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HARRIETTE G. PENNELL.

Abraham then his Lord believed,
And the great reward received.
So may all the souls that love him
By their faith unwavering prove him.

M'

THE BETHLEHEM SONG.

No song was ever heard,

No gladsome voice or word, Since broke o'er earth the blest primeval morn,

Like the celestial sound

That swept the air around O'er Bethlehem the night that Christ was born.

Half-dreaming by the rocks,

The shepherds watched their flocks, But woke, in wonder rapt, the song to hear,

As through the sky-roof riven,

The angel flashed from heaven, A messenger of mingled awe and fear.

ISS PENNELL is a native of Brunswick, Me.,

a town in which, until recently, she has passed all her life amid home and social surroundings the most endearing and cultivated. Her education was acquired in the district schools of Brunswick, and, as a supplement to this course of training, through private teachers. Miss Pennell's tastes from early childhood were in the direction of literary accomplishment, a field of labor in which she has met with pleasant success. Her childhood's home was close by the shore of Casco Bay, with its lovely islands and fascinating scenery, and this vision of her earliest years, with the influence it wrought upon her mind and aftections, had very much to do in shaping her future career. Her real ambition was to be a writer of verse, or rather, a singer, not only of the beautiful in nature, but of that which had to do with the heart of humanity. She has been a contributor for years to the press of the land, and her poems appearing in various papers and magazines have been widely read, and have brought her words of high praise, not only from admiring friends, but admiring strangers. She prefers a quiet life, free from the bustle of large cities, where she can be apart with nature and enjoy its beneficial and uplifting influences. At present Miss Pennell is a sojourner in Portland, Me.

G. N. L.

Fear not, the angel said,

But joyful be instead;
Tidings of gladness and delight I bring.

And not alone for you

This revelation new, O'er the whole earth the rapturous joy shall ring.

This night in swathing folds

The humble manger holds
The Lord, Messiah, Savior, born for you,

As thither ye repair

To David's city fair, That wondrous sign shall meet your eager view.

UNDER THE APPLE BLOSSOMS.

Then round the angel bright

A host in heavenly light Confirmed the truth in notes of highest praise;

Glory to God! they sang,

Peace and good will they rang,
In chorus grander than all earth-born lays.

The Lord had come to men;

The Lord will come again;
Is coming now in blest salvation's car.

Dark lands, the joy receive,

Sad souls, your burdens leave, Transfigured by the glorious Bethlehem Star.

UNDER the trees in the apple orchard

The perfumed blossoms are drifting down, And Nature is weaving with joy and beauty

Her sweetest gifts for the Maytime crown. The perfumed blossoms are drifting down;

The grass is growing and summer near; And Majorie dreams of her handsome lover

Ah, well she knows he will soon be here! The grass is growing and summer near;

There's a delicate charm in air and sky; Comes a tinkling sound in the brooklet's calling,

Like elfin music gliding by.
There's a delicate charm in air and sky;

The mocking-birds try full many a song,
That wings o'er the hills in a merrying measure,

A tumult of rapture sweet and strong. The mocking-birds try full many a song,

And Marjorie wonders if wishes are heard. Why flushes her cheek in the happy dreaming ?

And why is her soul so swiftly stirred ?

AMERICA.

O beauteous land! grown strong and great,

What varied wealth thy stores display,
From rocky shore to Golden Gate,
From icy lake to sunny bay.

-Centennial Hymn.

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ADALINE HOHF BEERY.

And one that whispereth oft: “O, place your hand in mine and live, Nurtured in warmth and love, that living brings

Supremest joy." “But ah! thou hast life's mission to fulfill,”

Answers the voice of conscience, low and still; “Within thy inmost soul heed first my claim;

Only in doubting me art thou to blame."

A

THROUGH DREAMY DAYS IN AUTUMN WOODS.

THROUGH dreamy days in autumn woods,

Along the leafy paths we strayed; 'Mong boughs o'erhung with russet vines,

Late summer sunbeams softly played Through dreamy days in autumn woods.

And here and there, above, below,

Still gleamed the colors summer wore; Æolian breezes sang to us,

Along the paths we wandered o'er, Through dreamy days in autumn woods.

DALINE HOHF was born in Hanover, Pa.,

December 20th, 1859, and removed with her parents, at the age of four years, to Maryland, where she spent her childhood days amid the rural sights and sounds along the quiet Linganore. In 1870 her family removed to Iowa, where, as a schoolgirl in her teens, she first attempted verse. A fondness for composition began its development about that time, and sketches from her pen, in the form of both poetry and prose, found their way into the local papers. She gave no particular evidence of a tendency to poetry until 1884, at which time she resided in Illinois, when the death of a friend called forth a memorial tribute, which received such commendation from personal friends as to encourage her to continue attempts at verse, and poems were frequently written by her afterward. She completed the academic course of Mt. Morris College, Illinois, in 1882, and, about six months after graduation, entered a printing-office as compositor. She worked at the case over four years, and in May, 1885, undertook the editing of The Golden Dawn, an excellent but short-lived magazine published in Huntingdon, Pa. During her work on the Dawn she gave evidence of much strength, grasping and discussing with almost masculine vigor, yet with womanly tenderness and sympathy, many of the important moral questions of the day. She also edited certain departments of several other periodicals at different times. On the 20th of June, 1888, she was married to William Beery, an instructor in vocal music, and soon after rendered him valuable assistance in compiling an excellent sacred song book, "Gospel Chimes,” by writing hymns and some music for it. Mr. and Mrs. Beery are at present happily located in Huntingdon, and Mrs. Beery is editing a child's paper known as The Young Disciple. Their family consists of one child, a son, born in February, 1891. Mrs. Beery is of mixed ancestry. Her father, Michael Hohf, was of Dutch extraction, and her mother, whose maiden name was Elizabeth Bucher, was Swiss in blood.

F. H. G.

Through dreamy days in autumn woods,

The jay's low note sounds clear and cool; Proud maples float their banners gay,

Athwart the hazy, wind-crisped pool, Through dreamy days in autumn woods.

Through dreamy days in autumn woods

We loved to linger, loved to climb The banks where sweetbrier berries grew;

Fair fruits of joyous summer time We've gathered in the autumn woods.

And where the beech leaves rustled down,

Your soulful life you gave to me;
Beside you on the mossy knoll

My spirit listened lovingly;
Sweet joys we held in autumn woods.

Again through dimmer paths I stray;

The light winds touch, the dead leaves stir; And where the ripe roseberries glow,

With muffled sounds the pheasants whirr Makes echo in the autumn woods.

A PERFECT DAY.

Through dreamy days in autumn woods

The sun looks down on branch and bough; I love to tread the same dear paths,

Though all my heart is lonely now That you are dead, yet in my dreams

Your spirit comes and answers mine, Through lonely light in autumn woods.

Out of the South, where dainty heaps of cloud

The pale blue tapestry of heaven emboss,

The warm wind blows the crimson woods across, And half-forgotten ripples tell aloud The gladness of the brooks, which float a crowd

Of leaves, like autumn navies; on the moss,

Fit couch for dreaming ease, the grave oaks toss Their acorns, and the banks in shadow shroud.

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