Waterbury evening Democrat., 1890-03-21
RHYMES REcENTLY wRlrTEpl

RHYMES RECENTLY WRiTTEll
 IiIs R1etures.
 A glow at morn. The rose half tempted iEt0 blooming rcd;
 Bright hopes just born. That ere the eve must shed Their petals though we never dream them
 dead.
 A warmth at noon, Foii-souled and odorous; and life all fair
 AS summer moon, When stars lace beams as rare g.t AS laughter wcich hath not behind some cars.
 At rest at eve; The ordor and the neat of day are OCT:
 pc can deceive No longer; life no more Cen weave romances from poets lore
 hush at night; Wc fold OUT wings as birds that seek the nest
 Earth is delight With rose no more. The zest Of light sinks with the sunlight in the west
 
 It is no dream, No castle building time that we call life;
 To catch the gleam Of Heaven in the strife Our toll must tend to reach the better life.
 There is much room For gratitude, much room for tenderness,
 In all the gloom Of sorrow, much to bless If we will labor more and murmur less.
 Let us not turn To seek in clouds our happiness but try
 Each day to learn That near home blessings lie; Those die to live who first have lived to de. The Quivex An Exercise for Stammerers.
 There was A beetle bought a bottle bottle full of beer. Now said the beetle tc the bette: Forthwith h we Il have some cheeE" Thereon the beetle tooA the bott.o And tipped it up full high, And from the bottle tt the beetle There gurgled melody. The thirsty beetle drained the bottle And into it did crawl; The same it was his purpose to Imbibe the liquor all. Inside the bottle the drunken beetle Completely lost his way And in that bottle the buzzing beet!3 Buzzes to this day. Boston Transcrir. Lost in the Shroud. Here's song for the world-for the many who From the morn till the close of the day. With the hard horny hands begrimed with the soil. l In the delving for bread in the clay A song that will tell of day with it's rest | When hearts fondly round us are bow'd And the hands that arc horny and crossed on the breast
 Will be lost in the folds of the shroud A song for the Eich man. who rolls in h,s wealth l And tho hero with fame at his feet; From the mighty and happy with comfort and health To the lost. wandering wretch OF the street To tell cen bright gold will be faithlcss to ali. As the fame that will fade like the cloud, | When little and great to one level shall fall And be lost in the folds of the shroud l When the humble shall lie in the same stately 1 As the millions in merit and worth l When caslset and coffin both find heath the clay
 Ample room in but six feet Of enrth- l When the echo is gone from the highway ano street. l That sung of one mighty and proud To prove though the wide world be laid at thy feet
 Twill be lost in the folds of the shroud. l George E. Powell in Chicago Inter Ocean, The Bell Buoy. | Sail ho, sail hither, white ships so fair l Winged dreams of a summer sea! | The skies are amethyst; laugh at care. l The waves laugh merriy. | But list! from their bosom :ren1CiouI knell 1 Il Ling long, | A death SCn;, l If the mariner needless be- Coice of the waves. whate'er betidc l Slight mentor of the Soa l Naarer-how near-no close. alangstdo l We pass. from danger free. | tinllle tossec on toc Ncean's swell Ling long!' | A life song. | For the voyagers needing thee. 1 Celeste M A. Winslow. in Advance.