As, one by one, the autumn leaves fade in the forest deep,
So, one by one, to each of you must come the touch of sleep;
As, one by one, the roses burst into the morning light,
So, one by one, your souls shall wake again beyond the night!

Beyond the warfare of the world, the battle's glare and gloom,
Where, in the crystal light above, life's fadeless laurels bloom,
Where comrades meet to part no more, beside the mystic river,
Where Truth is diademed of God and Right is Right forever.

BETHINCOURT.

[Lines in memory of First Lieut. Charles D. Montgomery, Jr., of Atlanta, Ga., who, while in temporary command of his company, fell in the terrific fighting of the Argonne, at Bois de Foret, District of the Meuse, and

was buried in the American Cemetery, at Bethincourt, France, where he sleeps with many of his brave comrades.]

Aye, worthy of the knights of old

Who wielded combat's lance

Those boys of ours whose hearts of gold
Sleep in the dust of France.

One face among them I recall

A mirror true to truth;

Peer of the knightliest of them all
Was this immortal youth.

Cradled among our Georgia pines,
None braver on the plain,

E'er graced Napoleon's battle-lines

Or marched with Charlemagne.

Like yonder bird of ether bold
Upon her mountain nest,

France, to a mother's heart, will fold
This eaglet on her breast.

Through burning Argonne's fiery hell,
O'er glorious St. Mihiel,

"To sound oppression's funeral knell❞—
Was mottoed on his shield.

Nor marvel if a prince he stood
Amid war's withering flames,
He joined to Scotia's highland blood
One of her grand old names.

Montgomery's castle on the heights,
His proud ancestral shrine,

Can boast among its sleeping knights
None worthier of the line.

Victorious over freedom's foes,
On fields of old renown
His spirit, like a rocket, rose

To clutch a martyr's crown.

Rest thee in peace, my gallant lad,

Though far from home you sleep God's own pure knight, Sir Galahad, Will vigil o'er thee keep.

France, too, will consecrate the ground,
Her changeless stars above,
And, in the air, to wrap thee 'round,
Her lilies and her love.

GLEN WATERS: AN OLD FRIEND.
Forever closed the record of his years,

The last bright entry of his life is penned;
Let Friendship seal the volume with her tears
And Fame, bereaved, inscribe herself-The End.

But yesterday around thy noble form

A thousand hopes lit up ambition's wreath,

Today I look upon thy nerveless arm

And mourn thee sleeping in the shroud of death.

What playful memories of life's schoolboy days
Cling ivy-like about thy solemn bier,
For each one now my heart in sorrow pays
And every smile is numbered by a tear.

Friend of departed summers, fare thee well!
How lightly did I dream of harm to thee
Or think to see thee wrapped in slumber's spell
Before the touch of sleep should come to me.

In some bright vale beyond the sunset's gleam May labor's palm reward thy years of pain, And happiness beyond thy sweetest dream

Pour childhood's rapture o'er thy heart again.

Beneath the stars that watch in yonder sky

Sleep on till morning weaves her mystic light;

Till then, my friend, I bid thy face goodby

Till then my trembling lips must say: Goodnight!

JUDGE RICHARD H. CLARK.

Peace to thy slumber, gentle judge; unbroken be thy rest!
Beneath the arching sky that bends. serenely o'er thy breast.
Fond Memory on a million hearts burns incense unto thee,
And Faith repeats thy name in prayer upon her bended knee!

As thou didst e'er, through Mercy's eye, the deeds of Frailty scan,
Of Mercy may thy faults be judged, thou grand old gentleman!
As thou did ever brim with tears thy brother's woe to see,
May heaven, in compassion, show like favor unto thee.

Forever mindful of the light thy mellow counsels gave,
Permit my trembling hands to lay this rosebud on thy grave;
Unnumbered suns shall rise and set o'er Georgia's fair domain
Ere her proud gaze shall rest upon thy gentle like again!

UNDER THE MAGNOLIA-ALFRED H. COLQUITT.

[In Rose Hill cemetery, Macon, Ga., the remains of Senator Alfred H. Colquitt were interred on the banks of the Ocmulgee River, in the shadow of a green magnolia. From this circumstance the following lines are drawn.]

Where the sweet Ocmulgee flowing

Chants a requiem to the dead,

And the soft skies, through the foliage;
Sift the splendor which they shed;

'Neath a green magnolia sleeping

In the rest he well has won,
Lies a prince in Georgia's keeping,
Buried with his armor on.

At the nation's front he perished,

There his noble heart was stilled;
Fighting for the hope he cherished,
Falling in the place he filled.
Like his fame-ennobled father,
In the state's historic past,

Thus he died a stainless martyr,
Loving Georgia to the last.

On no blood-washed field of battle,
Colored by war's crimson rain,
Where the dismal low death-rattle
Marks the passing of the slain;
But while tender buds were breathing
On the velvet edge of spring
Ready for her Easter-wreathing
Passed away our hero-king.

Colquitt! Still in fondness for thee
Georgia folds thee to her breast,-
Loved as when at old Olustree

Thy proud banner led the rest!
Roses, from thy ashes, blooming

Here, in after years, shall tell
How, thy country's hope illuming,
Thou didst in her praises dwell.

Sleep in Rose Hill's sacred bosom,
By the sweet Ocmulgee's flow,
Where the proud magnolia blossom,

Prouder o'er thy dust shall grow.
Fit that laurel leaves should crown thee,
Thou, who in thy glory-bed,
Need no marble to renown thee,

In the dream-land of the dead!

But, while friends for thee are sighing
For the love-clasp of thy hand,

And thy ashes, lowly lying,

Mingle with their native land,
Garlands, in their glory greener,
Now thy seraph brow enfold,

In the spirit land's arena,

In the senate of the soul!

BUT THINK OF THE ANGEL THERE.

[Lines on the death of Mrs. J. W. Schutz, better known to her many friends in Atlanta as Miss Nellie Stillman, which occurred at Leesburg, Fla.]

Under the rose she sleeps today,

In the pale, white bloom of death;
Robed in her beauty she passed away,
Bedecked with the orange wreath.

The world is sad when the lovely sleep,
And mourns when the gentle die;
The weary winds of the forest weep,
And the blossoms seem to sigh.

But why should the bitter tear drops fall,
For one so pure in heart?

At the feet of Him who loveth all,
She has found the better part.

Then wipe away the unseemly tear,
To her it is only fair-

Pour not thy grief on the cold grave here,
But think of the angel there!

LIFE BEAUTIFUL AGAIN.

[Lines suggested by the death of Mrs. Salouel McKinley Bussey, who departed this life on the morning of July 16, 1895.]

Though Sorrow mourns the lovely dust that lies beneath the sod,
Faith looks upon a spirit-queen among the fields of God;
The bliss of angels and the balm that quiets every pain
Have filled her cup and life to her is beautiful again!

Upon her stainless brow she wears a crown of softer beams
Than ever wrapped the summer rose, or lured the world to dreams;
And on her lips, by music touched, a sweeter hymn is born
Than ever roused the sleeping buds or ushered back the dawn.

The mysteries of time and space, the spring of love divine;
The secrets of the land and sea, the pearl-cove and the mine;—
Philosophies of every school her sage instructors prove,
And wisdom adds her cultured lore to heaven's crown of love.

Naught in the universe of God is hidden from her eyes,
For in their clear, unclouded depths the light of heaven lies.
In perfect knowledge she has found the bliss for which she sighed,
And, at the feet of Him she loved, her faith is glorified.

CALLED AT DAWN.

[Dedicated to Mrs. Thomas R. Hardwick, a bride of ten months, who departed this life July 8, 1893, at 5:30 a. m.]

Just as the morning came over the hills
To brighten the beautiful day,
Her purified soul from bondage released,
Took the path of its golden ray.