The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1897-02-07


people Of two continents something
more is indicated than a simple ap-
probation Of the poems themselves.
1t may be as difficult for the very
poor to gain recognition in this world
as for the rich to enter the kingdom
Of heaven, but once gained, their very
poverty is used to build a. higher
pedestal on which to place them.
Sweet are the uses OF adv rsity' the
world says and then is always sur
prised when any of it's Wanted results
are made evident. 1t can never quite
get over the marvel of Millet's life, nor
is ever tired Of contrasting them as
if, after ALL there was as much con-
trast as similarly between his suffer
ing and his pictures.
That Johanna Ambrosius was poor,
over worked, restricted, that the iron of
drudgery had entered into her soul
does not make her verses more miracu-
lous, as her reviewers seem to think,
though it may make them more beautf-
full. Her poetry is as much the result
Of her outer life as of her soul.
And her life is interesting to us, not
because it made her into poet. Some
souls. are poetic in spite of toll and
pain and hanrperings and some because
Of them. She is one of these.
Johanna Ambrosius was born in the
year "a in the desolate village of
Lengwethen. On the very border Of
East Prussia, the days are as short,
dark and desolate as Siberia itself, the
lives of the people are one lasting strug-
gle with the barrenness of nature and
the WEAKNESS Of life.
Born to the poorest where all were
poor, Johanna got what joy Of living
there is in all youth amid hardships
that make old and young.
She was permitted to attend the
little village school only until she was
eleven years cid. From that time forth,
there was only the book education
which could be gained from the Garten-
laube, popular German magazine.
Work came and restitution and sick
ness, and from it the young girl tried
to find liberty. she thought, in the field
service Of strangers Freedom and
peace were not here nor did she find
them in her marriage at twenty to
peasant as poor as she had ever been.
Hard work and Scant living proved too
much for the body, and her sister
writes Of her as "a physical wreck,
because she was the slave Of poverty
and want
Some relief from the strain of living
was an imperitive necessity to such a
woman, always shiv'ring in the scanty
dress which duty made" and without
thought Of fame or gold, or anything
but Self-expression, she began to write
her verses. God knows what is good"
she says in a letter to a friend. He had
compassion upon my burden and sent
me the angel of comfort" When she
writes she feels an indiscribable exal-
tation. Hunger and thirst, darkness
and cold and pain. afflict her no more.
Although they are still with her,
they become part of the song. She has
gained honor from her empress and
the applause of many, but it is all not
so much as the uplifting Of her life.
There is an end to endurance, and
Johanna had reached it. Broken with
work and crushed with cold, she
thought that her time had come to die.
Even then, from the plenty of her own
poverty and toll sickness and iminent
death, she had still gifts to give, and
her poem MY Last Song" which
brought to her the recognition of the
German public and help from the out
side world. is a benediction to a world
III oll Things OtSI SplllI bSltcI OIL Itdu
herself.
A song of my creating,
A wondrous song I'd sing,
Which. like the fragrant breeze Of May,
Der earth its flight would wing.
From north to south, from east to west,
A way break in a trice.
And give to all mankind sweet rest,
Joy, peace and Paradise.
Unto the sick and dying
Sweet cordial it should bring.
The sound of it's soft pniOn's stroke
Still grief and suffering.
Mid clank OF arms and conflict hot
Fan courage to a flame:
For woe men comprehended not
Comfort it should proclaim.
But whereer sin is lurking
With cruel serpent e'e,
To hurricane swiftly rising
Twill sweep it in the sea.
On every cink in house of pain
A cooling balm distl,
The temple cleanse from every stain
And every want fulfill.
And if this song succeeded
Nor fame nor gold to gain
I'd wish but throw my Tyre down
And sing no other strain.
Unto the pine woods stealing
Lay me for deaths rePose
To no one e'er revealing
Who did this song compose.
1t may be said that many of her
poems deal in platitudes, and in a
certain way they do. But why not?
To one who lives away from the writ
ing Of books and face to face with the
living Of life, there are neither platitu-