And yet, beyond this hour of gloom, Athwart the sky, the promised bow, Above these clouds, and o’er thy tomb, The starry heavens are bending low. In memory of loving worth, Sweet thoughts like hidden springs will flow; Rare flowers in oasis have birth, As Sorrow’s deserts verdant grow. With patriotic, burning zeal, Thy brilliant genius, tongue and pen, Were wielded for the common weal, The good of all thy countrymen. O’er ruins of the effete Old, Thou wrought to build a better New, Whose peerless glories might unfold, As North and South together grew. Thou longed to note accordant band Of Sister States through future years, A Union for the world to stand With little aid of blood and tears. Of such a spirit, He who taught Eternal Truth in Galilee; The human and divine in-wrought With perfect love and charity. And so thy deeds will grow in grace, They are exalted, wise and pure, For freedom and the human race, And in our hearts will long endure. For thee nor local, fleeting fame, But for all nations, space and time; Around thy lofty, shining name, Unfading laurels we entwine. G. W. LYON. CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA, Jan. 18, 1890. ---------------------------- WHAT THE MASTER MADE. ------- THE Master made a perfect instrument to sound His praise, It breathed forth glorious notes for many days,— Chords of great strength, tones of soft melody, Grand organ anthems—bird-like minstrelsy; Its final burst of music—the Master’s master-stroke Fell on the world—and then the spent strings broke. MEL R. COLQUITT. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IN ATLANTA, CHRISTMAS, 1889. ------- I. O PROUD Gate City of the South, reborn, Risen, a phœnix, from war’s fiery flood— Why draped in gloom, this precious natal morn Of Him crowned martyr for earth’s peace and good? Set in the faces of your old and young, Is seen the sorrow, ruthless Fate hath sprung! II.