IN MEMORY OF ARTHUR CLEMENT WILLIAMS

"Alas! that such a soul should taste of death," Such lofty genius fade for want of breath, Such wit find refuge 'mong the mournful dead,— Such brains lie silent in that narrow bed.

O, let the Negro weep most bitter tears! Our brightest star from earth now disappears; He would have stretched Ethiopia's hand to God Had Death not early placed him 'neath the sod.

Ne'er breathed a man who saw that classic brow, That did not then within himself allow He saw a fixed desire to raise his race, Imprinted on that noble, comely face.

There is one thought that pains me much to-night, Although of him I sing and sometimes write, I did not know this brave and gifted one, This gallant youth,—this good, obedient son.

Yet, ne'er-the-less, I sighed when others sighed; I wept to think of fondest hopes denied,— Of fleeting joys, of earthly woes and cares, Of all that mother's tears and anxious prayers.

That soul so loved by all now rests in peace, He's happy there where cares and sorrows cease; In that celestial home he dwells to-night, That place of love, of joy, of dazzling light.

(Son of Mrs. S. F. Williams. Written for the anniversary of his twenty-second birthday, August 23, 1891.)