,/ .«J?x.: ^«/-i^»/;)>^ ^^^ , ^'^^^.>-^^ ^^^"^^^ >^-^^ '>^^f >.V' ^z- I^i* ^ ^ ^^ "% . -^^^^ s^ ^ /''■ /-^ ••>»* ^i ^^^^l :.^ -1^' "^ ""^ %,. 5>H -S I ^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ^^^a^ Shelf ■U:d6>G\6 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. -= Ife: ■>>" V^r ^, !4. ^'^ - ^; ' f// ?^^1^ - ->^^ ^^i*^C^, ■y^.. i^ ^ \ ^1 \ ^V ' -kXP^m:^^Mx: ^ "^^ti^^^ ^i-?<-:.v M "--^Tv ^'«:: ^^k *■ '/ ■• \ ' iSV X _ksi/^ V //iV ~.1^ iNi*^ ^ ^. I 1^ V '^'^]^-^^tjf<-^\^'^tA - ^^k"^^1 ^n: >^r^ ■■^'i:^-^'. Golden Gleanings, COMPRISING POEMS AND PILOSE EXTRACTS FROM THE WRITINGS y / Mf S. NEWCOMER I EUAR K.M'IUS. IOWA: IIAILV KKl'DKLItAN I'RINTINl, AND BINDINO HOUhR. 1891. .<::> COPYRIGHT, Ibigi, By M. S. newcomer. "^peface. b- yfT IS not without soiuo misiriviiiixs that the author launches this hunihU' little vohinie upon the tumultuous sea of the '^X, capricious literary world. Sensibly conscious of its many defects; fully aware of its failure to satisfy the higher poetical thirst of quickened, cultured genius; he nevertheless cherishes the fond hope that fiiend and critic may here find some wheat, gleaned from the white harvest-Held of thought. It is easier to criticise than improve what is criticised. Right or wrong, this circling swarm of hungry eagles shall not deter the author from giving this little book to the rapacity of censorship and the warm friendship of holy afi'ection. "To these young tyrants, by themselves misplaced, Combined usurpers on the throne of taste; To these, when authors bend in humble awe, And hail their voice as truth, their word as law; While these are censors, 'twould be sin to spare; AVhile such are critics, why should I forbear^ Hut yet, so near all modern worthies run, 'Tis doul)tful whom to seek or whom to shun; Nor know we when to spare, or when to strike. Our l)ards ;ind censors are so much alike." (Joi.DKN (Jlkamn(;s have l)een gathered from thirtv vears of a bus)' life. Twenty rive years of that time have been spent in the active work of the ihristian ministry, and we can there- GOLDEN GLEANINGS. fore affirm candidly and conscientiously that many of the poems found in this volume are more than ''paper bullets of the brain;" they are the birth throes of a heart, wrung with sad- ness, burdened with indignation, or leaping with joyful exul- tation. The poetry relating to the great war of the lie))ellion must be read under the mellowing, transforming light of a pro- gressive christian civilization. We now live in the ''jyolden age" of forgiveness and pardon, and the poems relating to that dark period are inserted not ''To nurse our wrath, to keep it warm," but rather to contrast these relics of hate and invective with the present grander and nobler impulses of American citi- zenship. We have but one country and one Hag. Demagogues and politicians persist in marking out sectional lines, but patriots know no more distinctively of a North and South, than the Sun shining in his strength I Hoping that hearts may l)e comforted, and lives bright- ened, by the following pages, we commend the book to the fos- tering care of the Good Father, and the loving tenderness of cherished friends. THE AUTHOE. Cedar Rapids, Iowa, March 12th, 1801. "^pel^de. gf- Heside the doorway, picking truant crumbs, A cliir})in£r l)ird is moving restlessly. With shaded eye. alert while dinner comes. Seasoning appetite with lil)erty: Abstemious to a fault with homely fare, Its largess'd freedom grows exceeding wide, When brainless winsjs are fanning foreign air. In search of food wdiich other hands supplied. Tngrudginii:!}' the generous host doth tling Tlic minute morsels, o'er the napkins spread. (Jhid that llicsc crumbs will paint a lustrous wing. Or warm some heart, beside a nestling headi So, meagre as our dainty meal may be. Perhaps some fainting dreamer here may tind. Some broken bread, beside the vast dark sea, — Some ant'hor cast within the depths of mind! Like birds we gU>an, lest life should el)b tiway, And manhood quench its torch in Lethe's spring, 'I'he skies grow starless in the golden arling night; So, slow to learn, our sluggish blood is cold, Noi' does it warm the temjiles of our art, lentil the cucli's of our lite unfold The healtii that strui: