A lamp of life, a beacon ray, A monitory flame. The thought was small, its issue great; It shed its radiance far adown, A nameless man, amid a crowd It raised a brother from the dust, O germ! O fount! O word of love! Ye were but little at the first, But mighty at the last. Anon., N. Y. Magazine. EBEN REXFORD'S DISCHARGE It was Convention Day for the G. A. R. in the State of -(we'll say South Dakota). Eben Rexford was a prominent candidate for State Commander, but his opponents had whispered around that Eben had no discharge to show. There must be something crooked in his record. On the day of the election, Eben arose in his place and addressed the chair as follows: "Mr. Chairman,-It has been stated that I have no discharge, and as my name has been mentioned for Commander. I wish to make an explanation. It is true that I have no discharge. "When the President's call for troops reached my home in a little village back in New Hampshire, my older brother Samuel happened to be in the village that evening, and enlisted. When he got home, out on the farm a few miles, he told father and mother, and the matter was talked over. Samuel was the support of the family, father and mother being aged people, and as he understood the farm work better than I did, being only sixteen years old at that time, it was decided that Samuel should stay at home and I should go in his place. I went, and answered to his name at every roll-call all through the war. No, Mr. Chairman, I have no discharge, but Samuel has one." Eben sat down, the tears rolling down his cheeks, and there was not a dry eye in that gathering of battle-scarred veterans. He was unanimously elected Department Commander. BREAK, BREAK, BREAK Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O sea! And I would that my tongue could utter O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play: That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Alfred Tennyson. THE DOORSTEP The conference meeting through at last, Not braver he that leaps the wall Who longed to see me get the mitten. But no, she blushed and took my arm! I can't remember what we said, 'Twas nothing worth a song or story, Yet that rude path by which we sped Seemed all transformed and in a glory. The snow was crisp beneath our feet, The moon was full, the fields were gleaming; By hood and tippet sheltered sweet, Her face with youth and health was beaming. The little hand outside her muff- To keep it warm, I had to hold it. To have her with me there alone 'Twas love and fear and triumph blended, At last we reached the foot-worn stone Where that delicious journey ended. The old folks, too, were almost home; Yet on the doorstep still we lingered. She shook her ringlets from her hood, And with a "Thank you, Ned," dissembled, But yet I knew she understood With what a daring wish I trembled. A cloud passed kindly overhead, The moon was slying peeping through it, Yet hid its face, as if it said, "Come, now or never, do it, do it!" My lips till then had only known The kiss of mother and of sister, But, somehow, full upon her own Sweet, rosy, darling mouth-I kissed her! Perhaps 'twas boyish love, yet still, To feel once more that fresh wild thrill, Edmund Clarence Stedman. FOR THOSE WHO FAIL "All honor to him who shall win the prize," Give glory and honor and pitiful tears To all who fail in their deeds sublime, Their ghosts are many in the van of years, They were born with Time in advance of Time. Oh, great is the hero who wins a name, And great is the man with a sword undrawn, Joaquin Miller. NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep. I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take: Amen. |