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MAY SPENCER FARRAND.
“Heart to heart," you said, we shall meet again,
The parting lie all behind us,
Our lips in a lingering pressure met,
And our tears, rebellious, started; With one last look in eyes dim and wet,
With a kiss and a prayer we parted. One to wander the wide world o'er,
Nor peace nor contentment gaining;
In sorrow behind remaining.
While the bonds of life shall bind us,
And the parting lie all behind us.
IN GLANCING over the columns of the press a
poem sometimes catches the eye which touches a chord long silent in the heart; a verse which remains in the memory and we wonder idly who is the writer. One perhaps unknown to fame, but singing on with as sweet and pure a note as that which ripples from the throat of some bird which warbles near our window and charms us with its melody. Among the floating poems of the press for several years past, have appeared from time to time verses from the pen of Mrs. Farrand.
May Spencer was born in Philadelphia in 1868. Her early life was passed in Chicago, where she attended school until she was eleven years of age, when she had almost finished the grammar school course. At this period her eyes became affected by study and she left school, never to return. Her mother's ill health rendered a journey to Colorado necessary, and after the mother's death the child became her father's constant companion; more of a woman than a child. At the age of fourteen years we find her in Pueblo, Colo., even then a contribu. tor to some of the leading papers of the State. Though having little school education, Mrs. Farrand's natural ability and acquisitiveness, together with her fondness for reading, have endowed her with a knowledge which many graduates of high schools do not possess. As a child her leisure was rather devoted to the perusal of books and crude attempts at verse, than to the usual pursuits of childhood. The first paper to which May Spencer was a contributor was the Denver Inter-Ocean, then owned and edited by the late Henry L. Feldwisch, who first noted and encouraged the aspirant to literary fame. From that time on her poems were printed in the Colorado and Chicago press; no always of special merit, but containing the germ of a vivid fancy, and often ascending to the plane of true poetic genius.
In 1888 Miss Spencer was married to Capt. P. E. Farrand of Denver, and is now a resident of that city.
FLAUNTING the tinsel of shame in your face,
Heeding no warning;
Pity, not scorning ?
When griefs assail them,
If you should fail them!
Has she had ever to cheer her, and guide,
For her protection?
What her temptation.
Poor sister woman;
Is she not human ?
Not to degrade her.
What man hath made her.
One of God's creatures!
The time drew near that our Jing'ring feet
Apart must their way be taking; Two hearts in passionate protest beat,
Two hearts that were nigh to breaking. The star-gemmed heavens above us shone,
We saw not the bright June weather, We only knew we must walk alone
The ways we had known together.
And in the day when all things shall be known,
By our temptation, Not by our failures and erring alone, When we stand up face to face at God's throne,
Be our salvation.
A silence deep and vast and never ending,
A mighty ocean and a waveless beach, Where even darkness pauses ere descending,
And all unknown the blessedness of speech. The waters stretch out ever into distance,
Unchanging, quiet, as beneath a spell, Of no avail were pleading or resistance,
The waves grew silent at the word "Farewell.”
SILENT and mute the harp of love is waiting,
Thy touch alone canst wake the tender strain, Set every chord by master hand vibrating;
Unto its music let me list again. Love is but sleeping, wake him from his slumbers,
Robing the present in garments of the past, Change life's low psalm to quick and happy num
bers, Over the future love's illusion cast. Then lift the cloud that o'er that future darkens;
Let the sun shine once more upon life's slope, Bring words of love unto the ear that hearkens,
Wake in my heart the olden trust and hope; From winter snows recall fair summer weather, From dark’ning shadows summon light once
more, Bring back the love that bound us once together,
Bring back the days, the happy days of yore. Tune then, with fingers strong, the tender lyre; Breathe from its strings love's sweetest dulcet
tone; Let dreams of old its melody inspire,
Wafting thy spirit back to days agone. Save by one charm the stillness is unshaken,
Thou in thy hand dost hold the magic spell; Ah, then, dear love, to sweetest music waken
All the long silence of our sad farewell.
Help to a soul in need, forgiveness, love,
glows, And bright her twinkling satellites appear, Looking above at that blue, mystic vault, How small a thing the petty aim of life, The greed of gold, the form, the rule doth seem, And the free soul, aspiring above, Would turn from these to thoughts of better things. Then come out from your shackles, mighty world; Leave your dry histories of ages past, And learn to know the present. It is fair. Leave your set praise of One, who, if He is, Is too grand, tender, great to need that praise, And prove it in your lives, not on one day, Set out apart by rule. Come out, come out, With ready hands, with love-filled, willing hearts; Scorn no poor wanderer whom faith hath scarred, For, world, your bitter thrust makes oft to bleed Some heart sojourning briefly in your paths; Come out and heal them! Not for a reward Or hope of heaven's payment, but for love Of all things human. Rise and tear them downThe stone walls that environ your religion And bind it round with iron bands of formAnd 'neath pure stars, fair skies, and angels' smiles, Dedicate your souls to truth and love.
THE SEA OF SILENCE.
The solem sea of silence is unbroken,
No wave of speech or whisper meets the ear, No message sent from you or me, no token
That I was ever loved or you were dear; No ripple on the surface of the ocean
That stretches 'twixt our hearts, so deep and wide, No sound of breakers and no sight of motion,
No slightest murmur on the quiet tide.
Send o'er thy waters as the sea-gull flies;
To break the strange solemnity that lies Above a shore where waters are unmoving,
And never sound to break the stillness heard, To say that I was loved or you were loving,
To mar the reigning calmness by a word.
REV. OLIVER CRANE, D. D.
Tell the prisoner in chains,
Sweet is his enforced confinement; He will tell you all his gains,
By subservient resignment,
To the man who, scorched by heat,
Sees his house reduced to ashes, Shakespeare's silly saw repeat.
He will tell you forty lashes On his bare back are as sweet.
LIVER CRANE, clergyman, oriental scholar
and poet, was born July 12th, 1822, in West Bloomfield, now Montclair, N. J.; graduated at Yale University in 1845 and Union Theological Seminary, New York City, in 1848. He has spent, at different periods, about nine years in the Turkish Empire, and has traveled extensively in different countries. He has been pastor of several churches in America, but since 1870 he has devoted his time largely to literary efforts. He published, in 1888, a unique translation of the Æneid of Virgil in dactylic hexameter, lineal and literal, and the following year a volume entitled “Minto and Other Poems." His varied scholarship has won for him repeated recognition, the honorary degree of M. A. having been conferred upon him by his Alma Mater in 1864, of M. D. by the Eclectic Medical College of New York City in 1867, of D. D. by the University of Wooster, Ohio, in 1880, and LL.D. by the Westminster College, of Fulton, Mo., in 1889. He was elected a corporate member of the American Oriental Society in 1865, and numerous other societies and associations since. He now lives in Boston in comparative retirement, still occupying his time in literary pursuits.
H. B. C.
Tell the soldier in the ranks,
Vain is he by glory tempted, · Victories are Fortunes blanks,
And defeat, her prize preëmpted; Scorn will be his only thanks.
Yet adversity, no doubt,
Has advantages and uses; But it somehow comes about,
That, when slipping out of nooses, Fools are in and rogues are out.
Thieves and swindlers understand
Well the secret how to use it; Its resources they command,
And, when victims would refuse it, Bring it on them underhand.