Thine is an honor of so vast a kind The path of perfect justice thou dost take; The baby yet unborn thy name shall hear Dropped in some tender mother's rev'rent voice. The unborn patriot shall thy name revere, And in its deathless strength for aye rejoice. The hero of a carnival of deeds Thine earthly battles all are fought and won. Our love alone thy greatness still exceeds, So sink to rest in glory-like the sun. A SIMILE. I STOOD Upon the ocean's brink at dawn In its dark breast a thousand thunderbolts Illumined. Wave on wave and fold on fold How dread, how overwhelming, and how full But when we wait, God's smile doth soon light up THE TIME FOR REST. O HAPPY bee, so heavy-laden, fly! Fly homeward in the sun's last rosy glow. O happy bird, with weary, drooping wing, The shadows gather, leave thy growing nest. Cease work while still thou hast the heart to sing; Fly to thy shady home, sweet bird, and rest. O happy mother, with unnumbered cares, Fold thy dear hands, the working hours are o'er. O man with wrinkled brow, on gain intent, OUR HARVEST YEARS. WHEN russet apples turn each bronzèd cheek When the bright world hangs out a tender haze Thus, in our human lives, those years are best, SEPTEMBER. How tenderly about earth's russet breast LYDIA HOYT FARMER. NE of the most enterprising of Ohio's public 19, 1842, to Hon. J. M. Hoyt, of Cleveland, and Mary Ella Beebe, daughter of Alexander M. Beebe, LL. D. of New York. Of such a parentage it would only be natural that Lydia Hoyt would receive the best educational advantages, and having a special fondness and aptitude for the arts, her tastes and inclinations were indulged to their fullest bent. She was born under a lucky plant, having escaped the toils and privation which is the lot of so many. Unlike many children of the wealthier class, however, she improved and made use of the talents given her, so that she is a most fitting representative of a family already numbering many illustrious names in its annals. Her husband, Hon. E. J. Farmer, of Cleveland, is the author of several works on politics and finance. For the past ten years Mrs. Farmer has contributed to the leading newspapers and magazines, on various lines: poems, essays, juvenile stories, historical sketches and novels. She is of a deeply religious nature, and endeavors to tinge all her writings with a moral as well as an amusing sentiment. She is now editing for the Woman's Department of the Columbian Exposition "What America Owes to Women," a souvenir for the National Exposition. J. W. THE SCIENCE OF LIFE. I SOUGHT to learn the cause of things; I walked through science-beaten tracts, I whispered to the lily white, I asked the proudly prancing steed, From whence its action and its speed; But still the puzzling answer came, The energy of life the same, The sunbeam's power. The science of life revealed to sight, Electric force and warmth and light, Are all the sunbeam's various ways, By which what we call life, displays Its hidden force But what this magic force called life; What is thy power, O King of Day! Then written on the sunbeams bright, In shining words of golden light, Flashed forth this answer from the sky: "All life proceeds from God on high, THE FIRST GREAT CAUSE!" THE PENALTY OF FAME. "I WOULD be great, O Lord!" in ignorance I plead. "I would some mighty task perform in this short life; I would my name were carven by Fame's keenedged knife, Upon the highest mountain-peak of human deed!" Made by the bruisèd feet, poisoned by envy's weed, "Permit me, O my God, to dwell in valleys low Of humble duties; there will I gladly serve Thee. But if the Mount of Difficulty be Thy choice, May the Love-light from Calv'ry's Cross upon me glow." IF. IF is a word born of sad human doubt; |