LITTERATEUR AND BOOK-HUNTER
For that herself is her whole sacrifice. |
In all her life of one and seventy years |
No act of hers has caused another fears, |
No word of hers has dimmed another's eyes. |
From oft the crest I peer a-down the vale |
Toward which her feebler footsteps now descend, |
Toward which my own path must henceforward trend, |
And try through shadows to forecast the tale; |
Or looking backward to that further time |
When I was but a child, and she in prime, |
Recall her tender touch and soft caress |
And all her gentle ways and kindliness. |
In that long journey (may it lengthen yet) |
She e'er has kept within the narrow way. |
No thought of self has tempted her to stray; |
There's nothing she would have her sons forget. |
Oh, mother! if I too should reach thy age |
Like unto thine may my then written page |
Be clean and pure—may virtue be instilled, |
And every duty be as thine fulfilled. |
March 23, 1886. |
Lloyd Mifflin
The sceptre once with dread to man was fraught. |
That day has gone—the kings have lost their sway— |
The priest no longer rules but kneels to pray, |
And o'er the earth the mightiest power is thought. |
A sylvan poet bends to touch his lyre |
Where Susquehanna waters woo the isles, |
And fields of dawn grow green with nature's smiles. |
He sweeps the strings that glow with more than fire. |
In busy marts the trader stays his gain; |
The shepherd drops his crook in Arno's vales; |
Miletus waits to hear forgotten tales; |
While listening sorrow hides her inmost pain, |
The harp long mute by Scio's haunted leas |
Is swept again by classic melodies. |
Hymn
A beautiful spiritual hymn concerning Haslibacher, how he was led from life to death.
In tone “Warum betrübst du dich mein Hertz.”
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