utes shown. 
 
 Most generous and gracious in kindly word and 
 
 deed 
 Was he to widow's sorrow, to orphan's want 
 
 and need, 
 Still shall time and history an honored record 
 
 bear 
 Of true and worthy sentiment, of actions good 
 , and fair. 
 
 108 
 
TRIBVTE TO GENERAL JOE SHELBY. 109 
 
 Of loyalty to country and to his fellow-man, 
 That friend or foe alike may ever proudly scan. 
 His failings were but few, his virtues e'er shall 
 
 shine 
 While glowing luster all un dimmed by the 
 
 lapse of time. 
 
 No more his country's need his loyalty can 
 move. 
 
 No more through fear or favor his fortunes ever 
 prove, 
 
 No more can anxious care or fateful ill befall. 
 
 For Death , the mighty conqueror, has over- 
 come them all. 
 
 His friends, associates, comrades, have civic 
 honors paid 
 
 And beside his loved and lost their faithful 
 hero laid. 
 
 Martial notes and cannon's boom in mingled 
 echoes tell 
 
 Of lingering regret and a sorrowful farewell. 
 
 Mary J. Benton. 
 
THE GOD BEHIND THE BLUE. 
 
 'Twaa a summer eve, and the air was sweet, 
 
 And the sky was a sapphire sea 
 That had ne'er been torn by the brazen prow 
 
 Or been mocked by the Storm King's glee. 
 'Twas as soft as that where the citron blooms 
 
 And the stars peep shyly through, 
 When a wandering child came forth to seek 
 
 For the God behind the blue. 
 
 He had oft been told that tihe great God dwells 
 
 In a home just beyond the sky, 
 And that angels carry the children there 
 
 When they sicken of earth and die. 
 "Must I wait so long, till the angels come 
 
 When I die, to bear me through? 
 No, I '11 go alone to the hills and climb 
 
 To the God behind the blue." 
 
 But the night oame on and the dew was chill, 
 
 And the way was so dark, so cold, 
 That the child lay down on a bed of moss 
 
 And was found 'neath the branches old; 
 But he wept and said, as they bore him home 
 
 O'er a pathway strange and new, 
 "When' a man, I '11 come again and climb 
 
 To the God behind the blue." 
 
 110 
 
THE GOD BEHIND THE BLUE. Ill 
 
 When the years had passed and that time had 
 come 
 When he stood in his fair youth's pride, — 
 When his glance was strong and his heart beat 
 high 
 With the rush of a spring-time tide, — 
 When he might have climbed to the mountain's 
 top 
 And have pierced the gray clouds through, 
 He had almost lost his childish faith 
 In a God behind the blue. 
 
 He had wed, and she whom he loved was fair, 
 
 And her brow like her soul was white. 
 And her small, weak hand held him back from 
 guilt 
 
 When he lost all love of right; 
 For he held with those of the newer creed. 
 
 With the duped, deluded few, 
 Who are wont to smile at the "pretty myth," 
 
 Of a Grod behind the blue. 
 
 But the fair wife died in his arms one day. 
 And his rainbow dreams grew dim; 
 
 For what was the Christian's steadfast hope 
 In an after-life to him? 
 
112 MISSOVBI TERSE. 
 
 Was He just, that God of the Christian's faith? 
 
 Could he think such things were true, 
 When he felt but now the chastening rod 
 
 Of the God behind the blue? 
 
 There was only one who had power to calm 
 
 All the storms of his spirit's deep, 
 Who could win him back from his frenzied 
 state, 
 
 And could soothe him at last to sleep; 
 'Twas the fair, sweet child, by the mother left 
 
 As a guardian spirit true. 
 Who at last should lead that weary soul 
 
 To the God behind the blue. 
 
 He is lying now in a breathless trance, 
 
 His lips and his brow are cold. 
 But he bowed long since to the chastening rod. 
 
 And in work for the Christ grows old. 
 He smiles to see that the skies are bright. 
 
 That the sunbeams shimmer through 
 Ere he goes once more, a child, to seek 
 
 For the God behind the blue. 
 
 Hattie E. Battson. 
 
LINES TO A LILY. 
 
 Thou pride of Nature's mystic might, 
 With golden heart and robe of white ! 
 
 At love's command, 
 
 My tremulous hand. 
 Reluctant, plucks thee from the throne. 
 Where thou art borne in state alone. 
 
 Fair type of purity and grace! 
 Fate gives to thee a nobler place. 
 
 O'er throbbing heart. 
 
 Oh, there impart 
 With whispers soft the story old, 
 The tale my lips would fain unfold. 
 
 Though beauty fade, love will remain, 
 Through all life's maze of joy and pain, 
 
 Still pure and new 
 
 And ever true. 
 Till ceases Time's resistless flow. 
 And perfect Love the soul shall know. 
 
 S. A. Lynch. 
 
 113 
 
CHARITY. 
 
 Trae purity, 
 
 Oh rarity; 
 But rarer still 
 
 Is charity. 
 
 To throw a shield o'er others' woes, 
 To see the good in conquered foes, 
 To cure a heart sick from life's blows, 
 Is charity. 
 
 To bid a banished one, "Come in," 
 Back from temptation and from sin. 
 To tread the path Christ did begin. 
 Is charity. 
 
 To know some good is in each heart. 
 To strive to see the better part. 
 To pray our censure may depart, 
 Is charity. 
 
 Then save, not sink a struggling one. 
 And help repentance once begun. 
 And pray God blot our sins, each one, 
 With charity. 
 
 Orace Hewitt Sharp. 
 
 114 
 
DEAD NATIONS. 
 
 **Take the wings 
 Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound. 
 Save his own dashing — yet the dead are there : 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 The flight of years began, have laid them down 
 In their last sleep." — Bryant, 
 
 Where are the nations that have lived and died, 
 That iiave come and gone with the silent tide 
 
 Of the years? 
 What of their coming, 
 What of their going, 
 
 What of their reaping, 
 What of their sowing, 
 
 Of hopes and fears — 
 
 Heartaches and tears? 
 To think, the dust beneath our feet 
 Did one day walk, where we now meet 
 In all the busy haunts of life, 
 And, like us, lived in toil and strife; 
 And where were empires of renown, 
 Grrim forests now are looking down. 
 And weird watch keeping in the gloom 
 O'er nameless dust and nameless tomb. 
 
 115 
 
116 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 To what eternity have they fled — 
 This voiceless dust — ^this myriad dead? 
 
 I cannot tell; can you? 
 But this I know — where e'er it be — 
 Or what it holds for you or me — 
 
 We 're going too. 
 
 F. Burdette Wilson. 
 
 PUEITY AND HOPE IN DEATH. 
 
 Flowers shed their sweetest breath 
 When the white frosts blight, 
 
 And eyes which close in death 
 Give their truest light. 
 
 The eartli weeps tear of dew 
 
 Over the vanished day; 
 And true eyes fill with sorrow, too, 
 
 When Love flies away. 
 
 But morn shall come again, 
 And spring restore the flowers; 
 
 And the soul in other worlds regain 
 The love lost in ours. 
 
 Nathcmiel Morton Baskett. 
 
THE MAGICAL KING. 
 
 A ring there was of magic power, 
 That paased from maid to maid; 
 
 And whoso wore it sang so well 
 That every heart was stayed. 
 
 'Twas given to a fair one once. 
 Who sang the birds to sleep; 
 
 And all the day they nestled down 
 With little eyes to peep. 
 
 Another sang so mournfully 
 
 That all who heard her wept; 
 And all the breezes blowing there 
 
 The tragic music kept. 
 
 And yet another one sang low, 
 
 And she had love and praise, 
 And left sweet memories in their hearts 
 
 For many, many days. 
 
 The last who wore this magic ring 
 
 Sang like a heavenly sprite. 
 And when the music died away, 
 
 She vanished from their sight. 
 
 Anna M. Weems. 
 
 117 
 
THE WIND IN THE EAVES. 
 
 How the wintry wind is wailing in the eaves! 
 
 How it weeps with sigh and moan ! 
 
 How it sinks to sob and groan, 
 While it grieves, while it grieves! 
 Are those whisperings in the eaves 
 
 But soft threnodies of gloom, 
 
 Liberated from the tomb, 
 Of a soul that ever grieves — 
 
 Ever grieves, with sigh and moan. 
 
 Ever weeps, with sob and groan? 
 
 Yes, it seems the sad refrain 
 Of a soul that sings in pain; 
 
 And its song is moan and moan, 
 
 And its melody a groan — 
 Hear it sink, and sigh, and wane, 
 In a mellow, mournful strain — 
 
 How it weeps! how it weeps! 
 Sighing, weeping, shrill and high. 
 Soon it melts to lullaby; 
 
 But its song is moan and moan. 
 
 And its melody a groan. 
 
 118 
 
THE WIND IN TEE EATE8. 119 
 
 To the eaves, upon the gale, 
 Voices come to weep and wail — 
 
 How they sigh, and sob, and moan, 
 
 Linger long in dole and groan, 
 How they weep! how they weep! 
 With a sorrow sad and deep! 
 
 'Tis like a threnody of gloom. 
 
 Welling from an anguished tomb; 
 Shrill they wail, and wail, and wail. 
 
 Soft they mourn, and mourn, and mourn. 
 And the notes of dole and sorrow 
 
 Seem from souls all anguish torn. 
 
 John N. Edwards, Jr. 
 
 TWO DAWNS. 
 
 Once, long ago, he kissed her on 
 Eyes, mouth, and childish chin. 
 
 And with great peace he saw the dawn 
 Of love, her eyes within. 
 
 Last night he watched alone, beside 
 A something, stark and thin, 
 
 'Till through the casement, staring wide, 
 The sodden dawn crept in. 
 
 Anne Tozier. 
 
A NEW YEAR EETEOSPECTION. 
 
 [January i, 1893.] 
 
 The clock upon the mantel-piece has struck the 
 
 midnight hour, 
 The chime of bells rings gaily forth from 
 
 yonder steepled tower, 
 The air is vibrant from their throats, alone I 
 
 sit and muse. 
 Why is it with Time's frosting touch the hopes 
 
 of youth we lose? 
 
 Do hearts grow old with passing years? Alas! 
 
 it must be so; 
 The heart of youth would ill become a head so 
 
 touched with snow. 
 Who plays Life's game with Father Time, 
 
 plays e'er with loaded dice, 
 For youth and its impassioned joys come ne'er 
 
 to mortals twice. 
 
 Perhaps 'tis better as it is, that to man's long- 
 ing eyes 
 
 Comes only on this earth of ours one glimpse of 
 Paradise; 
 
 It were not well with mortals here were Earth's 
 stern barriers riven. 
 
 And to the world-worn mariner too much of 
 
 Heaven were given; 
 
 120 
 
A ISEW TEAR BETR08PE0TI0N. 121 
 
 Yet I will ask a boon to-day, O year of 'ninety- 
 three! 
 
 Out of the favors in thy store, grant one, I pray, 
 to me. 
 
 Within the heart of him who pleads ambition 
 long has fled. 
 
 And all the ardent dreams of Youth are with- 
 ered, cold, and dead. 
 
 He feels the frost of ripening years, his powers 
 
 begin to wane. 
 And ne'er will hand, or tongue, or brain their 
 
 cunning find again; 
 His spirit, broken, longs for rest, he views the 
 
 setting sun; 
 With him, at least, he knows full well the best 
 
 of life is done. 
 
 He asks you, then, coming year, ere yet thy 
 
 dawn's full flush 
 Has tinted hill and landscape with its golden, 
 
 radiant blush. 
 To guard the loving ones at home, and shield 
 
 them from Life's storms, 
 And let the ruder blasts of Earth ne'er touch 
 
 their tender forms. 
 
122 MISSOURI TERSE. 
 
 On Mother, Wife, and Baby dear thy richest 
 gifts bestow; 
 
 They 're worthy of the precious boon, O year, 
 I fully know. 
 
 If you must give the bitter draught, and path- 
 ways rough be trod, 
 
 Let him who asks thee for thy gifts bow to the 
 chastening rod. 
 
 Edwvn Arthur Welty. 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 When Morning stole across the distant plain 
 To wreathe the peeping blooms with aerial 
 dye, 
 The first and foremost of the gaudy train 
 That made her welcome was the azure eye 
 Of Violet, whose modest blushes said : 
 "Come bless me, Morning, in my little bed." 
 
 When Morning stoop'd to pay the want'd due, 
 She drop'd, from her heart, a jewel rich and 
 rare — 
 A jewel wrap'd in rays of golden hue: 
 
 And Morning said, "Fair one, this jewel 
 
 wear; 
 'Twill ever be your truest, best defense; 
 It is Modesty rob'd in Innocence." 
 
 George H. Walser. 
 
THE HOME OF OUE CHILDHOOD. 
 
 The home of our childhood! ah, could it receive 
 
 All its children, if but for a day! 
 Could the hours as of old, on their fleet wings 
 of gold, 
 
 Bring the joys they have borne far away! 
 
 The dew of the morn ne'er returns to a day 
 That in summer is nearing its noon; 
 
 The scent of the rain, how we long for in vain. 
 Through a drought in the fiery June! 
 
 But echoes of voices come back to me now. 
 As the perfumes dead roses have left; 
 
 The false horoscope dims the vision of hope, 
 But tie boy-heart is not all bereft. 
 
 Mysterious whispers in solitude heard. 
 Or the sight of a wild woodland flower. 
 
 The clear rhythmic fall of the waterman's call, 
 Wake the memory of some happy hour. 
 
 Once more we are running the old round of 
 sports, 
 
 That outran the swift sands of the day; 
 So vivid they seem, can it be a day-dream? 
 
 Or a vision that passes away? 
 
 123 
 
124 MISSOVBI YEKSE. 
 
 Now roaming the woods for wild jessamine 
 wreaths, 
 Building houses of pine-tops and straw, 
 Now scouring the dell for the tree-cricket's 
 shell, 
 Now forming our squadrons for war. 
 
 The orchard, just tinted with crimson and gold. 
 
 Now invites eager rivals to seize 
 On the ripest fruit, often won with dispute. 
 
 From the tops of the well-laden trees. 
 
 The pond never failed to aiford us delight: 
 There our fleet and our merchantmen lay; 
 
 There battles were won without firing a gun, 
 And rich argosies sunk out of play. 
 
 The old knotted oak, on the brow of the hill, 
 Must in loneliness shed many a tear; 
 
 Its arms are outspread, but its children are fled. 
 And its big heart is breaking, I fear. 
 
 With mosses and pebbles we decked its gray 
 roots. 
 Made love and kept house with the girls; 
 From the buttercup beds we showered their 
 heads, 
 And laughed at the tangle of curls. 
 
TEE HOME OF OUB CHILDHOOD. 125 
 
 Or gazed on the wind-driven clouds as they 
 swept 
 
 Thwart the zenith, till listless we dreamed 
 By the margent green and the silvery sheen 
 
 Of the river that sparkled and gleamed. 
 
 Each day brought its pleasures, each season 
 new joys, 
 
 Transient all but a mother's warm love. 
 Who affection outpoured and on us implored 
 
 Benedictions that come from above. 
 
 The home of our childhood, made sacred by 
 time, 
 And the dead now embalmed in our hearts! 
 I turn from its shades, from its hills and its 
 glades. 
 As a pilgrim from Mecca departs. 
 
 No need of the poet of Grasmere to sing 
 Of a glory that 's passed from the earth. 
 
 Forever has passed, yet its memories last, 
 Consecrating life's sorrow and mirth. 
 
 Vain thought, that the splendors of morning 
 may pierce 
 ThrougJi the shades of the twilight gloam, 
 But in visions of night the soul catches sight 
 Of spring-time, of boyhood, and home. 
 
 Edward A. Allen. 
 
RAIN IN WINTEE. 
 
 In the sky there is no brightness, 
 In the heart there is no lightness, 
 
 For the rain, with sodden pour, 
 Falls with melancholy sadness, 
 Eobbing earth of all the gladness 
 
 Of the brighter days of yore. 
 
 Oh, there 's naught that sounds so dreary. 
 Naught on earth makes one so weary, 
 
 On a cold, dull winter's day. 
 As the chilling rain, down-pouring, 
 Blowing, driving, whirling, roaring, 
 
 From the sky so darkly gray. 
 
 In the spring the April showers 
 Intervene with sunlit hours. 
 
 Then we gladly hail the rain; 
 But in winter, when the weather 
 And the spirit are chilled together. 
 
 To the heart it drives a pain. 
 
 Scarcely pain, 'tis something lighter; 
 Scarcely sorrow, something brighter; 
 
 Yet our mood is far from gay. 
 Droops the spirit, gloomy, dreary; 
 The constant pouring makes one weary, 
 
 On a cold, dull winter's day. 
 
 Lorena Michell WebK 
 
 126 
 
THE DREAM SHIP. 
 
 Could I but stand at the dream ship's helm, 
 As it floats through the haunted skies, 
 
 And guide her course through the airy realm 
 To where my true love lies, 
 
 I would bid the angel with the wreath of rue 
 
 To toss bright dreams and fair 
 O'er my gallant knight, so brave and true. 
 
 Peacefully slumbering there. 
 
 O angel with the wreath of rue. 
 
 In your ghostly ship you stand. 
 Wafting dreams through the ether blue 
 
 In every clime, on every land. 
 
 Then sail away in your dream ship bright. 
 Through the mystic, midnight skies; 
 
 Bring him I love sweet dreams to-night 
 Of his maid with the dreamy eyes. 
 
 Alice D. Bead. 
 
 127 
 
BY THE EIVER, ONCE AND AGAIN. 
 
 fAs two little boys were playing in the river, one was carried out 
 by the current and drowned. The gloom of the evening of the trag- 
 edy was deepened by the fruitlessness of all attempts to find the body: 
 it will rest somewhere in our great river "till the sea shall give up 
 its dead." Years after, his companion, grown to manhood, chanced 
 to come back to the spot (near Lexington, Missouri), after many wan- 
 derings. The scene came before his mind again, and his changed 
 view of it is expressed in the lines below.] 
 
 river, deep and turbid river, 
 
 Your dark waves rolling restless, resting never, 
 
 1 stood beside you long, long years ago, 
 And wept and chided you in childish woe. 
 
 Two happy-hearted boys, I and my friend, 
 Played on your banks or swam around "the 
 
 bend," 
 Until you took him from me one sad day, 
 And all life's sunshine seemed to fade away. 
 
 You dallied, river, gently with his hair. 
 You heeded not his cry nor piteous prayer, 
 You closed above his reaching, helpless hands. 
 And hid him from me in your shifting sands. 
 
 But since then, river, years and years are gone; 
 And all too well this false world I have known ; 
 The hopes and dreams that he and I had then 
 Came never true, nor can return again. 
 
 128 
 
BY THE RIVER, ONCE AND AGAIN. 129 
 
 Oh chaDging life! mysterious is the wave 
 Tbat sweeps youth's visions from before 
 Hope's grave! 
 
 heart that beat in purity and trust, 
 
 The false embittered and turned you to dust. 
 
 So, river, standing on your banks to-day, 
 
 1 chide you not for taking him away; 
 But would that in his little hands. 
 
 Clasped and at rest I were, beneath your sands. 
 
 George Wilson. 
 
 TO A PESSIMIST. 
 
 Concerning heretics you make 
 
 An argument too bare; 
 They were suspended from a stake, 
 
 Now only from a chair. 
 
 Dissenters from the standards then 
 The pious churchmen roasted; 
 
 To-day by milder-mannered men. 
 You know, they 're only toasted. 
 
 If then an age of stern Belief 
 
 Did such like deeds beget. 
 The age of Doubt, despite your grief. 
 
 May make us Christians yet. 
 
 Edward A. Allen. 
 
GOVEENOR CRITTENDEN'S SILVER 
 WEDDING. 
 
 Oh, pulsing memories, rich with years, " 
 And freighted with the fruit and bloom 
 Of garnered hopes and joys and tears, 
 With blushing bride and happy groom. 
 Come back across the flowery way! 
 Stand forth amid the brillia.nt throng. 
 And sweetly, like repeated song, 
 Renew the vows you 've kept so long, 
 On this your silver wedding day. 
 
 'Neath smiling moons and happy stars, 
 
 As wandering in the twilight gold. 
 You watched the floating silver bars 
 Of cloudlets in the days of old; 
 And lingering 'neath their hallowed ray, 
 One sought the hand so soft and fair. 
 And vows were spoke and plighted there 
 That now come back, like answered prayer. 
 On this your silver wedding day. 
 
 Amid the hushed, admiring throng. 
 You vowed in manly truth and pride, 
 
 Back in the days now gone so long, 
 To love and cherish your fair bride. 
 And, led by Love's celestial sway, 
 
 130 
 
GOV. CBITTENDEN'8 SILVER V7EDDINa. 131 
 
 Hath kept thy honored vow and truth; 
 And thy fair bride of early youth 
 Still cheers, with loving trust and truth, 
 Thy joyous silver wedding day. 
 
 Love, hallowed by the flight of years, 
 
 Hath shed its fragrance and its cheer; 
 Like roses kissed by dewy tears. 
 Your cares have even drawn you near. 
 And other lives have blessed your way. 
 Where were not, now there stand forth four, 
 And love, like fabled fairy store, 
 Divided is not less, but more. 
 
 On this your silver wedding day. 
 
 May sweet companionship and joys 
 Be thine without earth's sad alloys, 
 And fame time brightens, not destroys, 
 
 Upon thy golden wedding day. 
 And 'cross the span of ether blue. 
 
 Beyond the starry realms of time. 
 Housed with the nobly good and true. 
 In temple built by Love sublime, 
 Eenew home's circle far away. 
 Where peace and joy their banners wave. 
 And heaven restores what time once gave 
 To peopled worlds beyond the grave — 
 Dream of earth's silver wedding day. 
 
 George W. Warder. 
 
THE VANISHING ONE. 
 
 I hold her image in my heart 
 
 As memory holds a rhyme. 
 She is of Life just such a part 
 
 As of a bell it's chime. 
 She seems the vast Eternity 
 
 To which I tend, like Time. 
 
 She is the embodied Perfectness 
 To which th' Imperfect yearns. 
 
 She is the hopeless Hopefulness 
 On which all being turns ; 
 
 The ashes unto which Life's fire, 
 Glad of extinction, burns. 
 
 Her pathway sun-Mke to the west 
 
 I follow to the east. 
 Upon her smile throughout the quest, 
 
 Poor Barmecide, I feast. 
 The nearer I approach to her, 
 
 Her distance is increased. 
 
 She is within me, and without 
 
 She beckons to pursue. 
 Now she 's Belief and now she 's Doubt; 
 
 Near, false; at distance, true! 
 Death will bring her to my arms. 
 
 And shall I find she's — You? 
 
 William Marion Reedy. 
 
 132 
 
SWEETHEART OF THE LONG AGO. 
 
 Sweetheart of the long ago, 
 Little girl I used to know. 
 How I long again to be 
 Charmed with thy simplicity. 
 
 You and I have older grown, 
 Dreams have vanished, hopes have flown, 
 Times and customs grown apace 
 Place us with tho commonplace. 
 
 And the dreams that I dreamed then 
 Have been dreamed by other men; 
 We 've but shared the common lot, 
 Dreamed our dreams and then forgot. 
 
 Every heart has some romance 
 That gives way to circumstance ; 
 Every soul has known the pain 
 Of a vision seen in vain. 
 
 Yet again I long to be 
 Charmed with thy simplicity. 
 Little girl I used to know, 
 Sweetheart of the long ago. 
 
 William B. Hereford. 
 
 133 
 
IN ANSWER. 
 
 I'm dreaming to-night of realms ideal; 
 
 I 'm thinking of what I would be. 
 Sweet musings that bear me away from the 
 real 
 
 Come down from above to me. 
 
 A beautiful longing, yet undefined, 
 
 To dwell in a higher sphere; 
 Where harmony, love, and peace combined 
 
 Soothe back each rising tear. 
 
 Then gently there steals a healing balm 
 
 Into this yearning heart; 
 It comes unasked with a quieting calm 
 
 Of which earth can have no part. 
 
 And I know that God, in that tender love 
 Which marks e'en the sparrow's fall. 
 
 Has lent His presence sweet from above 
 To my soul's unconscious call. 
 
 Grace EevAtt Sharp. 
 
 134 
 
TO A DEAF LADY, 
 
 She lives amid the silence, 
 Her spirit vexed by no gross sound; 
 
 Her thoughts are shining purities 
 And unseen angels hovering round 
 Speak to her sense that words would wound. 
 
 And in her sky-pure eyes one sees 
 
 The calmness of her soul so white. 
 Does she not hear, in the stillness drowned, 
 
 The calling of my heart to-night? 
 
 The breakers of the ether-seas 
 
 That on the islM-planets pound; 
 The soft wind sighing in the trees, 
 
 The fall of ripe fruit on the ground 
 
 Of that fair garden still unfound. 
 The garden of Hesperides — 
 All these she hears, as blind feel light. 
 
 O, does she hear, my love quiet-crowned. 
 The calling of my heart to-night? 
 
 The murmur of the vanished bees 
 That swarmed above Hymettus' mound. 
 
 The long-stilled mystic cadences 
 Of Sirens in their blown hair gowned, 
 The strains of Orpheus' lyre renowned, 
 
 135 
 
136 MI 8 son KI TERSE. 
 
 The sigh that was Eurydice's — 
 Her soul hears these in its high flight, 
 
 But hears she not, like a wailing hound, 
 The calling of my heart to-night? 
 
 L'Envoi. 
 Lady, the gods on me have frowned 
 And turned to gloom all things once bright, 
 
 If thou hear'st not, in thy silence bound, 
 The calling of my heart to-night. 
 
 William Marion Reedy. 
 
 THE BRIDE OP DEATH. 
 
 Death, the ebon-crowned, had claimed her ; 
 
 White she lay, his marble bride ; 
 White the wedding-shroud about her. 
 
 White wan faces at her side. 
 
 Death had kissed the lips of ruby 
 That my own had fondly pressed — 
 
 Ebon hands among the tresses. 
 Golden tresses oft caressed. 
 
 Death, the robber, stole the splendor 
 From her jewelled, joyous eyes. 
 
 And my soul, that won and lost her. 
 Soars and seeks her in the skies. 
 
 John N. Edwards, Jr. 
 
ANE DRAP O' RAIN. 
 
 Ane braw day in April 
 
 I walkit frae the toun, 
 An' as I jeed to burnie path 
 
 A wee drap tilted doon. 
 
 "Cluds are fixed for rainin'," 
 
 Sae spak a winsome lad; 
 An' wi' a bonny blinkin' ee, 
 
 He happed me in his plaid. 
 
 In shoon sax fit standin', 
 
 I 'd no seen sic a lad — 
 I thocht it saftly to mysel' 
 
 Whiles wearin' o' his plaid. 
 
 Ane drap might be hunner,* 
 
 An' a' on me might rin; 
 Whiles in his plaid I'll tentf it nae, 
 
 Tho' blasts should blow me blin'. 
 
 Noo that laddie lo'es me, 
 
 My heart it is fu' fain, 
 An' for it a' I thankfu' am 
 
 To that ane drap o' rain. 
 
 M. W. Prewitt-Doneffhy. 
 
 ♦Hundred. 
 tTake heed. 
 
 137 
 
THERE 'S A TIME. 
 
 There 's a time when trials beset us, 
 
 When life is o'ershadowed by woe, 
 When the loved ones of yore forget us. 
 
 And the dark, dreary days come and go ; 
 When all of life that could cheer us 
 
 Has flitted away like the dawn, 
 And the friends that were once so near us — 
 
 Alas! like the seasons have gone. 
 
 Even youth, the fickle gazelle. 
 
 Has skipped to the woodlands, to play; 
 As he bounds o'er the flowery dell. 
 
 Careless and happy and gay, 
 We are left alone in our sorrow, 
 
 Still treading life's rocky pathway, 
 Dreading the dawn of the morrow. 
 
 And the cares of another day. 
 
 Toilworn, weary, forsaken. 
 
 Trembling with age, and weak. 
 The years that are gone have taken 
 
 The rose from the faded cheek. 
 The eye with its luster and brightness 
 
 Is dimmed and fading away. 
 The step has lost all its lightness. 
 
 And the hair is a somber gray. 
 
 138 
 
THERE 'S A TIME. 139 
 
 Yes, down life's tide we 're drifting, 
 
 While the tempest is raging high, 
 And the wave our bark is lifting. 
 
 Up to the starry sky. 
 From the breast of the swollen stream, 
 
 We gaze to the throne above. 
 Oh joy at last! for a sudden gleam 
 
 Eeveals that Face of Love. 
 
 Willene Marie Sphar. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 His tuneful touch made hills the silence break, 
 
 Proclaiming loud a sounding melody; 
 
 All Nature — every bird and bloom and tree 
 Bade him their deepest buried secrets take; 
 And he in flowing, glowing diction spake 
 
 Of all their beauty and their liberty. 
 
 He burst the bonds of Nature; she was free — 
 The slumberer of centuries was awake. 
 
 He sings of summer sunbeam's glowing gleam, 
 Of running brook, of prancing, dancing 
 flower, 
 Of waterfall and silent, gliding stream — 
 
 He is inspired with God's uplifting power. 
 Sweet Nature to his aid he loves to bring. 
 And of her simple beauty ever sing. 
 
 Yan Cleave W. Schweich. 
 
TIME AND 1. 
 
 Time and I were comrades gay; 
 Long we frolicked on the way, 
 While he veiled his hoary mein, 
 While he hid his sickle keen. 
 
 And I never saw his face, 
 But I dreamed he wore youth's grace ! 
 For his hand lay warm in mine, 
 Eadiance from him seemed to shine! 
 
 But there came a day serene, 
 All the earth was gold and green. 
 Time grew wroth — I know not why — 
 Snipped the blooms, as we passed by! 
 
 Afterwards, his sickle-glare 
 
 Flashed before me, everywhere! 
 
 Every seed of hope I 've sowed. 
 
 In its bloom. Time's scythe hath mowed! 
 
 Still, he keeps his hand in mine, 
 Drags me on, through shade and shine. 
 Time! You need not think I care, 
 Though you clip life's foot-paths bare! 
 
 140 
 
TIME AND I. 141 
 
 For there cometh soon a day 
 You must fling that scythe away! 
 Ay, the Patmos- angel swore, 
 "Time, itself, shall he no more!" 
 
 Lillian Kelley. 
 
 COACHING. 
 
 The musical trumpet's blast, 
 
 The sound of laughter gay ; 
 Then word to start is passed, 
 
 And the tally-ho rolls away. 
 
 Out of the city's street, 
 
 Far from the noisy throng. 
 Into the country sweet, 
 
 It rambles gaily along. 
 
 OTer the cool, green hills. 
 
 And down through the wooded dales; 
 Fragrant with daffodils. 
 
 And vocal with calling quails. 
 
 Happy each youthful face, 
 
 Merry the mirthful wits ; 
 And lo! in the footman's place, 
 
 Trumpeter Cupid sits. 
 
 Arthur Orissom. 
 
AIR CASTLES. 
 I 've built me a castle so wondrously high 
 That clouds cap its summit against the blue sky, 
 And those whom I love are all moving there 
 To the music that happiness sheds on the air. 
 Bright garlands are wreathed of the fairest of 
 
 flowers, 
 And sweetest of music beguiles the glad hours. 
 
 The faces I love are all radiant with joy. 
 
 And each heart as light as a child's with its toy; 
 
 No thorns 'mid the flowers, no serpents there 
 
 coil, 
 No anguish, no pain, no care, and no toil. 
 Oh, beautiful vision! how long wilt thou last? 
 Thou art fading e'en now — and fading so fast! 
 
 Is there naught that can save thee, O beauti- 
 ful dream, 
 From the merciless wave of Time's rapid 
 
 stream? 
 Of the earth was it born, like the earth must it 
 
 fade; 
 In heaven alone may our treasures be laid : 
 There our treasures endure forever and aye. 
 For Time can not change them nor Death take 
 away. 
 
 Mary U. Thistle. 
 
 U2 
 
ODE TO THE NIGHT. 
 
 Fair, beauteous night! we hail thy kind ap- 
 proach 
 With heart-felt joy, and longingly await 
 Thy gentle presence, with an anxious heart. 
 As timid maiden 'waits her lover's touch. 
 Thou stealest like a shadow over earth. 
 Bringing refreshing dew to glad the flowers, 
 And rest to weary man. Thy silent shades 
 Fall gratefully upon the weary world — 
 A benediction, bringing sweet repose. 
 How often man would tax his tired hands 
 Beyond their wonted strength and energy, 
 Did not thy welcome shadows gently fall. 
 Closing the labors of the toilsome day — 
 Breaking the dull monotony of care 
 Which fills some heart in every passing hour! 
 There is a grandeur in thy silent shades 
 When full-orbed moon beams in a cloudless 
 
 sky. 
 And stars, thy burning sentinels, gleam bright 
 With matchless beauty, through the quiet 
 
 hours. 
 O silent, restful night, we wait for thee, 
 And hail thy coming with a joyous heart! 
 Thy presence like a hallowed influence comes. 
 And all the cares of life glide noiselessly 
 Into the dream-land of forgetfulness. 
 
 143 
 
144 MISSOURI TERSE. 
 
 We drift so smoothly on Lethean waves, 
 Half-conscious, we exist in blissful rest 
 Upon Elysian shores until the dawn. 
 Thou comest to the poor and rich alike. 
 And e'en the beggar, wandering in the street, 
 Oft dreams himself a king, and this broad land 
 His realm, the moon his royal coronet, 
 And stars the jewels of his princely realm. 
 The rich man, burdened with his hoarded 
 
 wealth, 
 At thine approach will cast all care aside. 
 And close his weary eyes, hoping to find 
 The rest he covets, and the sweet repose 
 Beneath the shadow of thy somber wing. 
 
 Elisaleth U. McKmney. 
 
THE OLD-FASHIONED GIRL. 
 
 She 's only an "old-fashioned girl," she says, 
 
 (Is it not enough to disgrace?) 
 An "old-fashioned girl" with womanly ways, 
 
 And a winsome and womanly face; 
 A girl who is innocent, modest, and sweet, 
 
 Who is sensible, earnest, and true — 
 The kind that will surely be obsolete 
 
 In another short year or two. 
 
 She isn't ambitious for questionable fame, 
 
 She doesn't ape man in her dress, 
 She doesn't read books that have a bad name, 
 
 Nor herald her "views" in the press ; 
 She doesn't use slang, nor smoke cigarettes. 
 
 Nor loudly expound "Woman's Rights," 
 She shuns all the fads of the "fashionable sets," 
 
 And "home" is her chief of delights. 
 
 She 's only an "old-fashioned girl," you see, 
 
 And not in the least "up-to-date," 
 But she is the kind of a girl for me. 
 
 And the kind that I want for a mate. 
 I know it is very "old-fashioned" to say 
 
 Your wife is a "saint from above," — 
 But I own I am fond of her "old-fashioned" 
 way, 
 
 And proud of her "old-fashioned" love! 
 
 Arthur Grissom. 
 
 145 
 10 
 
LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 Her dear little doll lies sleeping so sweet 
 Where our darling last put her to bed, 
 
 And the dear little doll never heeds to our grief 
 That its own little mother is dead. 
 
 The dear little chair, where our darling once 
 sat, 
 Still stands in her own little room. 
 And the little chair knows not the cause of our 
 grief, 
 Knows not that we 're shrouded in gloom. 
 
 The little play-house, where her sweet laugh 
 rang out 
 When she gave a "tea party" or "ball," 
 Stands just as she left it, arranged for the 
 night. 
 Ah! we dreamed not that night would soon 
 fall. 
 
 The play-house, the doll, and the little "bye" 
 chair, 
 And the room where our darling once slept. 
 Now serve to remind us how near to our hearts 
 The dear little angel had crept. 
 
 John Meyers Paxson. 
 
THE LEGEND OF ZUNI. 
 
 [A party of topographical engineers, while making a survey of the 
 Pacific coast, came ipto the valley of the Zuni just after a terrific 
 storm had swept over the fair land. In order to appease the storm 
 and to save the people from another deluge, the Cagique, in spite of 
 the entreaties of the engineering party, ordered the most beautiful 
 maiden of the tribe to be offered as a sacrifice. The incident sug- 
 gested the following lines.] 
 
 The distant thunders roll'd afar; 
 
 The fearful lightnings fill'd the sky, 
 Hiding the face of every star 
 
 'Mid rushing tumults drawing nigh. 
 A night of gloom came o'er the dale 
 
 In which the tribe of ZuSi dwelt, 
 A stream dash'd wildly thro' the Tale 
 
 As the affrighted peons knelt, 
 
 With upraised hands, in prayer begun. 
 
 How sadly, solemnly it rose 
 To Montezuma and the sun! 
 
 The only God the Zuni knows. 
 What consternation fill'd their minds 
 
 As toward the Mesa now they fled. 
 Leaving their dying ones behind 
 
 To perish in their watery bed. 
 
 147 
 
148 MISSOURI TERSE. 
 
 The ruin'd tower, the dismal place — 
 
 Once beautiful, tradition said; 
 The home of the disbanded race, 
 
 The valley of the ZuSi dead. 
 Time passed, with his moving tread. 
 
 When o'er the Mesa they had rear'd 
 A city; but the torrent dread. 
 
 With swelling waves, need not be fear'd. 
 
 It was in autumn's sunset hour, 
 
 When the Pacific breezes stirr'd. 
 That o'er the great Zunian tower 
 
 A gentle maiden's prayer was heard 
 In supplications, sadly low, 
 
 Where before images she lay 
 Her overburden'd weight of woe. 
 
 The Cagique's orders to obey. 
 
 Who, to appease the troubled water. 
 
 That the flood come not again. 
 Offered Zuni's fairest daughter, 
 
 A child, to sacrificial reign; 
 While she, to her ill-fated doom, 
 
 Dar'd not resist her ruler's will ; 
 But calmly, in her girlish bloom, 
 
 Brought flowers to the altar still. 
 
THE LE&END OF ZVNI. 149 
 
 Where she knelt, but not alone, 
 
 Another came; of manly face, 
 With features fair and full of grace, 
 
 And bowed, too, at the imaged throne, 
 His form, of a set, sturdy cast. 
 
 Though born not of a warlike band, 
 Who roam beyond the desert vast, 
 
 Carrying fear throughout the land. 
 
 The moon grew pale with softer beam, 
 
 And fell o'er valley and o'er stream 
 Where knelt Wahoora and Waheen, 
 
 Surrounded by the chiefs in power. 
 And where the swelling waters lave, 
 
 They both were sadly, strangely bound. 
 Lo ! plunged beneath the dark, deep wave. 
 
 Their struggling forms sank deeply down. 
 Theresa J. Freeman. 
 
EUGENE FIELD. 
 
 The sweetest Western singer sleeps, 
 
 Stilled by Death's lullaby. 
 O'er Babyland a sorrow sweeps — 
 
 A gloom across the sky. 
 He did not seek the starry steeps 
 
 And windy heights of song, 
 But strolled and sang where Baby creeps 
 
 His toys and dreams among. 
 
 He coined in rhyme the age of gold, 
 
 Translated toddlers' tears 
 To music, making hearts grown cold 
 
 Warm back to happy years. 
 His heart was full as heart could hold 
 
 Of Love's own gentleness. 
 He taught sour Age to soothe, not scold; 
 
 He carolled Christ's caress. 
 
 The Laureate of the Little Ones, 
 
 The lark of Childhood's dawn. 
 The King of Quips, the Prince of Puns, 
 
 Youth's Owlglass, thou 'rt not gone! 
 E'er yet thy frolic fancy runs. 
 
 With fairies frisks its fill. 
 In days to be, 'neath senile suns, 
 
 Thy soul goes singing still. 
 
 William Marion Reedy. 
 
 150 
 
SECOND LIFE. 
 
 If I should die, dear love, and dwell apart 
 From you, who deem me fairest in your sight, 
 
 Let not my absence grieve your lonely heart. 
 Or put your happiness to sudden flight. 
 
 For if sometimes you long to feel me near, 
 To hear in words of love again my voice, 
 
 Go forth and breathe the peace in nature, dear, 
 And listen to her teachings, and rejoice. 
 
 For I shall be with you on every side, 
 You '11 recognize me in a thousand ways; 
 
 And all my beauty, that was once your pride, 
 Will still be yours, as in the old sweet days. 
 
 The yellow of my hair will live again, 
 Within the tassel of the ripening corn. 
 
 Or in the buttercup that stars the plain 
 And welcomes with the lark the coming 
 morn. 
 
 The color that was wont to grace my eyes 
 Will meet you in the violet's tender blue, 
 
 Or in the harebell, that 'neath summer skies 
 Flecks the clear landscape with its azure 
 hue. 
 
 151 
 
152 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 And if the ruby of my lips you miss, 
 Go Imeel among the poppies' scarlet bed; 
 
 And there, forgetting all sad hours, kiss 
 In tenderness their leaves so darkly red. 
 
 The restless brook will murmur oft my name, 
 The wind will sigh my wishes overhead 
 
 Among the whisp'ring trees, that nod the 
 same 
 As when of yore our days in love were wed. 
 
 Thus will I love you through all coming days, 
 
 And I will live for you through countless 
 
 years; 
 
 I '11 speak to you in summer's Junes and Mays, 
 
 The dewdrops on the grass my answering 
 
 tears. 
 
 For naught is lost ; the beauty once my dower, 
 
 The colors that of old did light my face. 
 Shall live again in blooming plant and flower, 
 That borrow from my dust their hue and 
 grace. 
 
 Minnie Mclntyre. 
 
WHITE CLOUDS. 
 
 Like clusters of lilies floating 
 O'er the depths of the April sky, 
 
 The masses of soft, white vapors 
 In twilight drift slowly by. 
 
 They catch the gleam of the sunset 
 As they pass o'er the glowing bar 
 
 That stretches along the horizon 
 Just under the evening star. 
 
 And swiftly their pearly whiteness 
 
 Dies away in a fiery red, 
 And the earth beneath grows lurid 
 
 By the crimson glow that they shed. 
 
 Till broken and massed together 
 They lie, distorted and black. 
 
 Gaunt wrecks of the day-time's glory 
 Strewn over the sunset's track. 
 
 So lives, once lovely and stainless, 
 Have drifted into the flame 
 
 Of passion and power, till ruined 
 And darkened with crime they became. 
 
 153 
 
154 MISSOURI YE BSE. 
 
 The whiteness of honor crimsoned 
 By the shame of their fatal course, 
 
 And the blaze of an untrue glory 
 Blackened by fierce remorse! 
 
 Adela Stevens-Gody. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 "Life is beautiful, life is dear !" 
 The maiden said in the spring of the year 
 When the hawthorn blooms and the plum- 
 tree 's white, 
 And the heart, with hope, beats warm and 
 light. 
 
 "Life is a burden, life is gloom !" 
 The woman thought in her lonely room; 
 Nor loTe, nor rest had cheered her way, 
 But sacrifice had marked each day. 
 
 But the maid saw clouds pass over the sun, 
 And love found the woman ere life was done. 
 For sorrow and joy must strive forever; 
 No heart holds all, for they blend together. 
 
 Grace Hewitt Sharp. 
 
THE TEMPLE OF JUSTICE. 
 
 [Dedicated to the Bench and Bar.] 
 
 There stood in Eden once, as legends tell, 
 A regal temple, bathed in heaven's own 
 light; 
 But when our happy parents sinned and fell, 
 That temple felt the ayenging curse and 
 
 blight, 
 And would have sunk in deep and endless 
 night. 
 But God in mercy had its fragments thrown 
 O'er all the earth; and now they greet our 
 sight 
 Where 'er we go, in every clime and zone ! 
 Each fragment of that temple is a precious 
 stone. 
 
 In after-ages, on Moriah's brow, 
 
 King Solomon a wondrous temple raised. 
 Built as was shown upon the mount; and now 
 
 We do not marvel that the nations gazed 
 
 Entranced, or that the Queen of Sheba 
 praised 
 The master architect; for ne'er before 
 
 Had earth's admiring millions stood amazed 
 In view of such a structure; never more, 
 Perhaps, will such a temple greet us on Time's 
 shore. 
 
 165 
 
156 MISSOURI TERSE. 
 
 But we are workmen on a temple, too, 
 A glorious temple, shielding human rights; 
 
 And if we labor as good men and true, 
 Our consciences will bring us such delights 
 As duty, faithfully performed, invites. 
 
 Then bring for this grand temple precious 
 things — 
 Sapphires and rubies, emeralds, chrysolites: 
 
 We do not build on vain imaginings; 
 
 We trace the streams of truth to their celestial 
 springs. 
 
 Through coming ages will our temple stand, 
 The grandest product of man's mind and 
 heart; 
 Its dome and spire point to the better land. 
 Its walls and towers attest the builder's art. 
 I only ask to bear an humble part 
 In fashioning the work — to have my name 
 
 Inscribed upon its walls ere I depart; 
 I ask but this, and make no other claim 
 To that which heroes bleed for, and the world 
 calls Fame. 
 
 George W. Dunn. 
 
FAITH'S TRIUMPH. 
 
 A little miss, a beam of bliss, 
 With face as sweet as a fairy's kiss, 
 With joyous cry, with spirits high. 
 One morn in June, went tripping by. 
 Her golden hair, like sunlight fair. 
 Shone lustrous through the morning air ; 
 Her deep blue eyes were summer skies. 
 In whose clear depths no clouds arise. 
 Her step was light, her smile was bright. 
 Her image charmed my rayished sight; 
 "The world is fair," I said, "the air 
 Is laden with God's love and care; 
 An angel's hand has touched the land 
 And painted beauties rich and grand ; 
 Both bird and bee, in bush and tree. 
 Are chanting heaven's own minstrelsy." 
 That morn in June passed all too soon. 
 Like notes from some entrancing tune. 
 I stood alone; the maid was gone. 
 And with her form the spell had flown. 
 
 In sun and rain I watched in vain, 
 A glimpse of her again to gain ; 
 I asked her name unknown to fame; 
 My fond hopes died ; she never came ; 
 Then I forbore; my heart was sore. 
 Would this sweet vision come no more? 
 
 157 
 
158 A11S80VRI VERSE. 
 
 One winter's morn, with hopes forlorn, 
 I saw a 'form before me borne. 
 With soft, slow pace, and solemn face, 
 They bore it to its burial-place. 
 I saw the bier and dropped a tear 
 For this fair maid who was so dear. 
 Life's shattered bowl! Death's final goal! 
 A shadow fell upon my soul. 
 "The world is dark," I said, "no spark 
 Of light to guide life's fragile bark. 
 Man's certain doom is death and gloom. 
 Is there no hope beyond the tomb? 
 Oh, why these tears, these doubts and fears? 
 Why dread the fate of coming years? 
 Day follows night. Hope's star is bright. 
 Faith rends the clouds and heaven 's in sight." 
 
 George W. Coffma/n. 
 
PSALM 133. 
 
 As softly down from Hermon flows 
 The dew on Zion's lovely hills, 
 
 New life imparts to Sharon's rose, 
 And all the land with gladness fills — 
 
 As down from Aaron's sacred head 
 
 And o'er his beard and priestly gown 
 The oil in soft effusion fled, 
 
 And filled the air with fragrance 'round- 
 So blest, so sweet the joy divine, 
 
 When brethren here in union dwell, 
 In acts of love their beauties shine, 
 
 And softest words their feelings tell. 
 
 More lasting far than Hermon's dews — 
 More sweet than Sharon's fairest rose — 
 
 More rich than odors, oils diffuse. 
 The joys that Christian love bestows. 
 
 Oh, thus may we in union love. 
 And drink its richest pleasures in. 
 
 Till borne on angels' wings above. 
 Triumphant there with Christ to reign. 
 E. M. Sydenstricker. 
 
 159 
 
SONNET ON RECEIVING A ROSEBUD. 
 
 It comes to me with words so soft and sweet 
 
 From hands of her to whom my thoughts oft 
 stray, 
 And linger, fondly linger, there to meet 
 
 The happy smiles that on her count'nance 
 play. 
 I look upon this bud, it gives a smile. 
 
 And kiss its opening petals as I could 
 The one who gave it me, and it the while 
 
 Is blushing sweet and deeply; so she would. 
 
 It speaks to me a language all its own — 
 
 It is enough, — 1 love its whispered voice, 
 For sure it is affection's cherished tone; 
 
 It moves my soul and makes my heart 
 rejoice. 
 I would requite the gift, but well I know 
 My heart she has. What more can I bestow? 
 
 John William Ellis. 
 
 160 
 
WHAT BRINGS THE YEAR? 
 
 The birth of a new year hailing, 
 With feasting, dancing, and song, 
 
 Will the music turn into wailing 
 Ere the glad new year is gone? 
 
 Thou comest with joy and singing. 
 With a step as light as the air, — 
 
 What to our hearts art thou bringing? 
 Oh, young year so laughing and fair. 
 
 Is it love, bright fortune, and glory, 
 And pathway strewn with flowers? 
 
 Or is it a tragical story 
 To finish this life of ours? 
 
 Oh, what are thy fair wings bearing, 
 That gleam in the frosty glow? 
 
 What fate for our hearts preparing? 
 How well we should like to know. 
 
 Art thou bringing for us a blessing. 
 
 Balm for our grief and fear; 
 What goal is thy treasury possessing? 
 
 What bringest thou, O Year? 
 
 Adelaide E. Yroom. 
 
 161 
 -11 
 
A PRAYER FOR CHARITY. 
 
 Open our eyes, O Lord ! We do not see 
 The languid step, the sunken cheek that cries 
 
 For food that satisfies, the silent plea 
 For sympathy. O Lord, open our eyes ! 
 
 Open our ears, O Lord ! We do not Iiear 
 The stifled sigh, foreboding sobs and tears 
 
 Of childhood orphaned by strong drink, the 
 fear 
 That haunts in sleep. O Lord, open our ears ! 
 
 Open our hands, O Lord ! We close them tight 
 In greed of selfish gain of houses, lands. 
 
 Against the widows' call for help, the right 
 Of the oppresed. O Lord, open our hands ! 
 
 Open our minds, O Lord! We do not read 
 The thoughts of God aright; the truth that 
 binds 
 
 Us back to Thee we miss, lost in a creed 
 That men devise. O Lord, open our minds! 
 
 Open our hearts, O Lord ! We do not feel 
 For others' woes; the priest within us parts 
 
 Us from the fallen on life's way — reveal 
 
 Again thy Christ! O Lord open our hearts! 
 
 Edward A. Allen. 
 
 162 
 
EEFLECTION. 
 
 A lily on the river brink 
 
 Bent down lier stately head to drink, 
 
 When lo! her loveliness was mirrored there! 
 A happy, innocent surprise 
 Looked back from her own shining eyes, 
 
 And yet she knew not her own image fair. 
 
 A moon swung o'er a rippling sea, 
 In a web of gems all silvery 
 
 That kindled down the mazy Milky Way! 
 The sun leaned out of the west to see. 
 But he never guessed — oh no, not he — 
 
 Whose flame-heat in that silver glory lay ! 
 
 A maiden by life's river stood — 
 She found its waters fair and good ! 
 And sweet with flowers of innocence and 
 truth. 
 It was her pure soul imaged there 
 That grew those perfumed blossoms rare — 
 The blossoms of her joyous, guileless youth. 
 
 Lillian Kelley. 
 
 163 
 
THE OLD HAT. 
 
 It is old and worn and faded, 
 
 There is dust on brim and crown ; 
 For the eyes beneath it shaded 
 
 Lips of Death are kissing down ! 
 On the wall I see it swinging 
 
 In the old, accustomed place; 
 Through my soul's recesses bringing 
 
 Visions of his vanished face! 
 
 Yes, 'tis old and worn and battered, 
 
 Like the one it served so well; 
 And, though rent and rudely tattered, 
 
 What a tale it seems to tell ! 
 As it hangs here mute before me, 
 Voices down the aisle of years 
 Surge and throng, resistless, o'er me. 
 Till mine eyes grow dim with tears ! 
 
 Seared his brow with age, and hoary 
 
 Were his locks of frosted hair; 
 Ah ! they told the old, old story — 
 
 Time had left his traces there! 
 As a sturdy oak, storm-riven, 
 
 Bends before the Borean blast ; 
 As a shattered hulk, wave-driven. 
 
 Wrecks upon the shore at last; 
 
THE OLD EAT. 165 
 
 So the years on solemn surges 
 Bore him to that clime away, 
 
 Where the dawn in darkness merges, 
 
 Where the shadows hover gray; 
 
 Where so many dreams have drifted. 
 Where so many hopes have flown ; 
 
 Where the pall, by Death uplifted, 
 Floats across the water's moan ! 
 
 Ah! the night's gray pinions quiver 
 
 Now across his lonely grave, 
 And the grasses bend and shiver 
 
 As a wind-luU'd ocean wave. 
 Weary hands, in peace reposing. 
 
 Folded o'er a quiet breast; 
 Shrouded eyes, no light disclosing — 
 
 Tired heart has found its rest! 
 
 And a far, dim star-beam lingers 
 
 Where the twilight glories fall: 
 And the fairy moonbeam's fingers 
 
 Touch his old hat on the wall; 
 There it hangs with mute appealing 
 
 In the old, accustomed place. 
 And across the night wind stealing 
 
 Comes again his vanished face! 
 
 J. Allen McDonald. 
 
NATURE'S LOVERS. 
 
 The hunter loves the shadowy forest drear, 
 Where wily fox and watchful turkey hide; 
 
 The limpid, bubbling spring, where timid deer 
 Drink cooling draughts, and then near by 
 abide; 
 
 With cautious step he threads the silent wood, 
 
 'Tis here he freely finds his daily food. 
 
 The sturdy farmer ploughs the fallow field, 
 
 And, trustful, sows the tiny, pregnant grain ; 
 Then sunshine, soil, and shower rich beauties 
 yield, 
 Unconscious all of labor's art or pain; 
 The conquered earth to her rude conqueror 
 
 gives 
 Reward full large and free, — and thus he lives. 
 
 The tourist seeks the perfume-breathing mead, 
 The cloud-kissed hills that give a prospect 
 wide. 
 
 The rustic lanes where browsing cattle feed, 
 And birds in chorus sing on every side; 
 
 Forgot is all the hum of busy mart, 
 
 Where joys of boyhood days delight the heart. 
 
 166 
 
NATURE'S LOVERS. 167 
 
 The artist, weary of his classic toil, 
 
 And longing for some bright, refreshing 
 scene, 
 
 Leaves far behind the dingy town's turmoil. 
 And studies Nature's ever-restful green ; 
 
 Her beauties unadorned his thoughts control, 
 
 And landscape visions cheer the aesthetic soul. 
 
 The poet, high-born seer, with instincts fine, 
 And holier sight than use or art e'er knew, 
 Discerns those nobler beauties, gifts divine. 
 That teach mankind to love the good, the 
 true; 
 With skylark notes his lyric genius sings, 
 And soars to heavenly heights on spirit wings. 
 
 8. A. Lynch. 
 
IM GRUENEN WALD. 
 
 Im griinen Wald, da well' ich gerne; 
 
 So still, so heilig ist es da; 
 1st auch das Liebste noch so feme, 
 
 Die Seele ist ihin doch so nah'. 
 
 Im griinen Wald fiihlt man recM innig, 
 Wie leicht dasHerz sich selbst genvigt, 
 
 Wie drauszen man so widersinnig 
 Mit eitlem Streben sich betriigt. 
 
 Im griinen Wald mocht' ich genesen 
 Von all' dem Treiben dieser Welt, 
 
 Da, wo noch nie ein Mensch gewesen, 
 Noch keinen Baum die Axt gefallt. 
 
 Im griinen Wald, da mocht' ich lauschen 
 Zum letzten Mai des Vogels lied, 
 
 Wenn leis' dazu die Blatter rauschen, 
 Indesz das Abendroth vergliiht. 
 
 Im grunen Wald, da mocht' ich sterben, 
 Von dichten Zweigen iiberdacht. 
 
 Wo noch kein Menschenwerk Verderben 
 Und Noth und Thranen hingebracht. 
 
 Ernst A. Zilndt. 
 
 168 
 
THE MYSTIC ANGEL, SLEEP. 
 
 Out of what dreamy land, 
 Or league of sea or shadow, 
 
 Or lakes where lilies stand. 
 Or over snows and meadow, 
 
 Cometh the tender angel. Sleep, 
 
 To those that either laugh or weep? 
 
 In all the long years fled 
 Beyond the phantom river, 
 
 No saint nor seer hath said: 
 "I saw his pinions quiver. 
 
 And heard across the silent night 
 
 His coming or his mystic flight." 
 
 Swift from some meadow bed 
 
 Of poppies, white as laces. 
 Or from the days long dead 
 
 Amid the vanished faces. 
 May be he mounts the dusky sky 
 Where clouds of fading scarlet lie. 
 
 But all we ever know. 
 
 When once his spell hath bound us, 
 And sleeping soft and low. 
 
 The world is lost around us. 
 Comes in the rosy tide of dreams 
 As sweet as lilies over streams. 
 
 169 
 
170 MISSOURI YE BSE. 
 
 For, when the morning gates. 
 
 Swing back in silver glory, 
 This angel never waits 
 
 To hear our drowsy story, 
 Whether the morrow comes again 
 In splendid rapture or in pain. 
 
 Enough to us that he 
 
 From poppy bed or meadow, 
 Or from some league of sea, 
 
 Hath brought through dusk and shadow 
 That sweetest gift of those that weep 
 Or laugh — the blessed balm of sleep. 
 
 George W. Ferrel. 
 
 PANSIES. 
 
 [Lines sent with a basket of pansies to a bride.] 
 
 "There 's pansies — that 's for thoughts." 
 "Thoughts and remembrance fitted." 
 
 Ophelia and Laertes, in "Hamlet'^ 
 
 Where other gifts are rare and fine, 
 I bring the thought-flower to thy shrine: 
 Pansies, that smile with shy surprise, 
 And mystic-sweet, like lovers' eyes ! 
 So from their velvet opal tints 
 Interpret happy bridal hints ; 
 And find a wish, that fair as these 
 May be thy moments of "heart's-ease." 
 Cora M. Stockton. 
 
AT THE GATE. 
 
 October 's standing near the side 
 
 Of yonder eastern gate, 
 Clad like an oriental bride 
 
 In purple state. 
 
 Within her arms she bears a sheaf 
 
 Of russet and of gold — 
 Love's tribute of a faded leaf 
 
 From forests old. 
 
 "Farewell to these September eves," 
 
 The golden goddess sings; 
 Her voice is like the whispering leaves, 
 
 The murmuring of wings. 
 
 "Farewell! I'll lay upon these tombs 
 A wreath of withered flowers; 
 
 The dead can take no note of blooms 
 Or banished hours. 
 
 "They sleep, nor see the radiant rose 
 
 Nor singing birds o'erhead — 
 The troubled heart hath found repose, 
 
 And grief is dead." 
 
 171 
 
172 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 Then let the golden goddess glide 
 Through yonder eastern gate, 
 
 Clad like some sensuous Syrian bride, 
 Symbolical of fate. 
 
 George W. Ferrel. 
 
 MISSOURI. 
 
 Know you the land where the "Big Muddy" 
 
 flows. 
 The land where the sun in his full splendor 
 
 glows; 
 Where Spring cometh early and scattereth her 
 
 flowers. 
 And Summer stays idling through long golden 
 
 hours; 
 Where Autumn pours out her full wealth o'er 
 
 the land. 
 And Winter grows mild as he gives you his 
 
 hand? 
 'Tis the State of Missouri. An empire she 
 
 stands. 
 Like a gem in the midst of that crown of all 
 
 lands; 
 Like a tower of strength with its battlements 
 
 sound, 
 She stands midst the States that encircle her 
 
 round; 
 
MISSOURI. 173 
 
 Like a goddess she moves midst her sisters so 
 
 fair, 
 And in beauty and strength few with her can 
 
 compare. 
 
 We love our great land, that Republic of States, 
 Whose triumphs the whole world with wonder 
 
 awaits. 
 She is teaching the nations the lesson of peace. 
 That nations by friendship their glory increase, 
 That all men are brothers, and each has a part 
 In the wealth that abounds through perfection 
 
 of art. 
 Oh, grand is our country and strong is each 
 
 State, 
 Each one is an empire with destiny great; 
 But first midst those empires Missouri will 
 
 stand, 
 And still will her honor and glory expand. 
 
 Her race just begun, oh, who can foresee 
 The strides she will make in the years that 
 
 shall be? 
 Her resources scarce touched the long years 
 
 will unfold, 
 And then will her power and wealth be untold. 
 On the flag as it floats o'er the land or the sea, 
 Midst the stars that shine there, not a brighter 
 
 will be 
 
174 MISSOURI VERSE. 
 
 Than that of Missouri, who stands in her place, 
 And with confidence turns to the future her 
 
 face; 
 And the circle of States, as they watch her 
 
 move on 
 With her head in the day, like a mountain at 
 
 dawn. 
 Her motto will catch, and respond to her call, — 
 "United we stand, divided we fall." 
 
 M. L. Hoffman. 
 
a.i^f»e:;]N[idi:x;. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES. 
 
 MISS SUSAN ALEXANDER was born at Pioche, 
 Nevada, in 1876, and came with her parents to 
 Missouri in 1883. She is, at present, a student at the 
 University of Missouri. Her verses have appeared in 
 The Argus and other University publications. 
 
 EDWAKD ARCHIBALD ALLEN was born in 
 Virginia, and educated at Doctor Gessner Harrison's 
 Classical School and University of Virginia. He 
 was professor of English and modern languages in 
 Central College, Fayette, Missouri, from 1881 to 1885. 
 Since 1885 he has been professor of English language 
 and literature in the University of Missouri. 
 
 LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN, "Sangamon," was 
 born in St. Louis, Missouri, 1854; graduated at Wasli- 
 ington University, 1878; and prepared for the minis- 
 try at Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, 
 New Jersey. Since 1889 he has had charge of the 
 South Park Presbyterian Church at Newark, New 
 Jersey. Doctor Allen's verses have from time to time 
 been published in The Independent, and other periodi- 
 cals. In December, 1895, he won the $1,000 prize 
 
 175 
 
176 APPENDIX. 
 
 offered by the New York Herald for the best epic poem 
 based upon some episode in American history. The 
 subject of the poem, which has been published in book 
 form, is Abraham Lincoln; The Star of Sangamon. Doc- 
 tor Allen still claims to be a Missourian; in a recent 
 letter he says, "I hold in high esteem and love my 
 native State and birthplace, St. Louis, and my alma 
 mater, Washington University." 
 
 MISS JESSIE ANDIS was born in Atchison 
 County, Missouri, August 12, 1878. She graduated 
 at the High School, Tarkio, Missouri, 1896. 
 
 CTjAKENCE ELLSWORTH ARBUCKLE was 
 born in Hendricks County, Indiana, September 25, 
 1871. When six years of age, he went with his par- 
 ents to Wichita, ICansas; and a few years later re- 
 moved to Aix, Webster County, Missouri, where he 
 is now living. 
 
 JOHN JAY BAILEY was born in New York City, 
 September 15, 1833; and married, April 15, 1858, Miss 
 Mary Frances, daughter of Ex-Governor Thomas 
 Ford, of Illinois. He was librarian of the Public 
 School Library, St. Louis, 1865-1877; and actuary of 
 the Mercantile Library, St. Louis, 1889-1891. Since 
 that time, he has been engaged in commercial business 
 in St. Louis. Besides his numerous short pieces in 
 verse, he wrote a long one entitled Art, which was 
 read before the St. Louis Art Society, October 30, 1874, 
 and was afterwards printed in book form. 
 
 WILLIAM CLARK BARNARD was born near 
 Cincinnati, Ohio, June 30, 1870. When a child he was 
 taken by his parents to Oregon, where he spent the 
 greater part of his boyhood. Later he came to Mis- 
 souri; received his literary education at the Neosho 
 
APPENDIX. 177 
 
 High School; and graduated from the Marion Sims 
 College of Medicine, 1897. 
 
 NATHANIEL MOETON BASKBTT was born in 
 St. Louis, Missouri, April 5, 1853; and received the 
 greater part of his literary education in the St. Louis 
 Public Schools. He graduated at the Missouri Medi- 
 cal College, St. Louis, 1876. He was coroner of Kan- 
 dolph County, Missouri, 1880-1884; editor of St. Louis 
 Medical Advance, 1889-1890; and State Senator from 
 the Ninth Missouri District, 1892-1896. Doctor Bask- 
 ett published a volume of verse, Visions of Fancy, 
 1884. 
 
 MISS HATTIE E. BATTSON was born near Troy, 
 Missouri, 1865. She received her preparatory educa- 
 tion at Edward's High School, Troy; graduated at St. 
 Charles College, St. Charles, Missouri, 1894; and 
 taught English literature at St. Charles College the 
 following year. Miss Battson Is now living at Pal- 
 myra, Missouri. Her book of verse. Dust or Diamonds, 
 was published in 1886. 
 
 MRS. MARY J. BENTON was born at CamlUus, 
 New York, and educated at Bed Creek Seminary, New 
 York. Since 1890 she has been residing in Kansas 
 City, Missouri, where she has been a regular con- 
 tributor to local papers. Her verses have been 
 used by papers in Kansas, Michigan, and New York. 
 
 MARY BRYANT is a native of Virginia. She was, 
 for several years, teacher of English literature at Cen- 
 tral College, Lexington, Missouri. A collection of her 
 verses in a volume entitled Fantasma appeared in 1879. 
 
 WILLIAM VINCENT BYARS was born in Cov- 
 ington, Tennessee, June 25, 1857, where, under his 
 father's instruction, he received a classical education. 
 He came to Missouri in 1879. After working for a 
 — 12 
 
178 APPENDIX. 
 
 short time with the St. Louis Dally Times and Evening 
 Chronicle, he became one of the leading editorial writ- 
 ers for the RepuUic, and remained with that paper 
 until he removed East In 1893. He Is now a resident 
 of South Orange, New Jersey, where he Is engaged In 
 newspaper and literary worls;, but still claims Kirk- 
 wood, Missouri, as his home. His Studies in Verse, an 
 occasional periodical, began to appear In St. Louis in 
 1892. Since then they have been published in book 
 form at the rate of about one number a year. 
 
 WILLIAM HAMILTON CLINE was born In 
 Upper Sandusky, Ohio, December 24, 1868. He at- 
 tended the ward schools In Cleveland, Ohio; came to 
 Kansas City, Missouri, 1880; attended the Central 
 High School, Kansas City, until 1883. Since 1885 he 
 has been connected with the Kansas City Times. Mr. 
 Cline's verses have been widely copied by Eastern 
 publications. 
 
 MISS ELIZABETH DRAKE COBB was born at 
 Columbus, Missouri, January 12, 1888; and was edu- 
 cated at Lexington, Missouri. She was teaching at 
 Pleasant Hill, Missouri, when she died, April 28, 1859. 
 Just before her death, she had begun to collect her 
 verses with the view of publishing a book. 
 
 MRS. MARY ADELA STEVENS-CODY was born 
 in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, January 7, 1848, and is of 
 Scotch-American descent. On her father's side she 
 claims relationship to the Scotch poet, Sir David Lynd- 
 say. Her mother was a native of Baltimore and a 
 typical Southern woman. Her parents came to St. 
 Louis in 1849 and removed to Normandy, Missouri, in 
 1857. In 1870 she graduated from the St. Louis Nor- 
 mal, and became a teacher in the St. Louis Public 
 Schools. In 1876 she married Thomas F. Cody, of 
 
APPENDIX. 179 
 
 Normandy. Her verses have been extensively used 
 by local and national publications. 
 
 GEOEGE WILLIAMSON COFFMAN was born 
 near Lancaster, Ohio, February 8, 1859. He came to 
 Missouri in 1876; received his preparatory education 
 at the Hamilton (Missouri) High School; and gradu- 
 ated from the University of Missouri in 1884, and was 
 awarded the McAnally medal for writing a poem 
 entitled Ooldsmith as a Eumorist. In 1887 he gradu- 
 ated from the Chicago Homoeopathic Medical College, 
 representing his class as valedictorian. Doctor CofC- 
 man is at present practicing his chosen profession at 
 Garden City, Kansas. 
 
 MRS. MARTHA W. PREWITT - DONBGHT, 
 daughter of Robert T. Prewitt, was born at Fayette, 
 Missouri, November 24, 1853. She was educated at 
 Howard-Payne and Central Colleges, Fayette; and 
 afterwards studied in New York City. She taught at 
 Howard-Payne College; St. James Academy, Macon 
 City; and the State Normal, Kirksville. In 1882 she 
 was married to Alexander Doneghy, a lawyer at 
 Kirksville. Since then she has made Kirksville her 
 home; and from time to time her verses have appeared 
 in various papers and magazines. She is, at present, 
 editing The Norns, a journal to which only women 
 contribute. 
 
 MRS. ANNIE A. STEVBNS-DUGAN, "May Myr- 
 tle," was born in Scottsville, Pennsylvania, 1844. She 
 removed to Sedalia, Missouri, 1866; and was married 
 to George E. Dugan in 1870. Mrs. Dugan has written 
 verse for various newspapers and magazines; and 
 published a book of verse entitled Myrtle Leaves; and 
 a booklet, Muriel; or, Love's Sacrifice. She has ready 
 for the press a metaphysical story entitled Aileda; or, 
 The History of a Soul. 
 
180 APPENDIX. 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON DUNN was born near 
 Harrodsburg, Kentucky, October 15, 1815. He was 
 admitted to the bar in 1838; came to Missouri in 1839; 
 was appointed circuit attorney in 1861; appointed 
 judge of the fifth judicial circuit in 1848; elected to 
 the same office in 1851, 1857, and 1880. Judge Dunn 
 died at his home near Richmond, Missouri, in 1891. 
 His book of verse. Temple of Justice and other Poems, 
 was published in 1882. 
 
 JOHN N. EDWARDS, Jr., is the eldest son of 
 Major John N. Edwards, the celebrated author, sol- 
 dier, and journalist. His mother was Miss Mary 
 Virginia Plattenburg, of Dover, Missouri. He was 
 born in Kansas City, Missouri, July 9, 1872, and edu- 
 cated by the Jesuits at St. Mary's College, Kansas. 
 He has contributed verses to the Kansas City Times, 
 Lexington News, and other papers of the State. He 
 has been identified with St. Louis journalism for four 
 years, and is now connected with the St. L'ouls 
 Republic. 
 
 J. BRECKENRIDGE ELLIS was born near West 
 Ely, Missouri, February 11, 1870. He graduated from 
 Plattsburg College, Plattsburg, Missouri, 1886; and, 
 since that time, has been teaching literature in that 
 institution. He has written both prose and verse 
 which have been received favorably by the Louisville 
 Courier- Journal, and other leading papers. 
 
 JOHN WILLIAM ELLIS, A.M., Ph.D., LL.D., is a 
 native of Kentucky. He graduated at Georgetown 
 College, Georgetown, Kentucky, class of '60; and two 
 years later received, from the same college, his Mas- 
 ter's degree. He removed to St. Louis, Missouri, in 
 1869, where he practiced law until he- entered the 
 
APPENDIX. 181 
 
 teachers' profession. Since 1880 he has been presi- 
 dent of Plattsburg College, at Plattsburg, Missouri. 
 Doctor Ellis has written much for the press, and has 
 published three booklets of verse: The Life Mission, 
 Antigone, and The Song of Songs. 
 
 GEORGE W. FERREL was born in Cooper 
 County, Missouri, in 1855, and educated at the Boon- 
 ville Academy and Kemper Military Academy, Boon- 
 ville. He did reportorial and editorial work on the 
 Boonville Eagle and Advertiser; was founder and 
 editor of the Boonville Topic; was city editor of the 
 Sedalia Democrat; Bazoo, and Capital, and Springfield 
 Leader, editor of the Pleasant Hill Review, and Blax;k 
 Hills correspondent of the Chicago Mines and Omaha 
 Herald; was associated with Eugene Field as literary 
 editor of the Kansas City Times, and was, for a short 
 time, connected with the Kansas City World. Mr. 
 Ferrel read the annual poem before the Missouri 
 Press Association at three meetings. He is now asso- 
 ciate editor of the Sedalia Sentinel. 
 
 EUGENE FIELD was born in St. Louis, Missouri, 
 September 2, 1850. When seven years old he was 
 taken to Amherst, Massachusetts, where he remained 
 for thirteen years under the charge of his foster- 
 mother. Miss Mary Field French. He attended Wil- 
 liams College, 1868; Knox College, Galesburg, Illinois, 
 1869; and the University of Missouri, 1871. In 1872 
 he visited Europe; and on his return became reporter 
 for the St. Louis Journal. He married Miss Julia 
 Comstock, of St. Joseph, Missouri, October 6, 1873. 
 In 1875-6 he was city editor of the St. Joseph (Mo.) 
 Gazette; later editorial writer on the St. Louis Journal. 
 In 1880, he was on the staff of the Kansas City Times, 
 
182 APPENDIX. 
 
 but left that paper in 1881 to become managing editor 
 of the Denver Tribune. August 13, 1883, he accepted 
 a position on the editorial staff of the Chicago Morning 
 News (now the Record), and remained in connection 
 with that paper until his death, November 4, 1895. 
 His celebrated poem, Christmas Treasures, was written 
 when he was connected with the St. Louis Journal; 
 and The Little Peach, when he was with the Kansas 
 City Times. 
 
 MES. THEEESA J. ELDEIDGE FREEMAN was 
 born and educated at Paris, Kentuclty; married at the 
 age of seventeen to Mr. William Freeman, a lawyer; 
 removed to Louisiana, where she remained until the 
 death of her husband, 1857. Since that time Mrs. 
 Freeman has lived in St. Louis, Missouri. Her verses 
 have been widely copied by leading papers and maga- 
 zines. Several of her stories have appeared in book 
 form. Huntington; or. Scenes of Real Life, 1890, is her 
 latest production. 
 
 E. E. LEE GIBSON was born at Steelville, Mis- 
 souri, January 14, 1864. He was educated in the pub- 
 lic schools of his native town and the Naval Academy, 
 Annapolis, Maryland. Mr. Gibson is, at present, a 
 clerk in the Health Department, St. Louis. With him 
 verse-writing is a pleasure and a pastime. His book- 
 lets. Mineral Blossom, Sonnets, . and Indian Legend and 
 other Poems, which were printed for private distribu- 
 tion, contain his choice verses. 
 
 JAMES F. GORE was born in Fremont County, 
 Iowa, November 15, 1872. He has spent the greater 
 part of his life in Atchison County, Missouri. He 
 graduated at Tarkio College, Tarkio, Missouri, 1897. 
 While attending school Mr. Gore took an active inter- 
 
APPENDIX. 183 
 
 est in his college paper, The Plianix; won several prizes 
 In oratory and debate; and, in connection with Mr. E. 
 B. Stevens, a fellow-student, issued a booklet of verse 
 entitled College Deliriums. 
 
 WILLIAM EMORY GEIFFITH was born at Mem- 
 phis, Missouri, February 15, 1876. Since 1888 be has 
 made Kansas City his home. For several years he has 
 been engaged in journalism and literary work. He is, 
 at present, collecting and revising his verses with the 
 view of publishing them in book form. 
 
 ARTHUR GRISSOM was born in Payson, Illinois, 
 January 21, 1869. He graduated at Woodland College, 
 Independence, Missouri, in 1887, and immediately 
 adopted the literary profession. His verses have ap- 
 peared in most of the New York periodicals and mag- 
 azines. In 1894, when the editor of the Midland 
 MontJily, Des Moines, Iowa, offered a prize for the best 
 original poem submitted to his magazine, the prize 
 was awarded to Mr. Grissom for his poem. To a But- 
 terfly. Many of his lighter verses that have appeared 
 in Life, Truth, Vogue, and similar publications, Have 
 recently been collected and pubUshed in book form in 
 a volume entitled Becmx and Belles. He is, at present, 
 engaged in literary work in New York City. 
 
 FRANK S. HASTINGS was born at Leavenworth, 
 Kansas, in 1860, and educated at Notre Dame Univer- 
 sity and the University of Michigan. He has been 
 connected with the executive department of the 
 Armour Packing Company, Kansas City, for the past 
 ten years. His literary work has been confined to 
 leisure hours, and is what he chooses to term random 
 thoughts for his own amusement. 
 
184 APPENDIX. 
 
 WILLIAM RICHARD HEREFORD, "Maroellus 
 Bafferty," was born in St. Joseph, Missouri, February 
 2, 1871. He receiyed his literary education at Ran- 
 dolph-Macon College. After several years of active 
 work with the Kansas City papers, he went to Har- 
 vard University and took the course in law, and was 
 admitted to the bar at Independence, Missouri, in 
 1894. In 1895 he was appointed Secretary of the 
 Legation at Berne, Switzerland, by Minister J. L. Peak. 
 His verses have been received by the Kansas City 
 papers. New York Recorder and Sun, Harvard Lam- 
 poon, Puck, Judge, The Dramatic Mirror, Harper's and 
 Munsey's Magazines. 
 
 MARTIN LUTHER HOFFMAN was born near 
 Auburn, Indiana, August 26, 1859; graduated from the 
 University of Indiana, 1885; taught two years in the 
 High School, Indianapolis, Indiana, and five years in 
 the Central High School, Minneapolis, Minnesota; and 
 studied mathematics at Cornell University one year. 
 In 1895 he came to Richmond, Missouri, and taught 
 mathematics at Woodson Institute one year. While 
 teaching at Woodson Institute he had printed, for 
 private distribution, a booklet of verses, entitled 
 St. Helena and other Poems. Mr. Hoffman is, at pres- 
 ent, instructor of mathematics in the University of 
 Indiana. 
 
 HORACE A. HUTCHISON was born in Howard 
 County, Missouri, November 24, 1833, and educated 
 at the Kemper Family School, Boonville, Missouri. 
 Mr. Hutchison was, for many years, an active news- 
 paper man. He is, at present, practicing law at Boon- 
 ville. A collection of his verses, under the title of 
 Old Nick Abroad and other Poems, appeared in 1895. 
 
APPENDIX. 185 
 
 MISS BERTHA MAY IVORY was born in St. 
 Louis, Missouri, November 20, 1866, and educated at 
 the convent of the Sacred Heart in her native city. 
 Her verses vrere used by Frank Leslies Magazine, The 
 Home Journal, Picayune, Woman's Tribune, and other 
 publications in St. Louis, Chicago, and New York. 
 Her book of verse, A Cluster of Roses, appeared in 
 1895. She died at her home in St. Louis, October 16, 
 1892. 
 
 MRS. LILLIAN KELLEY was born in Saline 
 County, Missouri, 1856; educated in private schools; 
 and married in 1875 to G. B. Kelley, editor Moberly 
 (Mo.) Monitor. She has spent all her married life in 
 Moberly. Her book, entitled Verses, is dedicated to 
 her only child, a boy, born in 1882. Mrs. Kelley is of 
 a retiring disposition and does not wish to be regarded 
 as an aspirant for literary honors. With Ruskin, she 
 believes that the women of whom the world never 
 hears are the women whose influence is most bene- 
 ficial to humanity. 
 
 WILLIS PERCIVAL KING was born in Ma- 
 con County, Missouri, December 21, 1839. His father 
 and mother, who were both Kentuckians, came to 
 Missouri and "settled" in Howard County in 1816. 
 The romantic circumstances that surrounded Doctor 
 King in his childhood days, while his parents were 
 "forted up," in order to prevent the depredations of 
 the Indians, peculiarly fitted him to become the author 
 of Stories of a Country Doctor. Doctor King graduated 
 at the St. Louis Medical College in 1866; and after- 
 wards studied at the Polyclinic, New York City. He 
 is, at present, surgeon at the Missouri Pacific Rail- 
 road Hospital, Kansas City. 
 
186 APPENDIX. 
 
 S. A. LYNCH was born in Madison County, Illinois, 
 August 27, 1868; and graduated at the Edwardsville 
 High School, Edwardsville, Illinois, 1883. He came 
 to Missouri in 1885; and graduated at the University 
 of Missouri, 1892. He was superintendent of the pub- 
 lic schools at California, Missouri, from September, 
 1892, to June, 1895. Since October, 1895, Mr. Lynch 
 has been taking post-graduate work in English lan- 
 guage and literature in the University of Chicago. 
 
 MES. S. A. A. McCAUSLAND (AusUn Arnold 
 MoCausland) was born December 10, 1839, at Arnold- 
 fels, the ancestral family seat of the Virginia Arnolds, 
 who trace their ancestry back to the famous Doctor 
 Thomas Arnold, of Kugby. She has lived the greater 
 part of her life at Lexington, Missouri, where, on 
 August 23, 1860, she was married to Mr. W. G. 
 McCausland. Mrs. McCausland has painted, com- 
 posed music, and written verse with no other purpose 
 than the pleasure of doing it. Her verses have ap- 
 peared from time to time in leading newspapers and 
 magazines. 
 
 WALTER A. McCAUSLAND was born in Lafay- 
 ette County, Missouri, February 17, 1859; and was 
 educated in the public schools at Lexington, Missouri, 
 He was admitted to the bar in 1889, and has since 
 been practicing law at Howard, Kansas. His verses 
 have appeared in various papers in Missouri and 
 Kansas. 
 
 JAMES ALLEN McDONALD, "Sursum," was born 
 at Richmond, Missouri, December 3, 1859; and edu- 
 cated in the public schools of his native town. Since 
 his father's death, 1890, he has been the head of the 
 firm of M. F. McDonald's Sons, Richmond, Missouri. 
 
APPENDIX. 187 
 
 In 1896 Mr. McDonald won the prize offered by the 
 Chicago Dry Goods Reporter for the best original poem 
 on the theme, For the Meroliants of the West. His verses 
 have been used extensively by local papers and by 
 leading papers in Detroit and Chicago. 
 
 MKS. MILDRED S. McFADBN, a native of Warren 
 County, Missouri, was educated at the Christian 
 School, Troy, Missouri, and the Western Educational 
 Institute, now Central Wesleyan College, at Warren- 
 ton, Missouri. Soon after the death of her husband, 
 Mr. Marshall N. McFaden, she began teaching music 
 and followed this vocation until 1892. Since that time 
 she has been on the editorial staff of the Chaperone 
 Magazine, St. Louis. Some of her best verses will be 
 published for the first time in the volume she is now 
 arranging for the publishers. 
 
 MISS MINNIE McINTYKE, "Yirginia," was born 
 in St. Louis, Missouri, 1874. She has spent most of 
 her life in Kansas City, Missouri, where she has, from 
 time to time, contributed her verses to the Kansas 
 City papers, and to Ptick, Kate Field's Washington, and 
 other Eastern publications. Miss Mclntyre is, at pres- 
 ent, assistant editor of the Horse Show Monthly,, of 
 Kansas City. 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH USTICK McKINNEY, "Olyde 
 Campiell," was born at Dover, Missouri, April 11, 
 1844; and graduated at the Dover Seminary in 1860. 
 She was married in 1866 to Mr. L. W. McKinney; and 
 has since resided at Moberly, Missouri. Mrs. McKln- 
 uey's verses have been used by local and national 
 publications. She won one of the prizes offered by 
 the Esterbrook Pen Company in 1895 for the best 
 original poem. 
 
188 APPENDIX. 
 
 JULIUS LUTHEB MARSHALL was born near 
 Lexington, Missouri, November 21, 1831; and availed 
 himself of sucli opportunities as were offered him in 
 the country schools. Mr. Marshall is a self-made man. 
 Not having an opportunity to attend college, he has 
 gained his literary education by reading standard lit- 
 erary works. He laas over four hundred volumes in 
 his private library. His verses have been widely 
 copied by the press. 
 
 MRS. MARIA USTIOK MUSICK, "EstelU," was 
 born at Dover, Missouri, February 23, 1846. While a 
 child, at school, she wrote her compositions in rhyme; 
 and "saw herself in print" at eleven years of age, 
 when some of her verses were published. In 1866 she 
 was married to John E. Musicli. She is at present liv- 
 ing in St. Louis. 
 
 G. W. OGDEN was born in Johnson County, Kan- 
 sas, 1871. He is a journalist by craft. While connect- 
 ed with the Kansas City Star, his verses often ap- 
 peared in that paper, and were copied by many other 
 national publications, such as the Chicago Inter-Ocean, 
 Chicago Post, and Overland Monfhly. 
 
 JOHN MEYERS PAXSON was born in Louisiana, 
 Missouri, December 9, 1875; and educated at Went- 
 worth Military Academy, Lexington, Missouri, and at 
 Drury College, Springfield, Missouri. He was, for 
 some time, reporter for the Kansas City Times; now 
 connected with the St. Louis Star. 
 
 WILLIAM M. PAXTON was born at Washington, 
 Kentucky, March 2, 1819; and educated at Center Col- 
 lege, Danville, Kentucky. In 1889 he removed to 
 Platte City, Missouri, where he practiced law until 
 1873. Becoming hard of hearing, at that time, he gave 
 
APPENDIX. 189 
 
 up his law practice and turned liis attention to litera- 
 ture. In 1879 he publisBed a small volume of verse. 
 In 1884 he visited his mother's relatives, the Marshalls, 
 of Kentucky, Virginia, and Maryland, and issued a 
 volume of genealogies and life-sketches of his people. 
 A second book of his verse appeared In 1887. He has 
 recently completed a large volume, embracing the 
 annals of Platte County, Missouri, with genealogies of 
 more than three thousand families. Mr. Paxton is 
 revising his verses with the view of issuing another 
 volume. 
 
 C. L. PHIFEK was born and educated at Vandalia, 
 Illinois. Mr. Phifer has been connected with the Mis- 
 souri press for thirteen years. He is at present editor 
 and owner of the Transcript, at Pacific, Missouri. Be- 
 sides his epic, Annals of tlie Earth, which was published 
 in book form, many of his verses have appeared in 
 pamphlet form. 
 
 JAMES ADDISON QUARLBS, "Dunlora," was 
 born near Boonville, Missouri, April 30, 1837. He 
 was, for twelve years, president of Elizabeth AuU 
 Seminary, Lexington, Missouri. At present he has the 
 chair of Philosophy in Washington and Lee Univer- 
 sity, Lexington, Virginia. Professor Quarles' verses 
 have appeared in leading publications, such as Louis- 
 ville Courier- Journal, St. Louis Presbyterian, Southern 
 Collegian, and Christian Observer. 
 
 MRS. ALICE D. READ was born in Hardin 
 County, Kentucky. Part of her childhood was spent 
 in St Charles, Missouri. She graduated from Beth- 
 lehem Academy, in her native State, in 1865. In 1866 
 she was married to Captain J. B. Read, and in 1870 
 removed to Nebraska, where she remained until 1886, 
 
190 APPENDIX. 
 
 when she came to Mineral Springs, Holt County, 
 Missouri. After Mr. Head's death, she went to York, 
 Nebraska, where she now resides. 
 
 WILLIAM MARION KEEDY, "Marion Reed," was 
 born in St. Louis, Missouri, December 11, 1862. He 
 was educated in the public schools, by the Christian 
 Brothers, and finally by the Jesuits of the St. Louis 
 University. He went to work on the Missouri BepuMi- 
 oan, as reporter, in 1880, and has been in the news- 
 paper business in St. Louis continuously since. He is 
 now owner and editor of the St. Louis Mirror. 
 
 MRS. CONSTANCE FAUNT LE ROY RUNCIE 
 was born in Indianapolis, Indiana, January 15, 1836. 
 She spent the greater part of her girlhood at New Har- 
 mony, Indiana; and subsequently studied at Stutt- 
 gart, Germany. In 1861 she was married to Rev. 
 James Runeie, D.D., and came to St. Joseph, Missouri, 
 in 1871, where Doctor Runeie was rector of Christ 
 Church until his death, 1889. Mrs. Runeie published, 
 in 1887, a booli of verse, entitled Poems, Dramatic and 
 Lyric. 
 
 VAN CLEAVE WHITMER SCHWBICH was born 
 in Richmond, Missouri, May 15, 1878, and has spent 
 most of his life in his native town. His verses have 
 been used by local papers. He graduated from Wood- 
 son Institute, Richmond, Missouri, June, 1897. 
 
 MISS GRACE HEWT:tT SHARP, daughter of Rev. 
 George W. Sharp, was born at KirksviUe, Missouri; 
 and educated at the State Normal in her native town. 
 Soon after graduating, Miss Sharp went to Texas and 
 taught in the Oak ClifC Academy and Sacred Heart 
 Convent, Dallas. She is now teacher of history and 
 elocution in the State Normal, and assistant editor of 
 
APPENDIX. 191 
 
 T7ie Horns, Kirksville, Missouri. Her verses have been 
 used by the Waverly Magazine, Bound TaUe, Christian 
 Herald, and other publications. 
 
 THOMAS BEBRY SMITH was born in Pike 
 County, Missouri, Deeember 7, 1850; and graduated 
 at Pritchett Institute, Glasgow, Missouri, A.B. 1873, 
 A.M. 1879. He took a special course at Yale Univer- 
 sity, 1875-76; taught in his alma mater at Glasgow, 
 State Normal at Kirksville, Carleton College, Minne- 
 sota, and since 1886 has been professor of chemistry 
 and physics in Central College, Fayette, Missouri. He 
 married Miss Emma Marvin Newland, of Kichmond, 
 Missouri, in 1877. Professor Smith published a chart, 
 "Circle of the Material Sciences," in 1880, and a text- 
 book. Studies in Nature and Language Lessons, in 1890. 
 His verses have appeared from time to time in various 
 State and national periodicals. 
 
 MISS WILLENE MARIE SPHAB was born in 
 Saline County, Missouri, March 7, 1879. She gradu- 
 ated at the Marshall High School, Marshall, Missouri, 
 1895 — the youngest member of a class of twenty-five. 
 Her verses were used by the Marshall papers before 
 she was sixteen. 
 
 MRS. CORA MITCHELL STOCKTON was born 
 at Shawaugunk, New York, in 1835; and educated at 
 Poughkeepsie, New York. She lived in Kansas City, 
 Missouri, a number of years, and was an active mem- 
 ber of the Western Authors' and Artists' Club. Her 
 book, entitled The Shanar Dancing-Girl and other Poems, 
 appeared in 1892. She is, at present, living in Kansas 
 City, Kansas. 
 
 HIBAM MASON SYDENSTRICKEB, A.M., Ph.D., 
 was born at Lewisburg, West Virginia, September 26, 
 1858; and educated at Washington and Lee University 
 
192 APPENDIX. 
 
 and Union Theological Seminary, Virginia. He took 
 post-graduate work at Chicago and Chautauqua, 
 New York, from 1885 to 1895. In 1895 he received 
 the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at Wooster, Ohio. 
 While at the University of Chicago, Doctor Syden- 
 stricker gave special attention to the Oriental lan- 
 guages. He published in 1894 a volume entitled The 
 Epic of the Orient. He is now residing at Marshall, 
 Missouri, and expects to publish soon another volume. 
 The Epic of the Apocalypse. 
 
 WILLIAM DAVID SYLVESTER was born in Han- 
 cock County, Indiana, May 2, 1867— the same county 
 in the Hoosier State where James Whitcomb Riley 
 first saw light. Mr. Sylvester has made Missouri his 
 home since 1880. Soon after coming to Missouri, he 
 attended school for a short time at Pilot Grove Col- 
 legiate Institute; and has since been engaged, a great- 
 er part of the time, in newspaper work. 
 
 MRS. MARY USTICK THISTLE, the eldest daugh- 
 ter of Charles T. and Susan E. Ustick, was born at 
 Marion, Virginia, 1838; and while an infant was 
 brought by her parents to Lafayette County, Missouri. 
 She began writing stories and verses for the Lexing- 
 ton papers at the age of fourteen. She was married 
 to John P. Thistle, of Warrensburg, in 1859, and died 
 at Columbia in 1890. The Ustick family claim rela- 
 tionship to the celebrated naturalist, John J. Audubon, 
 and the poet, John Greenleaf Whittier. 
 
 MISS ANNE TOZIER was born at North Anson, 
 Maine, July 19, 1874. She comes of sturdy Puritan 
 stock, being a descendant of the illustrious Edward 
 Rawson, secretary of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, 
 1650-1686; and counts in direct line of her ancestry. 
 
APPENDIX. 193 
 
 on her mother's side, Ralph Waldo Emerson. She 
 received her early education under private tutors, and 
 later in the schools of Kansas City, where she has 
 resided for the past ten years. Miss Tozier's verses 
 have found ready sale to Truth, Life, and like publica- 
 tions. Her forthcoming book. The Hammock Swings, 
 will contain her best verses. 
 
 FRANK TRIPLETT was born in Kentucky, 1848; 
 came to Missouri in 1860. In 1865 he went West, but 
 later went to New York City and began work as a fine 
 art auctioneer. He is, at present, living in Kansas 
 City, Missouri. His verses are used by the Kansas City 
 Times, and other city papers. 
 
 MISS ADELAIDE E. VROOM was born in Roch- 
 ester, New York; and spent her childhood in Canada. 
 In her early youth she came with her parents to 
 Missouri; and was educated at Mount Pleasant Col- 
 lege, Huntsville. Miss Vroom has contributed to 
 newspapers and magazines, and her verses have been 
 widely copied by the press. 
 
 GEORGE H. WALSER was born in Deaj-born 
 County, Illinois, May 26, 1834. He practiced law at 
 Middleport, Illinois, from 1857 to 1863. Since 1863 he 
 has lived in Missouri. He founded the town of Liberal, 
 Missouri, in 1880. Mr. Walser has published two vol- 
 umes of verse. Poems of Leisure, 1891, and The Bouquet, 
 1897. 
 
 GEORGE WOODWARD WARDER was born at 
 Richmond, Missouri, and educated in the public 
 schools at Chillicothe, and at the University of Mis- 
 souri. After teaching school and practicing law for a 
 few years, he went to Kansas City, where he made a 
 success as a large dealer in real estate. Colonel 
 
 -13 
 
194 APPENDIX, 
 
 Warder's writings, both prose and verse, have received 
 many favorable comments from critics. He has pub- 
 lished three volumes of verse: College Poems, Eden 
 Dell; or, Love's Wanderings, and Utopian Dreams and 
 Lotus Leaves. 
 
 MKS. LORENA MIOHELL WEBB, "Uttle Vio- 
 let," was born at Caruthersville, Missouri, October 8, 
 1869. She was married, May 28, 1896, to Mr. E. A. 
 Webb, editor of The Democrat, Caruthersville. Her 
 verses have been used by Missouri newspapers. 
 
 MRS. ANNA M. WEEMS was born at Natchez, 
 Mississippi; and educated at Lindenwood College, St. 
 Charles, Missouri, and at the convent of the Sacred 
 Heart, New Orleans, Louisiana. She is, at present, 
 residing at Moberly, Missouri. Her verses have ap- 
 peared in various publications in America and 
 England. 
 
 EDWIN ARTHUR WELTX was born at Canal 
 Dover, Ohio, December 5, 1853; came to Missouri in 
 1856; and graduated at the High School, St. Joseph, 
 1872. Mr. Welty is now residing at Oregon, Missouri. 
 His booli of verse, Ballads of the Bivotmc and the Border, 
 was published in 1896. 
 
 FRANK BURDETTE WILSON was born in Fre- 
 donia, New York, October 13, 1846; graduated at the 
 Fredonia Academy; came to Chicago in 1865; thence to 
 Missouri in 1872, where he has since lived. He has 
 traveled extensively in the West, and while there cor- 
 responded with newspapers, and gathered material 
 for many of his stories and verses which have since 
 appeared in The Dictator, The Old Homestead, The Great 
 Divide, and similar publications. 
 
APPENDIX. 195 
 
 GEORGE WILSON was bom near Ottumwa, Iowa, 
 October 6, 1847. At an early age he came with his 
 father to Lexington, Missouri; and was educated at 
 the Masonic College, then in Lexington. At the break- 
 ing out of the Civil War he went West, where he re- 
 mained until he was called to Lexington to succeed 
 his father as president of the Lafayette County Bank. 
 Mr. Wilson, besides writing verse and composing 
 music, has written important articles on finance, such 
 as The Principles of the Science of Money. 
 
 MISS ROSE EMMETT YOUNG was born near 
 Higginsville, Missouri, August 31, 1869; and educated 
 at Lexington, Missouri, where she lived until 1890. 
 After spending two years in Texas, she went to Chi- 
 cago to accept a position on the Medical Century. She 
 remained in Chicago four years on the stafC of the 
 MSdical Century, in the capacity of literary editor and 
 business manager. She is, at present, business man- 
 ager of the same periodical in New York City. Miss 
 Young's verses have appeared in the Chicago Tril)une, 
 and other leading papers. 
 
 ERNST ANTON ZUENDT was born at Mindel- 
 heim, Germany, and educated at the University 
 of Munich. He came to America in 1857, and 
 was for a short time connected with the Green- 
 bay Post, Greenbay, Wisconsin, and later with the 
 WestlicJien Post, St. Louis, Missouri. He taught Ger- 
 man in the public sehools at Jefferson City, Missouri, 
 from 1868 to 1876. He was connected with the Freien 
 Presse, Minneapolis, Minnesota, from 1886 to 1888. He 
 then removed to Jefferson City, Missouri, where he 
 resided until his death. May, 1897. 
 
MissouRiANS Who havb Written Books 
 AND Pamphlets of Verse. 
 
 ALLEN, LYMAN WHITNEY. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln; The Star of Sangamon, 1896. 
 BAILEY, JOHN JAY. 
 
 Art, 1875. 
 BASKETT, NATHANIEL M. 
 
 Visions of Fancy, 1884. 
 BATTSON, HATTIE E. 
 
 Dust or Diamonds, 1886. 
 BENTON, MAEY J. 
 
 An Epigram on Kansas City, 1893. 
 BLAOKWELL, R. 
 
 Original Acrostics, 1869. 
 BROOKMBYER, HENRY 0. 
 
 Foggy Night at Newport, 1860. 
 BRYANT, MARY. 
 
 Fantasma, 1879. 
 BYARS, WILLIAM VINCENT. 
 
 The Tempting of the King, 1892. 
 
 Stiulies in Terse, 1895. 
 COPE, SAMUEL W. 
 
 Songs of Praise, 1894. 
 OEEWSON, B. A. 
 
 Old Times, 1893. 
 DEWY, G. M. 
 
 Railway Spire. 
 
 What Made Us Mortal. 
 DONEGHY, M. W. PRBWITT. 
 
 The Feast of Skeletons; or. New Tear's Eve, 1891. 
 
 196 
 
APPENDIX. 197 
 
 DOEMAN, ALLEN. 
 
 Poeins, 1892. 
 DUGAN, ANNIE A. STEVENS, "Man Myrtle." 
 
 Myrtle Leaves, 1885. 
 
 Muriel; or, Love's Sacrifice, 1896. 
 DUGAN, LIZZIE, "Rosa Pearle." 
 
 An Editor's Life, 1882. 
 DUNN, GEORGE W. 
 
 Temple of Justice and other Poems, 1882. 
 ELLIS, J. W. 
 
 The Life Mission, 1876. 
 
 The Song of Songs, 1897. 
 FETTERMAN, J. 0., "Joe Sephus." 
 
 Street Musings, 1895. 
 FIELD, EUGENE. 
 
 Little Boole of Western Terse, 1889. 
 
 With Trumpet and Drum, 1892. 
 
 Echoes from the Sabine Farm, 1892. 
 
 Love Songs of Childhood, 1894. 
 
 Second Book of Terse, 1896. 
 GARRETT, THOS. ELWOOD. 
 
 The Masque of the Muses, 1885. 
 GIBSON, R. E. LEE. 
 
 An Indian Legend and other Poems. 
 
 Mineral Blossoms. 
 
 Sonnets. 
 GILDEHAUS, CHARLES, 
 
 Mneas, A Drama, 1884. 
 GORE, JAMES F. 
 
 College Deliriums, 1895. 
 GRISSOM, ARTHUR. 
 
 Beaux and Belles, 1895. 
 
198 APPENDIX. 
 
 HARLOW, VICTOR E. 
 
 The Nations and other Poems, 1894. 
 HIGGS, IRA. 
 
 The Prodigal Son, 1891. 
 HOFFMAN, M. L. 
 
 St. Helena and other Poems, 1896. 
 HUTCHISON, HORACE A. 
 
 Old Nick Abroad and other Poems, 1895. 
 IVORY, BERTHA MAY, "Antonia." 
 
 A Cluster of Roses, 1895. 
 JUSTUS, EMORY W. 
 
 Poems and Poetical Gems, 1887. 
 KELLEY, LILLIAN. 
 
 Verses, 1896. 
 KERLIN, ROBERT T. 
 
 Mainly for Myself and One or Two Others, 1S97. 
 LUTZ, JOHN HENRY. 
 
 Earnest Reflections, 1896. 
 MARTIN, L. A. 
 
 Suxter Puck and other Poems, 1895. 
 PAXTON, WILLIAM M. 
 
 Poems, 1879. 
 
 Poems, 1887. 
 
 The Tision of Narva, 1891. 
 PHIFER, C. L. 
 
 Happy Pilgrim, 1885. 
 
 Love and Law, 1889. 
 
 Wild Flowers and Voices, 1889. 
 
 Annals of the Earth, 1890. 
 PORTER, W. H. 
 
 Seven Original Poems by an Old Blind Man, 1887. 
 
APPENDIX. 199 
 
 QUAELES, JAMBS A. 
 
 A Christmas Medley. 
 REITER, MARY E. i- 
 
 Pure Gold, 1896. 
 REAVES, REBECCA MORROW. 
 
 Course of Empire and other Poems, 1886. 
 RENO, FRANK P. 
 
 Sheaf of Rhymes, 1896. 
 RICE, MARTIN. 
 
 Rural Rhymes, 1893. 
 ROWNTREE, ALFRED HENRY. 
 
 Poems and Songs on the Queen of England, 1897. 
 RUNCIE, CONSTANCE FAUNT LE ROY. 
 
 Poems, Dramatic and Lyric, 1887. 
 SANBURN, MATTHEW PIERCE. 
 
 Thoughts in Yerse, 1881. 
 SAPP, SOLON N. 
 
 Half an Hour; or. Truth in Mask, 1875. 
 SIMMONS, ANNA WILSON. 
 
 Beart WMspers, 1895. 
 STOCKTON, CORA M. 
 
 The Shanar Dandng-Girl and other Poems, 1892. 
 SYDENSTRICKBR, HIRAM MASON. 
 
 The Epic of the Orient, 1894. 
 THOMAS, L. F. 
 
 Poems, 1842. 
 THOMPSON, I. A. M. 
 
 Free Hymns. 
 TIFFANY, OLIVE E. F. 
 
 Floral Poems and Others, 1893. 
 
200 APPENDIX. 
 
 TEESCOTT, GEORGE E. 
 
 Chirps, 1895. 
 UMPHKAVILLB, ANGUS. 
 
 Missouri Lays and other Western Ditties. 
 WALSEK, GEORGE H. 
 
 Poems of Leisure, 1890. 
 
 The Bouquet, 1897. 
 WARDELL, FANNIE I. SHERRICK. 
 
 Love of Fame and other Poems. 
 
 Star Dust, 1888. 
 WARDER, GEORGE W. 
 
 College Poems, 1873. 
 
 Eden Dell; or, Love's Wandering, 1874. 
 
 Utopian Dreams and Lotus Leaves, 1885. 
 WATSON, GEORGE A. 
 
 St. Louis, 1882. 
 WELTY, EDWIN A. 
 
 Ballads of the Bivouac and the Border, 1896. 
 WILSON, WILLIAM COTTER. 
 
 Death's Prime Minister, An Allegory. 
 ZUENDT, ERNST A. 
 
 Ebie und Fluth, 1894. 
 
Mii