« PreviousContinue »
MAKE THY WAY MINE.
May the hand that makes the marble stand out
with life and nerve, May the hand that wields the chisel over every
sleeping curve, Not sway the severing hammer, where in lingering
love before It hath bent with fiery ardor-love that kindles
PERFECTION IN DIVISION.
Father, hold thou my hands; the way is steep,
Where next to step. Oh, stay;
Make thy way mine.
I mnst be brave and go;
If I shall fall
Take thou my hand:
I cannot, cannot see;
I own no will but thine;
Some flowers bear violet on their bosom and some
Some love a hue
Some are as white as snow,
Our eyes would ask for rest.
THE SILVER CROSS.
Some birds have gifts of song;
Others of wings so strong
Or blue, or gold; and some
Or all birds' songs said
There would be tears I know.
Some human lips part singing; some with cries;
Some eyes are blind.
And some but cling:
With such a sweet control
To rise and fly.
She laid in his hand a tangled thorn
Gifts are divided. Some hands hold
A weight of gold;
Some just a child;
God never made
The gift, God-set,
Bend down too low.
No life so high but it may stoop to take
The hand of evil-stoop to wake Some sleeping thing debased which might have slept.
But I see the green leaves trembling, and I hear
the quivering breezes sigh, Feeling that for thy transgression thou and I and all
the world must die.
Yet a spirit whispers to me that to save the world
'tis not too late, If I turn my heart against thee, sin not, and desert
thee to thy fate.
Then the fleeting years would scatter pallid autumn
lilies on thy tomb, I, thy consort, live forever, radiant with immortal
Then mayhap the great Creator would another
woman mould for me; I would twine her locks with roses, give her kisses
that I once gave thee.
ALTER MALONE was born in De Soto
County, Miss., February 10, 1866. He attended the C'niversity of Mississippi in Oxford, Miss., from the year 1883 to 1887, graduating with the degree of Bachelor of Philosophy. During his collegiate career he won a medal for elocution and was several times elected to deliver orations by the literary societies. He also edited the College Magazine for three years. While a boy of sixteen years of age, in 1882, he published in Louisville, a volume of poems of 300 pages entitled “Claribel and Other Poems." In 1885, at the age of nineteen, he published a second volume of poems through the Riverside Press, containing 315 pages and entitled “The Outcast and Other Poems." These two books are the largest volumes of verse ever composed by a minor, and it will be seen that Mr. Malone has written more in that line than any other boy with poetic aspirations. But since the author has reached more mature years, he has made no effort to perpetuate the works of his boyhood, because, on account of his inexperience, his early verses have not that polish and finish which would entitle them, in his opinion, to be classed among his representative works. Mr. Malone has just had published a new volume of poems, cissus and Other Poems (Philadelphia, 1893) which has been generally praised by critics and by the reading public, and in this volume are to be found his ablest efforts.
Mr Malone belongs to the romantic school of poets, has no tendency to the didactic or philosophic and is fond of brilliant coloring, and passionate, sensuous verbiage. He is best, probably, in descriptions of natural scenery
vivid and startling coloring.
Mr. Malone was admitted to the bar in 1887, and since then has continued to practice law in Memphis, Tenn.
H. H. McG.
But I cannot, wondrous being! for thy smiles and
wistful, pleading tears Still would follow, hunt and haunt me through the
maze of never-dying years.
Night's dim shades would find me ever lying by the
bride I could not save, And the piping birds at morning still would find
me weeping at thy grave.
Each would be a barren kingdom when, without
my queen, to rest I stole, Life eternal, bitter anguish, if I lost the idol of my
Thou hast conquered, sweet enchantress! I forsake
the fields of Paradise For thy bosom's realm of rapture and the blissful
glory of thine eyes.
It is done! I see the tiger, maddened, eyes ablaze,
come creeping hither! It is done! The birds cease singing, and our glori
ous garden bowers wither!
And “Mary” 's the soul who opes the heart's por
tals, A sweetheart, perchance, the dearest of mortals; A sister, whose soul is dowered with beauty, Or mother who lives for love and for duty.
He who hath loved hath borne a vassal's chain,
And worn the royal purple of a king;
Hath shuddered 'neath the icy Winter's sting,
Then soared o'er mountains on an eagle's wing;
A hut hath slept in, worn with wandering, And hath been lord of castle-towers in Spain. He who hath loved hath starved in beggar's cell,
Then in Aladdin's jewelled chariot driven; He hath with passion roamed a demon fell,
And had an angel's raiment to him given; His restless soul hath burned with flames of hell. And winged through ever-blooming fields of
Twas “Mary” who first wept tears of contrition, 'Twas she who was blest with God's greatest mis
sion; She stood by His cross, she saw His tomb riven, Her name shall be first on earth and in heaven.