And if a man die shall he live again? Or ever the evil day shall come When the clouds return not after the rain, Why linger longer on weary theme Of weary measures through which we grope ? At last and at least a flickering gleam Is promised, perhaps, that may lead to hope, As the magnet tells of the hidden mine, As the needle-lines cluster around the pole, The varied truths that we discern; To see that this includes the whole. Is the primal vibration we know as love, Be still, my soul, nor seek to know What thy dim sight, not darkness, hides; Thy powers may grow as we farther go, For a truth that is true to itself abides, Though long and erring thy way may be, Be sure thy Father watcheth thee. THE SILENT SYMPHONY. Where is the song that never was sung? What is the story that never was told? The changes have long ago all been rung, And the new of the newest was old of old. Over and over we carol our lays, With few to listen and fewer to praise; For we sing not now as in olden days, Yet there is a song that the poet hears That never was sung under heaven's blue dome, And it moves to the stately march of the years With the steadfast throb of the metronome. And sound for ears mortal the Song hath none, But silently speaks to the soul alone In the meaning rhythm of the isochrone, The mother-tongue of its home. But mark how it blendeth the airs of earth, With the wail of death, of the Ululu. Nancy Bixby Dinsmore Lovett. Nancy Dinsmore Bixby was born in Norridgewock, Me., March 24, 1829, receiving there a good common-school and academical education, inheriting a poetical temperament, enhanced by the fine scenic surroundings of the "old home" and the literary impulse of Maine air. In 1858 she went to reside with her prosperous brothers in California, where, in 1800, she was married to William E. Lovett, a San Francisco lawyer, who died a few years ago, leaving her to care for and complete the education of their five children. Her life has been domestic rather than literary, still, this lady has been a welcome writer to the columns of papers on the Pacific coast, as well as to those of her native State. MY OLD HOME. As by my fire I sit to-night, How busy memory brings to sight For looking back I seem to see Myself again a child, When, like a fairy-land to me, The earth as Eden smiled. Once more among familiar things As to my sight fond memory brings The dear old house where I was born, The barn, the brook, the spring, The oil-nut-trees where every morn I heard the robins sing; The orchard-hill with breezes sweet, That made my face so brown, I chased the apples down; The river where the grape-vines grew Into a perfect bower, And cherry-trees that shadows threw Across the wild sunflower; The sylvan path that led the way The path that to the hill-top led, And when beneath the summer sky The old pine woods were seen, No place unto my loving eye So fair had ever been. For deep within each shady place -The rarest mosses grew, And there the wood-flower's lovely face Each spot was like a precious gem, And dearly prized by me, And though so distant far from them, And so I sit and muse and dream Within my firelight warm, Until once more a child I seem Upon my father's farm. Amos Bixby. Amos Bixby is the son of Amasa Bixby and Fanny Weston Bixby, and the grandson of Dea. Solomon Bixby and Benjamin Weston, who were of the earliest settlers of Somerset County, Me. The home of the Bixbys and Westons was by the beautiful Kennebec. The subject of this notice was prepared for college at the Bloomfield Academy, under the tutorship of the Hon. Stephen Coburn, and was for two years a student at Waterville College, and afterwards studied law with Hon. Joseph Baker, at Augusta. While in the practice of law at Searsport, in the same State, he was married to Miss Augusta Huntington Carlisle, and to them were born four children. The family left Searsport in 1854, as members of a colony, composed mostly of New England people, to settle upon an Iowa prairie, the principal town of which was called Grinnell, in honor of the founder, the Hon. J. B. Grinnell. Moving westward again, Mr. Bixby engaged in mining in Gilpin and Boulder Counties, Col.,-settling finally in the town of Boulder, 1872, where soon after he established a newspaper, and became well known among the earlier journalists of the State. He afterwards held some offices of trust. Early in the present year, 1888, the family again took their way westward, making a home at Long Beach, a pleasant seaside resort, Los Angeles County, Cal. CENTENNIAL HYMN. WRITTEN FOR THE WESTON CELEBRATION AT MADISON, MAINE. They held the promise blest, James Clemens Chilcott was born on Ironbound Island, Frenchman's Bay, within the limits of the town of Gouldsboro', April 2, 1832, and is now in his fifty sixth year. When he was one year old, his parents moved to Sullivan, Me., where he resided until 1872. He was reared on a farm, and, with the exception of two terms at a private High School in Sullivan, and one winter at Bluehill Academy, he was educated in the district schools of Sullivan, In early life he went to sea for a short time, and three voyages to Bank Quereau, in the fisheries. At the age of nineteen years he became a teacher in the district schools, continuing in that calling for twenty years, and teaching nearly sixty terms. Enlisting in 1861, he served as a sergeant about two years in the 13th Maine Regiment, of which Neal Dow was colonel. In 1872 Mr. Chilcott was appointed Special Deputy Collector of Customs at the port of Ellsworth, an office which he held for more than thirteen years. Shortly after his appointment, he removed to Ellsworth, where he has since resided. He has served in many municipal capacities, including fifteen years on the school-board in Sullivan and Ellsworth, several terms as Chairman of the Board of Selectmen and Assessors of Sullivan, and also as an Alderman in the City of Ellsworth. For several years he was a contributor to a number of papers, including the Portland Transcript, Lewiston Journal, Machias Union, Ellsworth American, Mount Desert Herald and Phrenological Journal. Since August, 1885, he has been editor and manager of the Ellsworth American. For many years he has been an earnest temperance worker. BERTIE. My bark, launched on life's troubled sea, No steadfast needle guided me To shun the rock and sand. Temptations swerved me from my course, The breakers round me lay, And though the gale raged loud and hoarse, I saw no sheltering bay. Ambition lured me, hope beguiled With honied blandishment, When 'board my bark there came a child Of trustful, calm content, As pure as lone Siberia's snow, He came to pilot and to bless, In heart all pure, from stains all free, A source of holy joy. Ten years rolled on, the last one fled Sad day to mine and me The unreal boy lay cold and dead, The real soared lithe and free. Dead! Nay, not dead! But just begun And more than erst is he my son, A REFORM CLUB HYMN. God of the right, uphold our cause, With hearts to dare and wills to do. Our work demands no feigned applause; |