®l|^ ©abttts iiartlia ISnrlpy ^truiart ENCOMIUMS ON "THE TALENTS." The Right Reverend Samuel Fallows, D. D., writes: "The kings of men, the great captains of industry, have given them the talent of acquisition and power. It is a great gift of the Giver of All Good, to be used in the spheres of Science, of Art, of Philanthropy, of Research, of Religion; and thus used it is one of the best of the gifts of the Master of us All. Martha Morley Stewart's noble lines bring this truth home to us most forcibly." The Reverend Charles M. Stuart, President of the Garrett Biblical Institute, writes: "The teaching of "The Talents' is presented by you in attractive and memorable form. I read the poem with pleasure and with profit, and I am certain that it will arouse a quicken- ing impulse for service and a deepening sense of responsibility for the wise and fruitful use of gifts divinely bestowed." The Reverend Frederick W. Lewis, D. D., President of the College of Emporia, Kansas, writes: "You have certainly taught a beautiful lesson in 'The Talents.' I do not know a thought which needs to be impressed in our day more than this one. What a benediction it would be to the Kingdom of God if every Church could but grasp its noble idealism. I trust that the poem may sing its way into the lives of many and produce beautiful fruits of character and service." The Reverend Timothy Prescott Frost, lately Pastor of the First Methodist Church in Evanston, Illinois, writes: "I have read and reread your poem, 'The Talents,' and it has spoken to my heart." The Reverend Josiah Sibley, D. D., writes: "In your poem of 'The Talents' the Kingly Man has beautifully symbolized the truth that the use of talents in the service of others makes men great in the eyes of the Master." The Reverend Frederick F. Shannon, D. D., Minister of the Central Church in Chicago, writes: " "The Talents,' by Martha Morley Stewart, deals with a sublime subject. It is a plea for the individual and social recognition of those values which make human life worth living. The spirit of the work is devout from beginning to end, the closing lines bringing the poem to a climax in an effective and impressive "manner." O. Chester Brodhay, man of affairs, writes: "Poetry should always be written to uplift the individual, and to stimulate his thought to nobler incentives. I do not hesitate to say that you have accomplished these ends in your poem entitled 'The Talents.' " Lorado Taft, the leading Sculptor of the West, writes: "The music of your verse, the appreciation it contains of the work of the sculptor for good in the community, is still ringing in my ears. 1 thank you for bringing it to me." Albin Polasek, Head of the Department of Sculpture in the Art Institute of Chicago, writes: "It is a great pleasure to hear Martha Morley Stewart express the ideal of sculpture so beautifully in her poem entitled 'The Talents." " John Proctor Mills, Musician and Poet, writes: "In 'The Talents,' written by Martha Morley Stewart, the gifted Chicago Poet, one feels the surge of human tide upon the sea of every-day life. She has taken a palette arrayed with colors, dipped her delicate brushes into these colorful thoughts, and spread them tastefully and truthfully upon the canvas of her noble poem." Wallace Rice, poet and critic, writes: "Martha Morley Stewart's fine gnomic verses, 'The Talents,' teach a lesson it would be well for all men to heed; it is full of the beauty of rhythm and melody of phrase." F. W. Dignan, of the LaSalle Extension University, writes: "I have read with great interest the poem of 'The Talents." The idea is a most unusual one, and it is expressed in striking form and with much beauty of phrasing." n o O H H > H C/2 3 THE TALENTS BY MARTHA MORIEY STEWART ^ CHICAGO PRIVATELY PRINTED 1918 (J^tYhA^V ^ » THE TALENTS ^VIft|ITH wistful eyes an old man gazed ly^ At shifting hues, when sunset hazed In purple clouds as a vision rare. Where royal souls with the needy share. He sensed his muse, he caught his pen. He called the gift that inspires men. An Angel came, disguised in thought. Scribe and interpreter, holy taught. Together wrote a pastoral play. Where muhitudes passed on life*s highway. Its lessons brought him praises free. He touched the hearts of humanity. The Artist at his easel stands With brush and palette in his .hands. Portraying the work of a master-mind That only comes through a Gift divined. Through hours of patient work he wrought A lost production of art long sought, [5] Depicting a touching story of Man Amazing in its lifelike plan- God's own handiwork evident there. As gifted and Giver together share. The Sculptor works on an ivory pile. His task the hardest of all the while- Chiseling features idealized. Expressing life as realized: The small, arched foot, the beautiful hands. Coils of hair in wavy strands. Lips half parted to breathe a note. Shoulders aslope &om the slender throat, Pygmalion sentiments infused so rife The statue's bosom pulsed with life. High in art, the Musician came. His impassioned soul with song aflame. No pen, no brush, or chisel fine- His ladder made of sounds sublime. If he would tune his lute aright His soul must touch the infinite- His sweetest, purest songs of love Are caught from choristers above. [7] The petaled rose perfume expressed, The lily emblem, music-blessed: The whisp'ring winds and raindrops call Each other through the waterfall- Music attunes the soul of earth With the Divine who gave it birth. Through the city gate a kingly man Jostled his way yvith many a clan. Where no grass grew, for the feet of men Had paved the path where grass had been. His costly cloak by the passers-by Was often viewed with a jealous eye. Glitter and splendor and wonderment- The high road s end his one intent. The golden key and magic wand. Companions ever, in his hand. No restful hours till darkened sun, A long day's march ere his day is done. He murmured not, for the passer-by Had named him Joy-he knew not why: They whispered oft, when he drew near, Half-wonderingly, **the Financier." [9] But a murmur rose in the crowded mart: The kingly man must act his part. His quick eye searched for a kindly face'- No friendly hand in all that place. E'en while tlie crowd his way did press He felt a sense of loneliness. His soul would speak, yet his lips were mute« For he could not quell the loud dispute. Ere he had felt the last despair, A face and hand appeared, most fair. Theliand made silence: the Judge of all Stood in their midst. Obeying his call As Master, they followed where he led. The selfsame path that all shall tread. Into a palace of wondrous light. With fluted columns high and white: Beautiful paintings hung on the walls. Master-hands had wrought them all: Fabulous tapestries whose patterns told Of life's long diligence, paid with gold: Where'er the eye could look, perchance. Naught was there save elegance. The air was laden with perfume Music had brought from the flowers' bloom. [11] Fountains bubbled with Spring-like showers. Like cadenced music from woodland bowers. Song-birds warbled, and every note Harmonized with the shepherd*s flute. Happy children played all day In gardens cool, with flowers gay. Then the Master touched the kingly man. Who humbly stood amidst his clan. < His costly cloak, invisibly rent- His countenance showed a life well spent. His brow was damp, his lips showed pain. His shoes were old with travel-stain. Clothing faded from the heat of the sun Through the long days' march till his work was done. His tragic life concealed from ^en. The toll he paid was the strife within. His gift with theirs in the palace rare Was the gift of God which all will share. As the dawn of day 's like the birth of man. So night shall end his mortal span; And through one valley way must pass Life's cortege, singly or en masse. [433 But God has made one "Harbor Bar," Beyond its portals each finds his star. Tis not of silver nor of gold, Tis not some jewel, rare and old: Tis made from talents that aspire Through toil and pain and trial's fire; Through sacrifice of earthly wealth, Forgetfulness ofttimes of self; Sharing the crust and the water cup. The bruised and helpless lifting up; Feeling each pang life's sorrows bring. Till wells of sympathy upspring As living waters in thy breast. Soothing some thirsting soul to rest; Thy talents used an hundredfold-' These are thy stars, more bright than gold. [15]