Page:The autobiography of a Pennsylvanian.djvu/149

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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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