The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1904-03-03

Will be hurled from his despotic throne.
- New Richmond, Wis
The Things That Used to Be.
Let me take little homily and weave it
for your sake
Through some homely little verses which
may possibly awake
In some far-on corner Of your heart a
Half forgotten from the attic of The
Things that Used to Be.
Oh. you blatant. sneering cynie, who go
scoffing through the world
With your selfish heart all calloused and
your lip forever curled;
You who loudly faunt at virtue and at
tnnocence-cOme see
What diversion we can find among The
Things that Used to Be!
Here's a picture Of your mother. Note
the patient, wrinkled hand
And the eyes that seem steadfastly look
z, ing to some better land:
How her sweet faith held your childhood!
and how all the long years through,
Ttreless, patient loving ever, she kept
vigil over you!
Not a day so long and weary, not a night
so dark and cold,
But she watched your present, praying
that the future might unfold
All the glory she had planned you'll Put
the picture down; for she
Long has rested In the shadow OF The
Things that Used to Be.
Here's a little glove-pathetic in its
quaint and ancient grace,
Bringing up another picture of a modest
Your first sweetheart! Hark I hear
beneath the white mysterious moon
Your heart singing low love-song in the
tender month of June!
On your arm a soft hand trembling, on
your lips your sweetheart's kiss;
Dare you look again and say there is no
purity in this?
But low wind sadly rustles through the
bending maple tree;
Turn away! these, too, belong among
The Things that Used to Be!
Here's an old and battered school book.
Mice and moths have SCARED it
But it still recalls a picture that you saw
when DER and DER
You peruSed these crumpled pages In the
golden days of youth:
Searching for the key to glory and the
royal road of truth.
Life was not an empty chalice; on the
maiden'S forehead fair
You gazed notwithstanding but the
star of virtue there
Poor disfgured book! all sullied through
your hearts epitome!-
Put it back upon the shelf among The
Things that Used to Be-
Here's b picture Oh yOuTS6II WueI uldu-
hoods sun was rising high,
Throwing bright ambitions baldric In a
glory Ger the sky:
Hope had set her shining signals; and the
only path you knew
Was the highway leading upward to the
innocent and true.
Oh, poor empty headed cynic Under
meath your soulless sneer
Lie the graves of dead ambitions and OF
hope; and oft hear
In your voice q note of longing for the
things you sometimes see
When the dream-time brings you visions
Of The Things that Used to Be-.
Oh, poor outcast of sweet sympathy! as
far away you grOpe,
Sick of soul and dry of vision, on the Dor
derland of hope,
Tell me. then, what tender token you
can leave with memory
When you, too, pass out to mfngle with
The Things that Used to Be!
Lowell Otus Reese, in Leslie's Weekly.
A Wfnd-CaII.
Dust thou art and unto dust,
Playfellow, return thou must;
Lingering death 1t is to stay
In the prison house of clay
Bricks of Egypt year by year
Walling up a sepulchre.
Better far the soul to free
From its close captivity,
And with us, thy comrades, go
Wheresoee r we list to blow.
Come! for soon again to dust,
Playfellow, return thou must.
John B. Tabb. In the March Atlantic.