Our Profession and Other Poems | Page 7

of blooming May,
The evening scent of
new-mown hay
Touch nerve olfactory,
And carry to the thoughtful
brain
Loved memories of a long-past train
That once was full of
glee.
Though flowers to-day are choice and rare,
In colors they may well
compare
With richest hues we meet;
They lack the charm that gave
them power
Since past is youth's entrancing hour
Their fragrance
seems less sweet.

COMBINED INFLUENCE.
Five roads lead to the human brain
And through these roads all must
obtain
The commerce of all lore;
No thought can enter mental port

Of any kind or any sort,
Of modern days or yore,
Except such as a tariff pays
To pass these honored, great highways

Which lead to eminence,
And follow closely every nerve
Which
God designed should truly serve
Each mind of consequence.

Perhaps that star in yonder sky,
May be my dwelling place on high,

When life on earth is done;
At eventide I love to gaze
Upon its soft
reflected rays,
When silent and alone.
Its brightness charms and draws my soul,
By some mysterious, strong
control
I cannot well explain,
Unless it be within it dwell
The
friends of earth I loved so well,
Who could not here remain.
SOUL SPEAKS TO SOUL.
Soul speaks to soul, eye speaks to eye,
And mind by mind is read;

The heart bounds in sweet ecstasy
Whene'er a light is shed,
That
shines to illume a cherished thought
That seemed to dwell alone,

But on through years has nobly sought
To solve some truth unknown.
The living truth that seemeth dead,
Needs but a kindred touch
To
resurrect thought's vital thread,
And give it influence, such
As
breaks the bands of fettered mind,
And sunders thraldom's chains,

Spreads benefactions, pure, refined,
Where ignorance now reigns.
Magnetic touch of spark divine,
Speak to the inert soul,
Let light
from out the darkness shine,
And truth her page unroll;
Speak to the
minds that waiting, starve,
And give them power to see,

That he
who patiently will serve
Shall win the victory.

OUR BATTLEFIELD.
[Written for an entertainment given by the Fife and Drum Corps (36
uniformed members) of the Third Ward Grammar School of Long
Island City, of which the writer is Principal.]
There are fields of martial glory
Where the slain are ne'er bemoaned;
There are victories though silent,

Where grim monarchs are dethroned;
There are scenes of strife and
foray
Where gigantic forces strive
For the mastery and triumph
Of the ends for which they live.
There are forces more puissant
Than ten million armed men,
There are banners that are emblems
Of the mighty tongue and pen,
That reflect upon their blazon
Honest purpose grand and true,
Such as never graced the victors
Of Sedan and Waterloo.
There are weapons in these contests
Keener than the Damask blade,
There are metals of such temper
As no crucible e'er made;
For the dross must be extracted
In the furnace of the soul
Till no refuse or pollution
Shall defile the perfect whole.
Though this army counts its millions,
Each must face alone the foe,
Each must bring a special weapon,

Each must strike himself the blow
That shall free him from the
shackles
Of that despot and his train,
Who with ignorance and vices
Would destroy the heart and brain.
Our true sword is Education
And grim Ignorance our foe;
We are battling with our passions,
And our spirits are aglow
With a full determination
To accept the proven truth
That the days of precious seed-time,
Are the sunny days of youth.
Day by day the contest rages
And each task that's daily done,
Brings a soothing satisfaction
That another victory's won.
Thus the strength we gain in action
Aids in each succeeding strife,
To make the struggles lighter
In the battles of our life.
There are avenues and byways
Which lead into the heart,
Whose intricate environments
Require the highest art
To tell what inspiration
Shall touch a dormant mind,
And fire it with a living zeal
For a station more refined.
It is only voice of music

That speaks universal tongue;
It matters not in what accent
A sweet melody is sung,
It will find responsive feelings
Which will aptly understand
Though it be of unknown measure
And sung in a foreign land.
We come with our martial music,
With our noisy fife and drum
To inspire the weak and weary,
To open the mouths of the dumb,
To train our every emotion
For a better sphere in life,
To enjoy for the passing moment
The sound of the drum and fife.
We hope our notes may be peaceful
And free from carnage of war;
We would bind up the broken hearted
And cover the wound and scar,
But should foe our country menace
And refuse to be just and calm,
We would sound aloud the tocsin
And march to defend Uncle Sam.

To plant an intellectual seed
And guard its growth from noxious weed,

That it may fruitage bear,
Is solace more, a thousand fold,
Than
hoarding bonds and stocks and gold,
Or sporting jewels rare.
GOOD HABITS.
A silent force marks out the course
Of every man and woman,
No
matter what may be the lot
Of creatures that are human,

The end attained is ever gained
By means so strange and hidden,

We call it luck, instead