E'en children feel the potent spell, And haste their new-found joy to tell; In crowds they to the place repair Where Christians daily bow in prayer, Hosannas mingle with the cry "Jesus of Nazareth pa.s.seth by!"

Who is this Jesus? Why should He The city move so mightily?

A pa.s.sing stranger, has He skill To charm the mult.i.tude at will?

Again the stirring tones reply "Jesus of Nazareth pa.s.seth by!"

Jesus! 'tis He who once below Man's pathway trod mid pain and woe: And burdened hearts where'er He came Brought out their sick and deaf and lame.

Blind men rejoiced to hear the cry "Jesus of Nazareth pa.s.seth by!"

Again He comes, from place to place His holy footprints we can trace.

He pa.s.ses at _our_ threshold--nay He enters,--condescends to stay!

Shall we not gladly raise the cry-- "Jesus of Nazareth pa.s.seth by!"

Bring out your sick and blind and lame, 'Tis to restore them Jesus came.

Compa.s.sion infinite you'll find, With boundless power in Him combined.

Come quickly while salvation's nigh, "Jesus of Nazareth pa.s.seth by!"

Ye sin-sick souls who feel your need, He comes to you, a friend indeed.

Rise from your weary, wakeful couch.

Haste to secure His healing touch; No longer sadly wait and sigh.-- "Jesus of Nazareth pa.s.seth by!"

Ho all ye heavy-laden, come!

Here pardon, comfort, rest, a home Lost wanderer from a Father's face, Return, accept his proffered grace.

Ye tempted, there's a refuge nigh Jesus of Nazareth pa.s.seth by!

Ye who are buried in the grave Of sin, His power alone can save.

His voice can bid your dead souls live, True spirit-life and freedom give.

Awake! arise! for strength apply, Jesus of Nazareth pa.s.seth by!

But if this call you still refuse And dare such wondrous love abuse, Soon will He sadly from you turn Your bitter prayer in justice spurn.

"Too late! too late!" will be your cry, "Jesus of Nazareth has pa.s.sed by!"

Mrs. Adelaide S. Buckley.

Mrs. Buckley will appear again among _Translators_. The following verses were inspired by a painting of Cornelia and the Gracchi:

Purest pearls from the sea, Diamonds outshining the sun, Sapphires which vie with heaven, With pride to Cornelia are shown.

Clasping her dark-eyed boys, Fairer could be no other, "These my jewels are"

Said the n.o.ble Roman mother.

Rev. Oliver Crane, D. D., LL. D.

Before coming to Morristown, in 1871, Dr. Crane's life had been a very active one, including extensive traveling in Turkey, Europe, Egypt and Palestine. Twice he had been a missionary in Turkey acquiring the Turkish language and doing efficient work there, first for five years, then for three. In the seven years interval of his return he accepted two pastorates in this country.

On coming to Morristown, having resigned his ministerial charge at Carbondale, Pennsylvania, he devoted himself mainly to literary work, and with General H. B. Carrington wrote the "Battles of the Revolution" which has since become a standard work. Nine years later as secretary of his college cla.s.s, he prepared an exhaustive biographical record of every member of the cla.s.s. The book was a pioneer in this cla.s.s of publications.

In 1888, he published his translation of Virgil's aeneid and the following year a small volume of poems ent.i.tled "Minto and Other Poems", in which the "Rock of the Pa.s.saic Falls" is conspicuous as relating to Washington and Lafayette "who," says the poet, "visited together these Falls while their troops were stationed at Totawa (as the spot was then called) in the Winter of 1780. The initials G. W. are still to be seen cut in the rock below the cataract."

The _Translation of Virgil's aeneid_, "literally, line by line into English Dactyllic Hexameter," is Dr. Crane's great work and has absorbed much of his time for years. It is a singular fact that, although for more than four hundred years the learned have been giving to the English reader, through the press, specimen translations of this old cla.s.sic, this is the first complete version in the original measure.

In the very interesting preface, Dr. Crane gives a careful review of the translations of Virgil, noticing the singular and severe prejudice that has always debarred any desire to render this cla.s.sic in the metre of the original, and discussing the advantage of translating in the style of verse chosen by the author himself. In fact, he tells us, Longfellow had, from his own admirable translations, become thoroughly convinced of its utility, if not of its indispensability in giving the cla.s.sic epics a fitting setting in English.

The following is an extract taken from Book X., lines 814 to 842 of Dr.

Crane's literal English translation of _Virgil's aeneid_, which describes the hand to hand contest of aeneas with the youth Lausus, who insists upon fighting aeneas in opposition to his father's wishes and in the face of every effort made by aeneas to avoid the conflict:

TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL'S aeNEID.

BOOK X, LINES 814 TO 842.

The destinies now are for Lausus the last threads Gathering in; for aeneas his powerful scimitar ruthless 815 Drives through the midst of the youth, and buries it wholly within him, Right through the menacer's targe, and his delicate armor, the keen blade Pa.s.sed through the tunic his mother had woven in tissue of gold thread For him, and blood filled all of his bosom; then life on the breezes Mournful withdrew to the shades, and abandoned his body untimely. 820 But as the son of Anchises in truth on the visage and features Gazed of the dying--the features, becoming amazingly pallid-- Pitying deeply he sighed and instinctively tendered his right hand, Fresh as the image recurred to his mind of regard for a father: "What to thee now, O pitiable boy, for these laudable efforts, 825 What shall the pious aeneas, befitting such n.o.bleness render?

Keep it--thine armor, in which thou rejoicest, and I to thy parents'

Shades and their ashes, if this could be any requital, remit thee; Yet thou in this, though unlucky, canst solace thy sorrowful exit, That by the hand of the mighty aeneas thou fallest." Abruptly 830 Chides he his faltering comrades, as gently from earth he uplifts him, Soiling his ringlets with blood, that were combed in the comeliest fashion.

Meanwhile, his father was down by the wave of the stream of the Tiber Staunching his wound with its waters, and resting his body, reclining Close by the trunk of a tree. At a distance his coppery helmet 825 Hangs on its boughs, and at rest on the sod is his c.u.mbersome armor: Standing around are his warriors chosen; he sickly and panting Eases his neck, as his out-combed beard streamed down on his bosom; Often he asks after Lausus, and many a messenger sends he Back to recall him, and bear him his sorrowful parent's injunctions: 840 But on his armor his comrades were weepingly bearing the lifeless Lausus away--a hero o'ercome by the wound of a hero.

Rev. J. Leonard Corning, D. D.

Dr. Corning, who, with his family, was for some years a resident of Morristown and is now abroad, is represented later in the volume, among the writers on Art. We give here his beautiful poem, "The Ideal".

THE IDEAL.

Awake, asleep, in dreams, amid the din of mortal striving, I feel thee ever near, vision of fancy's sweet contriving: The setting sun and twilight glow Thou art the music sweet and low.

When on the sands, at dead of night, Dark waves are breaking in their might, While, through the billowy crests, the wild winds roar, Thou art the gull who over all dost soar.

Amid the storm and lightning flash, The pelting rain and thunder crash, When faces blanch, and none can will, Thou, heavenly bow, art faithful still.

'Tis not the kiss, the touch, the sigh, That bringeth love from earth to sky; For motions strange about the heart Reveal the inner nature of thy part.

Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest.

Mrs. Augustus W. Cutler has kindly given us the following monograph:

"In a Memorial of the late Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest occurs the following pa.s.sage: 'For two hundred and fifty years, the English readers of the Bible were obliged to content themselves with the phrase, 'They seek a country'.

It was not the whole thought. It was reserved for a corps of learned revisers to light upon the happy phrase, 'They are seeking a country of their own'.' But a score of years before the wise grammarians reached this line, a youthful poetess, seeing and greeting the Heavenly promise from afar, wrote simply and sweetly:

"'I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see The shining gates o'

Heaven, an' _my ain countree_'.

"This youthful poetess was Mary Lee, afterwards Mrs. T. F. C. Demarest.

"Before her marriage, in 1870, she spent several years in Morristown and became identified with the place and its interests; and there are many persons living here who remember her sweet face and gentle ways.