MAY SPENCER FARRAND. MAY SPENCER FARRAND. N 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; not 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. S. W. A PARTING. THE time drew near that our ling'ring feet The ways we had known together. 43 we shall meet again, "Heart to heart," you said, And our tears, rebellious, started; One to wander the wide world o'er, Nor peace nor contentment gaining; One to dream of the days no more, In sorrow behind remaining. And never on earth, in the ways of men, While the bonds of life shall bind us, Shall we meet, lost love, heart to heart again, And the parting lie all behind us. OUTCAST. FLAUNTING the tinsel of shame in your face, Living and trading upon her disgrace, Matron, with children who flee to your breast What if your hands were crossed dumbly in rest, Has she had ever to cheer her, and guide, Mother's affection? Looking in scorn npon all that she hath, Her degradation; Spurning the sinner, astray from the path, What wiles have lured her to falter and fall, Is there between you so mighty a wall, Is she not human? When has a hand been outstretched her to save, Not to degrade her. Erring as human she took what ye gave, What man hath made her. Turn then and scoff at the wreck if you will, (Sin-hardened features) Turn, but while scorn doth your scrutiny fill, Know that for all of her faults she is still One of God's creatures! 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. THE KEY-NOTE. SILENT and mute the harp of love is waiting, Unto its music let me list again. 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. THE SEA OF SILENCE. THE Solem sea of silence is unbroken, No wave of speech or whisper meets the ear, That stretches 'twixt our hearts, so deep and wide, Oh! sea, across thy vast expanse some message A silence deep and vast and never ending, Of no avail were pleading or resistance, The waves grew silent at the word "Farewell.” MY RELIGION. HELP to a soul in need, forgiveness, love, That tells how grand and beautiful is life. They have intoned their mighty, wordless hymn, And bright her twinkling satellites appear, The greed of gold, the form, the rule doth seem, Would turn from these to thoughts of better things. REV. OLIVER CRANE, D. D. REV. OLIVER CRANE, D. D. LIVER CRANE, clergyman, oriental scholar OLI 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. SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERSITY. SHAKESPEARE, thou hast nodded too, Any honest mind can see How absurd is much assertion, And its only valid plea Is, it was a fool's diversion To applaud adversity. Can adversity have use, When the world a nuisance votes it? Any man who, in excuse, Other than at discount quotes it, In plain English, is a goose. Tell the debtor he is blest When his property is taken, When, by poverty oppressed, Home and all must be forsaken; He will tell you, "I know best." 47 |