, 1882-06-30
Poetry Of Journalism.

Upon the loftiest mountain, trod
only by the sandaled foot of Deity
grow the daintiest flowers; on the
empurpled field of battle blooms in
beauty the timid forget me not and
from the dusky den of the printing
press have emerged thoughts, lumin,
GUS as sunbeam, that will sparkle
and scintillate in the realm of letters
while the flowers hold their fragrance
and the gentle dew cools the brow of
the earnest deliver in the musty
tombs of the worlds majestic thinkers
The mission of the press is poesy.
Grand garner of intellect, it perpet
uates the jewels of thought that
otherwise would be lost, and in its
clasp of cycles holds them for mans
benefit.
Angelo saw the angel in the un-
hewn block of marble, Guido dreamed
of Immortality when he painted his
bright Aurora, and the passion tossed
genius, gifted with the divine afflatus,
in the press sees a lightning winged
Pegasus that shall bear him on to
high Olympus. There is poesy in
the rustic of the printed page; how
it runs the gamut of everyday life
in its compact columns, and no bugle
blast or subtle strain of music's soft
est melody can more quickly stir the
heart than the details of some
knightly deed even if it be told in
stately prose.
Poesy grand gift divine-is not
mere words linked with rhyme, nor
the bright imagery of a painter who
can with artistic pencil linn with
glowing words picture that will
haunt the memory like some vanished
CLEAN of silver that kissed the noun
tain's brow, "cold as the cold moon
tnat shines upon the colder grave"
but a thought that strikes the great
heart of humanity as beat of drum
in the busy mart, that makes man
pause and think and feel that he is
mortal. This is the mission of the
press.
In every heart there is depth that
plummet never sounded, in every life
there is a shadow that should have
silver lining and in every paper that
floods the land, humble though it
may be, are thoughts that will live
and carry to some of earth's denizens
inspiration, strength to grid them
selves for the race of life even though
they do not reach the goal winner;
How few realize the influence OF
the poets corner" in their village
paper. In such nook Gray's death
less elegy first greeted the public eye,
and that sweetest strain ever sung
by bard, Annabel Lee, flashed into
being in a secluded corner Of De-
troit paper, while Lenore, Poe's in
imitable tracery on the mystic mar
gent of his imagination, was first put
in type for that wierd child of sorrow
by him who now pens this tribute to
Americas immortal son of song
The press is the nursery of poesy;
poems "round and perfect as a star,
pulsating with passion, burst forth
like ripping rivulets, sparkling with
the eorruscations of genius, fresh ana
pure as the dew -gemmed flowers OF
morn, and greet us daily in the, jour
nails that each morning tiutter
through our easement.
Prentice by the deft stroke OF his
magic pen made his mothers grave
a Mecca in the land Of poesy. Gen,
eral Lytle's fame is not that he dleo
with victory sounding in his ears
but because he penned
clam dying, Egypt, dying"
And O'Hara will live in his deathless
lines long after Kentuckys LOFTY
monument to her heroic sons, that no
immortalized, has crlmbled into dust;
From the sunny slopes of that land
of romance, California, the poetry Oh
journalism has been enriched by the
genius of Bret Harte and that gra,nu
singer of the Sierras, joaquin Miller,
whose gems of thought, engraved, on
the worlds pulsating heart, VIII %
read and treasured by mankind 50 81
long as the blue billows of the placlsu
ocean break upon the spotless stranI
From out the printing office sspeet
winged words that make the clrcul'
of the globe, poems in every sentence,
genius cleaning in every line, WIN
immortality woven in the song as ~ IL
goes sounding down the ages. ~ l.
Child, in Kansas city Herald