The Highland weekly news. [volume] (Hillsborough [Hillsboro], Highland County, Ohio) 1853-1886, 1881-07-21
Ole 8tgTrIaud Syelrs,
mLLsBOROUGII. OHIO.
THURSDAY, JULY 21, 1881.
THE JOURNALIST.

THE JOURNALIST.
Mrs. Mary Clemmers Poem Before the New
York Press Association.l
Man Of the eager eyes and teeming brain
Small is the honor that men dole to thee,
They snatch the fruitage of thy years Of pain
DeyOur-yet sCOrn the tree.
What though the treasure Of thy nervous force
Thy rich vitality Of mind and heart,
Goes swiftly down before thy MOloch'5 course
Men cry; at is not art !"
The poet, daIlying with his htful muse,
On tagging Pegasus, whose halting stride
Sometimes gives out-he scorns the man q
Cries "see, we're parted wide!"
The novelist, elate, from lofty crest
OF hction's lovely palace of the air,
Looks down and sighs "Only journalist
Ny height is his despair"
The Jays minute of feebIer literature"
Who lightly chatter on its Outmost rim
Otnaught but Of their small position sure
Point scornfuly at him
The statesman smirched, with pallid malice
Or red with wrath, doth in the morning read
OF fair faith bartered, Of fine honor dim,
In his recorded deed.
LO, look for thunder then! His fierce reply
In House or Senate, as he leads the van
I1me-serYer and plaCe-seller, loud his cry;
down. cursed newspaper man"
Who takes the daily journal, cool and damp,
And weighs its ceaseless toll on nerve and
brain2
Nor morning SUM- nor genial evening lamp,
Reveals its birth of pain.
"Only newspaper" Quick read, Quick lost,
Who sums the treasure that it carries hence
Torn, trampled under feet, who counts thy cost7
Star-eyed intelligence!
And ye, the nameless Best-beloyed host!
My heart recalls more than one vanish d
face,
Struck from the rank Of toflers-early lost.
And leaving not trace.
Martyrs Of news YOung martyrs of the press
Princes Of giving from largess Of brain;
One leaf Of laurel stepped in tenderness,
Take ye, early slain !
Though in the authors pantheon no niche OBJ
scure
Your waning names can hold forever fast
The seeds Of truth ye blew afar are sure
To spring and live at last.
On lonely wastes, within the swarming marts,
In silent dream, in speaking deeds Of men
Quick with momentum from your desthless
hearts,
4ouA tAOuBALe VIII 1--we hSalu
o, living journalist When faith hath fed,
When men crush men amid the thick Of
strife,
Bethink thee Of one Man, divine, who said
81 am the truth, the life :"
Leave science, leave philosophy its crown,
Yet sWeeter ever must be that mans sleep,
Who, still his " mothers boy" prays, lying
down +;
"His Lord his soul to keep"
Whate'er our prizes, or how fair our crown,
Or deep our losses, only this is best
The souPs great peace. Nor sneer, nor smile,
nor frOwn,
Can shake It from its rest.
Exalt thy calling On its .spOtless shield
Write truth, write hOnOr-valOr first and last
Crayens may clutch thy stars, and thou not
yield;
Love them and hold them fast!
Defender Of the people, of the State;
Kinder and quickener Of majestic thought,
Sure Of thy final triumph-thOu canst wait
The crown thy patience wrought.
To serve thy generation, this thy fate,
written in water" swiftly fades thy name
But he who loves his kind does first, and late,
A work too great for fame.