The mirror. (Stillwater, Minn.) 1894-1925, 1912-11-14

lowing 1T to extend to others besides
this of it's preparing him to be ever
ready with the cheerful word, the
helping hand for those in need: the
ability which it gives one to express
fine sympathy in the trials of others.
Chautauqua studies open up to any,
one following them many passages
of fine sympathetic writing which
possibly. nay probably, would other
wise not be noticed, OF, at best,
would be given but feeting mo-
ment's attention. Thus is secured
an insight into the sorrows of others
and the ability properly to extend
sympathy in those sorrows. How
happily this insight, this ability,
may be put to use for the benefit of
those about us who do not or cannot
apply directly to the same sources
as Chautauquans, is beautifully IL
lusterated in this little Song Of
Sorrow" by the Steele Bard,'' a
former Pierian:
Dismal and purposeless and gray
The world and all its woe, we say;
Poor slaves! who in hot burning pain
Yearn for the night to come again.
Like tortured men at length set free
We stagger from our misery
And see. with foolish. tear dimmed eyes
Vague lands. and unremembered skies;
| When 10! What sudden splendor spreads
Its Heaven of rose above our heads!
What soft winds visit our despair.
| What lights. what voices, everywhere!
| Ere sorrow taught us. knew we these
Stupenduous hills, amazing seas?
| Shone there such moonlight on the lawn.
| So deep secret in the dawn?
| When earth and sky and men seem fair
| Be this my watchword. this my prayer.
| Grant me, oh God. to prize Alright
Sorrow since sorrow gave me sight
The deep sympathetic appeal OF
those lines, the exalted sentiment
L
with which they close so tellingly,
could not but move strangely the
men to whom they were addressed.
And it is not only the hopeful words
which appeal and aid; oft times a
questioning call for sympathy will
stimulate some other questioner to
seek out the Great Answer for him.
self, where otherwise he would not
have done so. John Carter's Sep
time Of Despair" is case in point
in one instance of which | have per-
sonal knowledge. An old man who
has dwelt beneath the shadows of
Battle Hollow's over-hanging bluffs
for more years than more than one
of those present today have been in
! this life, drew me aside one holiday,
and, taking a worn and time-yel-
lowed envelope from his pocket Git
contained the treasured last letter
from loving and faithful woman
who had passed en- into the realm OF
eternal sunshine, afterwards learn
ed he drew from it clipping from
, The Mirror which he read to me.
only wish that | could read as he
9 read:
How weary are the hours.
The long. long, S5ars. how slow!
Time, palsied Scarse devours
The minutes as they go.
My cringing spirit covers
J, Before unworshif,ed powers.
IL Lord! Must these things be so!
. How weary are the hours.
I The long, long years, how slow
mock your tales of towers,
I of hero's long ago.
Spring scatters down her showers
reck not of her flowers
Lord Must these things be so!
How weary are the hours.
: The long. long years. how slow!
Ye beauties in your bowers.
t Your fragrant-rotten show
To soon the worm devours;
+ mock ye. too. We powers
Lord! Must these things be so?
How weary are the hours.
oI The long. long years. how slow!
f Before he had finished the poem
! [ saw that the tears stood in his eye
e so that he could not possibly have
seen the printed words on the paper