The Dalles daily chronicle. [volume] (The Dalles, Or.) 1890-1948, 1891-05-26
PEN PICTURES
COMMENCEMENT NIGHT.

There is n murmured hush in the crowded hall,
AS he stands before them, silent and PALE
For the upturned faces seem to appall
And his quick heart-beats to fail.
OF calm sweet face he catches sight,
And the assuring smile of the one most dear,
For Mothers sake he'll not fail tonight
Her love will Danish all fear.
Slowly are spoken the opening words,
And gathering courage. he breaks the thran
OF his lettering fear, and now is heard
His clear young voice through the crowded hall.
The eloquent words are ringing out
And his boyish face is all aglow,
With the spirit that clings each word about,
From the earnest heart below.
His stirring appeal, and well-proven facts,
Show mind and heart that is strong:
A nature that bows to no petty acts,
soul that can battle with wrong.
A hush as he closes. then cheer upon cheer
Resounds through the echoing hall,
And II shower of sweet flowers, that tribute
dear
At the feet of the young speaker fall.
But the hnppiest heart mong all the glad ones,
Is that of the mother, whose tears
Are flowing for joy, for tonight her dear
Crowns the hopes and the prayers of long
years.
THE SALOON.
There is sound of sweet music that falls on the
ear
With cadence 80 lulling and sweet,
1t seems like enchantment, beguiling all fear,
The hearts purest impulse to meet
There are flowers In their beauty and sweet
perfume,
But they deck feast of wine,
And the gaslight flooding the elegant room.
tha r,.sioa md
To deck as a paradise. this earth-fostered hell,
Where purity Is poured out like wine,
The rushing stream of pollution to swell
With the noblest powers OF the mind.
" Pledge with red wine a voice rings out.
"And III sing you merry song,''
There is "a tinkle of glasses, a merry shout
And the pledge is passed along.
He stands in their midst, with the crystal glass,
Held high in his hand, while the words p
OF the ribald song from his pale lips pass, n
By the power of the wine demon stirred s
Where now is the book .of innocent joy,
That one year ago crowned his brow?
Poor mother, your heart would break for your
boy,
Could you see him as he stands there now
Blood shot are his eyes, and the fire of the wine
Burns like Goals on his pale thin cheeks;
While oaths and foul words demons combine,
To poison each thought that he speaks.
THR STRUGGLE.
Calm and pale shines the moon in her beauty
tonight,
Deep and dark the waters flow by,
And the silence of midnight, with shadows be-
digit,
Isscsrce broken by zephyrs low sigh.
On the bridge that is spanning the dark turbid
stream,
There is struggle God only can see,
sin-fettered soul that forsaken now seems, Il
Struggling in vain to be be free.
That agony; oh! words how weak to portray
soul that is struggling with hell;
That has wandered SO far from Heaven away.
And is fettered by satan's dark spell.
oh my mother forgive it is the only prayer
The sin-burdened soul can speak;
To God SO offended he would not dare
Utter words from a heart SO weak.
There is dark form springs through the yield
ing air
A break in the waters sad flow;
The bridge holds no form, but the moon looks
fair
And there is only ripple below.
THE MoRGuE.
There is a terrible hush bound in by these walls
And the drip; drip; solemn and slow:
OF waters that seems like sad tears to fall
On the marble slabs below.
Lies waiting on a marble bed;
For those who unknowing never can come
To claim their dishonored dead
Poor mother are you waiting and praying to-
night
For the boy that you love more than life;
Do you feel that your prayers will call him away
From sin and all its wild strife?
1t is given blessing you cannot see
This death house; this cold silent form;
That in innocent childhood, so happy and free
On your warm mother heart you have borne.
THE MOTHERS PART
A cottage lies hid in roses and vines
And all seems SO quiet and calm;
We feel that here purity and rest must combine
To give broken hearts healing balm.
white haired woman is kneeling beside
A trunk travel-stained and worn;
1t holds in its depths college cap and gown,
In places thread bare and torn.
There are piles of books, whose worn, soiled
leaves
| Speak of many a midnight hour
OF a human mind that garnered sheaves
| OF ripe grain through study's power.
There in a corner with tenderest care
paper lies folded from sight;
Undisturbed in its rest it long has lain there,
This speech of Commencement Night.
And here the Diploma, with great shining seal
And ribbon of beautiful blue;
Whose reception once made the young student
feel
Pride such his heart never knew.
The mothers fall on these tokens that tell,
| OF the joy gone out of her life;