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Love poems and the boyhood of Kentucky's poet : being the life-story of William Lee Popham / by Maude Miller Estes. Popham, William Lee, 1885- 400dpi TIFF G4 page images University of Kentucky, Electronic Information Access & Management Center Lexington, Kentucky 2002 b92-50-26953506 Electronic reproduction. 2002. (Beyond the shelf, serving historic Kentuckiana through virtual access (IMLS LG-03-02-0012-02) ; These pages may be freely searched and displayed. Permission must be received for subsequent distribution in print or electronically. Love poems and the boyhood of Kentucky's poet : being the life-story of William Lee Popham / by Maude Miller Estes. Popham, William Lee, 1885- s.n., [Louisville, Ky. : 1910] 92 p.,  leaves of plates : port. ; 19 cm. Coleman p. 82-92, advertising matter. Microfilm. Atlanta, Ga. : SOLINET, 1992. 1 microfilm reel ; 35 mm. (SOLINET/ASERL Cooperative Microfilming Project (NEH PS-20317) ; SOL MN02172.02 KUK) Printing Master B92-50. IMLS This electronic text file was created by Optical Character Recognition (OCR). No corrections have been made to the OCR-ed text and no editing has been done to the content of the original document. Encoding has been done through an automated process using the recommendations for Level 1 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines. Digital page images are linked to the text file. Estes, Maude Miller. MAUDE MILLER ESTES, LOUISVILLE, KY. AUTHORESS -tbe 23opboob of Uenturkp'o poet." LOVE POEMS AND The Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet BEING The Life-Story OF WILLIAM LEE POPHAM BY MAUDE MILLER ESTES COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY THE WORLD SUPPLY CO. Price, in Paper Binding, Fifty Cents. In Extra Fine Cloth Binding, One Dollar. Order all Copies from THE WORLD SUPPLY CO. Louisville, Ky. ILLUSTRATIONS. Close your eyes and behold the pictures fairer than an angel's dream; for no artist's painting can surpass the pictures in Memory's gallery. DEDICATION TO EVERY OPTIMIST WHO BELIEVES IN GIVING FLOWERS OF PRAISE TO THE LIVING INSTEAD OF PLACING A WREATH UPON THE GRAVE OF THE DEAD THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHORESS Comfort. There is never a cry in all the world But Jesus hears the weeping; There is never a child of woman's birth But the care of God is keeping; There is never a word in secret prayer But brings our blessings nearer; There is never a sorrow of human life But makes high heaven dearer. There is never a song of the nightingale But the joys of life it's voicing; There is never a spoken word of love But sets the heart rejoicing; There is never a cloud across the sky But somewhere the sun is shining; And let us think the clouds of life Will leave a silver lining. -Popham. PREFACE. In this volume it is the writer's desire to present in a "nut- shell" a few of hundreds of Love Poems from the pen of William Lee Popham, together with their author's biography. I do not attempt to write a full biography of my hero-but give that which I think the world-should know of his sweet boyhood and inspired manhood. His simple, loving, consecrated thoughts in verse and prose have inspired me to this attempt. It is with the poet's full consent that I write his biograph- ical sketch, together with his poems used exclusively herein. No man ever gave to the world sweeter thoughts of higher endeavor than William Lee Popham, of whom I write. The poet is yet unborn who can excel him in painting mind- pictures in natural simplicity, beauty and clearness of thought. Herein is presented the poet's first poem, entitled: "The Babbling Brook," in which it is plain that love inspired his pen. In this poem the reader can see the boy-poet as he sat on that "moss-covered rock" and wrote verse to his little sweetheart. One can see the love-light in his eyes when he "mailed" the poem, together with a rose or bunch of sweet violets in the "hollow stump" by the brook. Let your fancy picture the "golden-haired" lassie when she went to the "hollow stump post office" and received the flowers and verse placed there by her poet-lover. The reader will also, find herein, a poem written in the poet's manhood-written of the memories of this same little girl. In this poem, entitled, "My First Sweetheart," is enough of sweetness to lure the bees from every blooming flower. May all who read this brief biograph- ical sketch of the boyhood of Kentucky's poet and his love poems herewith, feel the same inspiration of which this vol- time is born. Very truly yours, MAUDE MILLER ESTES. EVANGELIST, AUTHOR, LECTURER AND POET. WILLIAM LEE POPHAM. 7q This page in the original text is blank. A GREAT OFFER! "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet" is finely bound in beautiful cloth, and sells in the best binding everywhere at 1.00 per copy. All persons owning a paper-bound copy may send fifty cents in postage stamps, together with their old "paper-bound copy," to The World Supply Co., and in exchange each will re- ceive a finly bound one-dollar copy in beautiful cloth-title in gold. Thousands of persons who learn to love this book and prize it as a "home gem" are taking advantage of this liberal offer. No matter how soiled or torn the paper-bound copy you have, the one-dollar cloth binding will be gladly exchanged for same when accompanied by fifty cents in cash or postage stamps. No good book with a beautiful message, should be kept in the home in cheap binding when a durable "parlor issue," which would last almost a lifetime, can be had so easily. Order all copies from THE WORLD SUPPLY CO, LOUISVILLE, KY. CONTENTS. Turn to the pages and pick the kernels out. WILLIAM LEE POPHAM'S BOOKS SILVER GEMS IN SEAS OF GOLD POEMS OF TRUTH, LOVE AND POWER NUTSHELLS OF TRUTH THE VALLEY OF LOVE SHE DARED TO WIN LOVE'S RAINBOW DREAM THE VILLAGE BY THE SEA A TRAMP'S LOVE The above-mentioned series of eight books are fully de- scribe(l on pages 85 to 89 of this book. Read on pages 90-92 how to get the above books free. Order all books from The World Supply Co., Louisville, Ky. This page in the original text is blank. type Aotboob of tentucthp' poet William Lee Popharn, Kentucky's "world poet," was born April 14, 1885, in IHardin Co., Kentucky. After a common school edtucation at the "log schoolhouse" amid the fields near lis birthplace, he entered East Lynn College in his early "teens." After an unfinished college career, he returned to his country home full of ambition to see the world, and per- suaded his parents to move to Louisville, Ky. In his early teens, the poet, with his parents, one brother and two sisters, moved to Kentucky's metropolis, where the poet continued to study under private teachers and self-help. At age seventeen he began his American lecture tour and at once won titles as "The boy orator," and "The youngest lecturer in the world." He attracted large crowds in cities and hamlets; and wrote his first book at age eighteen. His first book voiced his noble sentiments and high en- deavor for humanity's good; but in boyhood style and simple manner. He is now the author of eight more books and is still writ- ing new ones. Below the hill upon which nestled the poet's childhood home, flowed a cool, babbling spring which in its winding revel, sang its way thru the vale of wild flowers and green pasture. It was by the shady banks of this brook where the poet often wandered when but a child; and those who knew not his heart's impulse and his golden future thought him an idle wanderer; but be it far from idleness. It was amid such environments where his poems of to-day were born in his soul of nature-and therein had been sleeping along the trail of the kindly years. By this clear brook there was a large moss-covered rock upon which the "boy poet" sat and wrote love-poems to his "girl-sweetheart ;" and nearby was a hollow stump which was his post office, where he "mailed" many a bunch of violets with poetic presentation in- scribed upon the paper that wrapped their tender stems. In this valley were wild roses, forget-me-nots, daisies, violets, ferns and cool green vines that hugged the bosom of the trees and giant rocks. Toward the West was a steep hillside be- decked with white oaks, maples, and sugar trees-with a growth of green amid the queerly shaped rocks. Toward the East spread a gentle, sloping hill of less steepness, where white oaks were numerous; and beneath their stately shade, was a green carpet of bluegrass spotted with wild roses and dog- wood saplings. Northward, far across the valley, stood an orchard of apple, peach, pear, and plum trees which covered about one hundred acres of lawn and clover. 2 In the cornfield, while the tired horse rested in the shade, the "plowboy poet" would sit and write verse; and each sum- mer added largely to his boyhood writing. It was often the young poet's duty to "shepherd the sheep" in the shady pasture-and this quiet environment gave oppor- tunity for expression of thought. He delighted to see the lambs play-and it was the inspiration from their glee that caused their shepherd to write "The Frolicing Innocent Lambs." It is said by some that the boy-poet's association with the sheep and his care for the helpless lambs was largely influential in establishing his boyhood gentleness; for a shepherd's life is gentle and his flocks are the most harmless of stock. Many were the poems by the shepherd boy; but few were the per- sons who heard or read them-for it was the young author's quiet pleasure to write-secluding his manuscripts from the public. No record is had of the number of poems written during the poet's boyhood; but few are left of his early poems, many having been destroyed by their author as he would write better ones from time to time. And real poets seldom are able to rewrite lost verse; for poetic thought is a flash of inspiration-the same thoughts, perhaps, never to be written by the same author again. Lost poems like each yesterday lost in the past, can not be recalled. 3 A lost poem is like a fresh flower thrown upon the cold bosom of the stream; it is seldom rescued-and if at all, the fragrance is lost-for 'tis only a withered flower. The world is yet to see the full fruit of our hero's man- hood; for already the bud of boyhood and the blossom of young manhood have given to the world a small library within itself; and after a healthy bud and a full blossom comes ma- ture fruit. In springtime after his "work hours," the boy-poet would stroll in his father's massive orchard where the tree tops were full of white and colored blossoms-where the air was fragrant amid Nature's paradise. He delighted to find the nests of birds and watch the mated lives; but never would he disturb their peace. Their song filled his young heart and his pen flowed as freely as their song. In winter when the earth lay beneath a coverlid of snow, he would throw out crumbs of bread to the hungry birds- and they soon learned that he meant not to harm but help them. The horses and dogs and cows on the farm were "pets" when near the young poet; for each knew his gentleness. The cottage in which our hero was born was a plain four. room wood structure, and in the front yard amid other trees, were two tall cedars. Each year the jays and other birds made their nests near the cottage door, over which clung green vines that blossomed in season. While our hero was much alone in his childhood, he never failed to receive "a mother's good-night kiss" while she knelt 4 by an old-fashioned trundle-bed where the boy dreamed and slept away the still nights. It seem to have been the providence of a kind God that his boy- hood was spent away from the wicked city and the noisy streets. In the woodland dells, the open fields and amid the God- built hills, were his youthful highways; and nature and heaven alone taught him howv to use his pen. God is always in the training of every benefactor of the human race. It is not strange that God raised a "world-poet" from "blackberry fields," for to get His twelve diciples He went along the sea- shore and gathered humble fishermen-the lowly of earth. Sometimes from the "smallest" God chooses the "great- est," but never does the all-wise Creator go among the "haughty proud" for useful men to establish His kingdom upon earth. On the farm the young poet "fought in war with bees and flies" and was fond of romps amid the sweet clover blossoms. He loved children, but seldom stayed where they were except to care for his younger brother or sister while his mother busied herself in domestic duty. The only "chum" of the boy-poet was his brother who is now one of the leading lawyers at the Louisville bar. It befell the "brothers" to feed the stock, carry the water, cut the "stove wood" and other things with which only "coun- try boys" are familiar. The only "fights" the boy-poet had were "in defense" of his younger brother, and the boy who 5 chose to "over-ride" him had the poet to "whip" then and there. Like other children, many were the times when the youthful brothers sought the orchard and spent the summer hours in picking wild strawberries and chasing young rabbits. Then "the green apple dinner" was a "favorite banquet" spread upon God's table-cloth of green grass beneath an apple tree. The poet's father was a fruit grower, farmer, nurseryman and country merchant, and had no poetic talent or unusual intellectual gift. The poet's father was a school-teacher ere his business career. The poet's mother while uneducated, was a gentle, kind and dutiful wife and mother. The poet has blue eyes, full of expression, love, and gentleness. He is a medium-size man, possesses a voice of melodywhich at will becomes eloquent and commanding. He inherited his ability as an orator from his mother's people, but as far back as can be traced, heredity does not claim his poetic gift. This gift is born of heaven in his own soul. His expression of poetic sentiment is natural as a mother's love for her childa rare gift from the holy God. He finds congenial company in solitude, for the bird's song, the wind's whisper and the brooklet's babble are music in response to his soul's longing. His sentiments of love, expressed in almost every page he writes, are sacred, tender and impressive. His writings have a distant similarity to the works of some of our ancient poets, yet possess an originality 6 wholly his own. His word-painting is hard to excel, and his thoughts on love are ever inspiring. His unmarried manhood is happy as was his blissful boy-. hood, and his road is a path of sunbeams. Yet the poet has said, "Not for all of the world's silver and gold would I go thri life without a sweet woman to share my love and happi- ness." He seems to never worry; but lives to disperse his sunshine in- to sunless lives. His poems have not appeared in miscellaneous publications like some poems of old-a strict copyright being the reason. Tho' possessing an unselfish spirit, it has been his desire to only permit a limited circulation of many poems-always prom- ising himself verses near perfection in the future issues. How- ever, his works are accepted by one of the greatest publishing houses in New York City on liberal royalty. Places and names of persons are unnamed in his poems. He is the people's poet. To read his poems is to know his heart and feel his thrills. Yet he says of himself: "No one knows me but God." Doubt- less, in his heart there are unborn ideas and unspoken love; yet his readers feel that they know him-even the thousands who have seen his face only in the print of his picture. He cultivates the acquaintance of but few personal friends; but h-is praises are sung by admiring friends wherever he is known. His personality and kindly feeling for humanity wins new friends wherever he goes; for he is welcome as the May- time flowers. He delights to praise friends upon their merit; 7 but is honest with all, and never flatters. He is so sympa- thetic with every human need that his verse finds a home in warm hearts; and those who know him best are unwilling to see him go. To know that his daily and hourly life is a practice of his sermons in verse, prose, and pulpit is to appreciate, ad- mire and love him. The tenderness in his verse often brings tears-but the very tears are sweet. His poems touch every phase of life, and to read them is to feel the heart throb and hear the bird sing, the brook babble, and lovers coo. The sloping hills and quiet valleys bordering the humble cottage of his birthplace, were the scenes of his ramble in boyhood. He sought the soli- tude of the woodland and spent a quiet boyhood close to na- ture. Unlike other boys of his age, he was tender, kind and affectionate to all. Hle would not rob a bird's nest, kill a frog or harm a garden rose. It is said that once when he found some boys stoning birds, that he persuaded them to "harm not the defenseless birds that sing their lives away to make us happy," and speaking thusly, the poet tenderly lifted the wounded sparrow to his lips and with a tearful kiss, placed it upon a leafy bower and looking heavenward said: "Thou who notes the fallen spar- row, heal and protect this innocent bird." This was such a rebuke to the rough boys that they were never known to harm another innocent life. The poet is tender and loving as a good woman; and gentle like the Savior whom he often confesses, and whose saving grace he preaches to lost humanity. A 8 bleeding heart brings his flow of tears-and a sweet poem to console the sufferer. His lowest endeavor is to be pure and do good; and his life, words, verse, and literature are simple and sweet as childhood. He knows human nature as he knows the alphabet; and every word from his pen is human. Hle knows how to console, cheer, and inspire; and this he dloes with natural ease. No congenial person can be with him mich without being better and sweeter spirited. Tho' he is only about twenty-five years old he has written more and spoken more than some of our ancient poets had accomplished in a long lifetime. His name will go down in fadeless ink upon history's pages as the "world-poet." And such title shall be his, because sympathy makes the wdvhole world kin, because human nature is the same the world over; and hence his poems shall be read internationally-in as mvuch as our poet's verse is replete with these charms-so lear to the human heart. His past achievement, be it ever so humble, is a promise of this prediction. It is not expected that the stars of international fame shall presently adorn his crown, for how many of our now famous poets, who acquired such fame at age twenty-five The poems of some of the greatest poets in history were rejected and unrecognized at their first public appearance. The writer of the now famous hymn entitled: "In the Sweet Bye and Bye," was refused a penny for his master- piece-and after several failures, a friend gave him twenty dollars for the composition "just to help him along." Since, this hymn has brought its owner a royalty of thousands of dollars. Millions yet unborn will sing the praises of Kentucky's 9 poet and catch the inspiration of his pen. HIe is truly human- ity's friend and an expounder of God's holy love. The green blades of grass to him, are flowers; and the meanest bud that promises a blossom amid the thorns, does not to him, "blush unseen" or unappreciated. He is a staunch defender of the home; and "home happiness" is his earnest plea. The poet's grace and peace are born of the "Prince of Peace;" and his love for flowers is a living spark from the Man of Galilee who said in Matthew 6: 28: "Consider the lilies." Above all he is an optimist; a living ray of sunshine. a kindling spark of inspiration to those who know him best. He is an advocate of innocent laughter, and says, "Laughter, care- tul diet, peace, health-thought and fresh air will cure nearly every human ill." Whether preaching gospel sermons, lecturing, writing prose or poetry, he is happy, lighthearted and cheerful. This sketch is far less than a complete biography of this immortal poet-soul; for this space is too limited to tell his life-story. And be it understood by the reader, that the writer's aim is to say only the "good things"-leaving unsaid, or for others to say-the "bad things" (and doubtless they be) in the life of our poet. Flowers and kind words of praise should be for the living-not the dead. History will honor his name after he is dead; let us do him honor while he lives. My loftiest praises of our poet, do not "kiss the sky," nor do I aim to soar so high in the "blue fields above" as to pluck the stars to get diadems for his crown. Be my mission far from such. But the flowers I mean to display at his grave, will have blossomed along his pathway. It is American custom to "forget" a man's "badness" at his death, and the "funeral-preacher" and newspapers say "loving words" of the deceased-and often the praise is the second cousin to a "white lie." 10 That our poet has many admirers of his verse, we cannot doubt; that there are sarcastic critics of his verse, there is no doubt. Yet be it said in truthfulness, that the former class outnumbers the latter. Critics are numbered from the man who "does something," not from the man with "folded hands." Jesus Christ, the only perfect man, met with opposition, even unto death. By many His works were scorned, rejected and branded as false. Even today in this Christian age, there are many who do not acknowledge Him as the world's Redeemer and the door to heaven. Then if the Savior, the Son of God, failed to please "everybody," it would be worse than folly for the humble writer to expect all readers of our poet's praise, to agree with her opinionor to say that his poems are "perfect." But William Lee Popham's "imperfect poems" do possess a sweetness which many true hearts enjoy, and his boyhood years, close to Nature's heart, were not without their charms. I do not desire to be understood as saying that either the boyhood or manhood of our poet is "ideal." Angels do not populate this earth, and indeed human vision is often dim. "Xow we see through a glass darkly." "To err is human; to forgive is divine" is an adage worth remembering. Our poet is "guilty" of having "slipped" away from the school room with other boys, to the "swimming pool," and he "confesses" to having received "the peachtree tea" applied to his back for the "offense." That these "baths" occurred too often there is no doubt; and that his "love for the water" and "hate for school" accounts for what he "does not know," we will not question. By his boyhood playmates, I am told that "once upon a time" our poet's favorite passtime was in "sliding down the 11 bank" of a steep gully in his father's meadow. But from the story of the holes then in the seat of his cottonade trousers, I do not know whether to attribute the "holes" to his coming in contact with the "gully bank"or a "pine plank" il his father's hand. In talking with one of our poet's school teachers who held the "log school-house sessions of knowledge," I find that "Willie" was not the best boy in the world. Many were the days when "Willie's conduct" necessitated the use of a "dog- wood limb ;" and one day in vain did he put a "pie pan" in the seat of his trousers and a jeans coat beneath his shirt. As a penalty for folly such as "shooting chewed paper wads" and "placing bent pins with point upward, upon the seat," the country school teacher would make the guilty but "bashful lad, sit in the lap of a "grown-up" girl. But this "punishment" proved too pleasant to "Willie"- for wooing was the young poet's "besetting sin." So the "pen- alty" was changed. The poet still remembers the times (al- most countless) when he had to "stand on one foot and face the black board" for writing "love verse" to a certain girl in "time of books." Almost daily the boy-poet would bring a large ripe apple for his "girl schoolmate," and about as numerous were his verse presentations. The teacher tried to keep an eye upon "note passing"- but one might as well try to keep the sunshine from an open field. With no little effort, I have secured a copy of a verse written in the school room by the boy-poet to a little girl who is now a happy mother and a glad reader of our poet's pen. The morning on which this poem was written, the poet had placed an apple (the coat of which being a color of red 12 and gold) behind his sweetheart's basket by the schoolhouse door. She was a girl possessing red lips and golden hair-and the reader will note in the verse, the comparison of same to the apple colors. The sarcastic "nickname" of the teacher was "Boss" which some "offenders" gladly used. The verse follows: When at this note you look Pretend to read your book; For "Boss" can hear a kitten tread- And see from the back of his head. This note, be careful where you put, For I tire of standing on a foot. I love you more than I can spell And better than my tongue can tell. Behind your basket on the floor You'll find an apple by the door; And its coat of gold and red Is like your lips and golden head. The only "perfection" of the foregoing verse is the rhyme; and doubtless if our poet could rewrite the verse of "the long yesterday," with his pen of today, he would say "golden hair" instead of "golden head"-besides other changes. But if nothing more, the foregoing "boyhood verse" is amusing, and denotes natural poetic talent. The verse of the foregoing comment, was written near as I can learn, in the eleventh year of its author. The writer of these lines does not pose as a critic, but she ven- tures to state that the rhyme of Kentucky's poet is absolutely per- fect, and nowhere in all his works can be found a near rhvme. This is not so in the works of some of our celebrated poets. for 13 from their pen we find near rhymes such as "home and come," "love and move," "heaven and given," and others. Neither is a poet licensed to mispronounce a word to make a rhyme, such as "eternity with thee." This is also found in the works of some of our celebrated ancient poets. In this biographical sketch it is but fitting that I should quote the opinion of others in their praise of Kentucky's poet. Hun- dreds of newspapers from ocean to ocean have reviewed his poems, and it is a rare "exception to the rule" when comments have been given other than of praise to both his verse and platform lec- tures. Among hundreds of press compliments, space only permits the following: KENTUCKY. The Rev. William Lee Popham, author, poet and lecturer, of Louisville, is the author of "Poems of Truth, Love and Power." The volume is replete with the lover's wooing, life's sunshine and shadows and the whispers of the wind. This is the young author's eighth book. The Rev. Mr. Popham was born in 1885 on a Kentucky farm, and in his poems the birds sing and the brooklets babble in the land of a poet's dream.-Louisville Times. He sees the bright side of life.-Central Methodist, Lex- ington. He is a finished orator. His address was regarded as a gem of the first water. His work has been much praised, especially by the religious press. They listened to him as if they were spell-bound. . His address was sparkling with genuine oratory.-Louisville Herald. He has achieved considerable success on the lecture platform. -Baptist Argus. (Now the Baptist World.) His lecture here was a prose poem of sublimest eloquence.- Hopkinsville Kentuckian. 14 He is a lecturer of considerable fame.-Farmer's Home Journal. Greeted by thousands.-Daily Gleaner, Henderson. Many of his poems contain touching and beautiful sentiments. -Christian Observer, Louisville. NEW YORK. His poetry is of matchless simplicity and appeals to the bet-- ter nature of man. It is affectionate, romantic and dreamy. His sentiment kisses the beauty-land of flowers, love, womanhood, music and art.-Broadway Publishing Co., New York City. FLORIDA. The Kentucky poet and lecturer is regarded as one of the South's most eloquent orators.-The Evening Metropolis, Jack- sonville. For more than an hour the orator and poet swayed his audi- ence from tears to smiles.-The True Democrat, Tallahassee. GEORGIA. The silver-tongue orator lectured here to the delight of a bril- liant audience. While he is a minister of the gospel, his lectures and writings are non-sectarian. He is a great drawing card. His language is flowery, his voice is strong and eloquent, and his thought is of the greatest degree of simplicity.-Daily Times, Valdosta. ALABAMA. As a lecturer, he commands an easy flow of eloquence. As a poet, he is a child of nature. A self-made man.-Daily Siftings, Dothan. IOWA. He is popular, and has made a splendid record.-Highland Nobles Herald, Des Moines. (Now the American Noble, Waterloo.) OHIO. His poems are original and complete.-The Springfield Daily Republican. 15 MICHIGAN. He is an orator who sways his audience at will.-Daily Star, Niles. He is not only an orator, lecturer and poet, but is author of many books. A man of ability and many distinctions.-Daily Tribune, South Haven. INDIANA. Noted orator greeted by large crowds. Lectures are popular. -Daily Herald, Madison. Beautiful sentiments - flowery eloquence. - Daily Review, Greensburg. NEW JERSEY. At his lofty strain, we bare our heads in silent admiration.- Newark Evening News. MASSACHUSETTS. He has come up from a choreboy and plowboy on a Kentucky farm to a writer of tuneful verse. People who are stirred by the baby's smile, the mother's croon, the wind in the trees and the melody of the birds will read with pleasure, the chimes in "Poems of Truth, Love and Power."-The Boston Globe. The writer has secured and quotes hereafter one of the first poems ever published from William Lee Popham's pen- said to have been published in the early teens of the boy-poet. Critics have pronounced it almost perfect-and remarkable for only a boy. Conflicting stories are told of the poet's first woo- ing; but safe to say, he was a lover in the bud of childhood. Throughout the wording and between the lines of this poem, you will stroll with its author along the "meadow-brook" near his childhood home, and feel the beats of a lover's heart locked within a boy's bosom. May its noble thrills inspire our modern youth to purer sentiments of love-and bless millions yet unborn. 16 THE BABBLING BROOK. When the school is out I like to come and play- In the "meadow-brook" Near the close of day. The floating clouds above Are lined with heaven's blue- With the ruby light And sunbeams peeping thru. I like to see the minnows Playing in the brook- Fleeing from my hand That even dodge my look. But if they only knew That I'd do no harm- They would surely be Freer from alarm. If I were a minnow In this tiny stream, I'd seek the ocean- There to swim and dream: For the world is big; And the massive sea Would be a pretty home, And to it I would flee. 11 I like to see the flowers By the brooklet's bank; And he who loves them not Is a sour crank. And when I put the violets In the "hollow stump" For my pretty sweetheart My throat contains a lump. But when I see her fingers Clasp the violet bower My heart is full of praise For every tender flower. And when she reads the poems I write here by the moss This vale is full of beauty And life's without a cross. I like to see the cattle As they creep and graze; For I could linger here By the brook for days. And the little lambs That frolic on the lawn Would like for me to stay From dewy eve till dawn. 12 The roses seem to say, Take me to your breast; And all they have to do Is to bloom and rest. If I were a rose, I'd seek a place more fair; For I'd make my home In my sweetheart's hair. If I were a bird, I would never fly From a noble boy And make him want to cry. For I wouldn't hurt The pretty little things; I'd only hug them On their folded wings. If I were a bird I would sing and sing To any boy or girl Who their crumbs would bring. But there're cruel boys Who delight to throw At the little things No matter where they go. 13 I like to see the buds By the running branch; And every one would blossom If they had a chance. But the other boys Take the tender bud And tear it to pieces Or fling to the mud. I like to see the trees Yonder on the hill, For they seem to be So very cool and still. If I were a tree, I'd spread my shade O'er the panting sheep And the withered blade. I like to drive the cows From the grassy lea, For every time I come My heart is light and free. For when I pass the stump I put a poem there For my little girl With locks of golden hair. 14 The golden sun is sinking In the distant West- And hides its shining face Beyond the wooded crest. But memory of the scenes Here on which I look Will as lasting be As the babbling brook. The foregoing poem was among the first William Lee Pop- ham ever wrote and the memory that inspired it is truly "as lasting as the babbling brook," for the poct's latest verse con- nects the golden chain of inspiration. As a clear proof that his first inspiration still lives to blos- som in his soul, the writer hereby offers the reader another poem written in the poet's manhood and which is only the past tense of the first poem. During these several years the poet's first wooing has lived in his heart, and one of the world's sweetest poems is born in William Lee Popham's following verse entitled: "My First Sweetheart." 15 MY FIRST SWEETHEART. They say 'tis "puppy love" With one you first admire, But methinks that mine Was a burning fire; For my child-heart I often thought would melt With the love therein Which day and night I felt. Her eyes were blue as violets; Her face was like a flower- With roses in her cheeks That blossomed every hour. Her hands were like a lilly Resting then in mine; And sparkling were her eyes Like the new-made wine. Like wing-beats of angels Were her starchly skirt; The ground she trod was honey Instead of common dirt. And I gave her apples Instead of a diamond ring; And to think of her Made me want to sing. 16 Methought her gingham apron And her calico Were finest silk and satin; And love made them so. And the pretty bonnet That almost hid her eyes Was fairer than the moon Set in jeweled skies. We used to wade the puddles After summer rains; And would go to town To see the passing trains. And the sandy mud That showed her tracks was sweet- For 'twas "holy ground" Where she put her feet. My poems were the ribbons In her curly hair; And a thousand rainbows In colors, lingered there. We would wade the brooklet, And her rosy toes Were prettier to me Than the blooming rose. 17 And I'd lie at night In the land of dream- When again we'd wade In the "meadow stream." And gold can not buy The memory of the scene, For visions of the past Will keep the memory green. Perhaps 'twas "puppy love" Soon to fade away, For childhood is a blossom That thriveth but a day. But the matchless fragrance That my childhood gave Will sweeten every hour From the cradle to the grave. In a poet's dream I like to recall The early dewy walks By the garden wall. And the morning glories Which we gathered then Fill a poet's heart - And freely move the pen. 18 Childhood is a blossom Only soon to wither; And the waves of life Take the blossoms thither. And my manhood now Possesses more joy Because I was a lover When a little boy. The poet whose soul is aflame with love, says: "I love the world because, 'God, so loved the world to send us a Re- (deemer,'" and throughout the poet's whole works, love is the text. His following poem is sympathy's sweet fragrance from the holy flower of love-and its dew-kisses are heavenly tears. LIFE'S MEASURE. Life is measured by deeds, Not by fleeting years; Is measured by heart-throbs And sympathizing tears. Is measured by love And sweetest thought; Life is sweet by loving, And not with money bought. 19 Again life is measured by duty well done; no matter how brief the life. And no one more beautifully expresses the writer's sentiments than the poet's following verse: MISSION FULFILLED. The bud that blossoms And lives but a day Has filled its mission, Tho' brief its stay. And he who lives To honor God Has nobly lived, Tho' the road he trod Be rough and rugged And but a mile, His life hath won God's approving smile. 20 Doubtless the greatest poems our hero ever wrote were written in solitude; when not a human voice was near to break the silent stillness, where no harsher notes were heard than a bird's free song or the.kind wind's whisper. Heaven must have paused when the young poet wrote the following masterpiece. IN DELLS OF SOLITUDE. In dells of solitude Where God his valleys laid Is where thoughts are born Of which verse is made. For there is noteless music And the wordless song; And he who understands Will his stay prolong. Fenced by the horizon Of every colored cloud, There is plenty of company Excluded from the crowd. And the blue-domed heaven An inspiration yields To the poet-lover Who dreams amid the fields. 21 When life seems dry and dull With the crowd 'tis duller, For then we can not pause To view the clouds of color. If you'd be master Of all that you survey, Seek sweet solitude Where one may think and pray. There is enough of heaven In the bird that sings To inspire the soul And give it soaring wings; And he who hears the song And truly understands May sail the seas of thought And visit many lands. The stars are heaven's eyes And from the skies protrude To greet the one who waits In dells of solitude. And the gentle breeze Has a thousand fingers To lie upon my brow While listening to the singers. 22 The brooklet speaks a language Of familiar words- Like unto the language Of the warbling birds. And he who sits alone Doubtless will conclude That sightless wings of Love Doth beat in solitude. The dells of solitude The poets long have sought- Have given to the world Sweet poetic thought. For matchless thoughts are born When quiet thoughts exclude The agonizing noise In dells of solitude. I like to dwell in valleys Of the winding river, For I find kind Nature An inspiration giver. May her loving borders My happy dreams seclude Close to God and heaven In dells of solitude. 23 The writer knows of no poet whose verse-subjects cover so much of human life and interest. Heaven will be populated with lovers of home, and the following verse seems to express what I fain would say: HEART AND HOME UNITED. Love is born of heaven, And is the only light That beautifies the home When all without is night. Our feet may leave the home, But never will our heart; For the heart and home Will not, can not part. 24 The writer has never found a truer friend of woman than our poet hero; for his grace is so kin to womanhood. In not a few poems the poet pays high tribute to wife, mother and daughter. The reader will be glad to read the following poem from one who is ever ready to pluck a thorn and drop a flower in woman's uneven path. JUST A WOMAN. Was ever there a woman Whose heart was never tired Was ever there a woman Who has never cried Was ever a flower given That she didn't bless the bringer Was ever a mockingbird A sweeter-hearted singer Oh, I answer, "No!" This life would be a dross Without a woman's love And a woman's cross. For each a cross must have Who is holding fast A love within her heart From memories of the past. 2S It's just a woman's love Of a woman's heart, For holy love and woman Can not stay apart. God did honor woman With the Savior's birth, For He knew that she Was queen of all the earth. If you strive to please And often feel at loss, There is help from Him Who bled upon the cross. For he is woman's friend Who was sent to earth To heal the broken heart And come of woman's birth. Unlike some poets who make a comedy of love, our hero knows that love is sacred; love is in his sermons, in his eyes, in his voice; for his soul is love. Is it not proper to define one's soul as being love Proof: "God is love." "God made man in his own image." That is, in His spiritual image or soul image. All that is good in the world is directly or indi- rectly from love. The noble soul whose love goes out to meet its kinship in other souls, somewhere will find a sympathetic friend; and 26 like the balmy breeze that associates with the flowers, each noble soul will carry delicious fragrance for the enjoyment of others all along its glad way. Let us not look upon love as a stranger in our midst, but a living reality, ever present-itself our soul's life. Again our hero expresses in verse some more sweet thoughts of love. Love is not a stranger- That dear, sweet thing- But like summer flowers Whose fragrance fling Their sweet, warm breath Against my heart; And in mine eyes The tear drops start. Not tears of sorrow Too often shed- But of devotion And joy instead. Stay! holy love, My heart to stir, And light the future Like days that were. Happiness is not always born on a bed of sunbeams amid silver clouds. Even when the day is shadowed by some dark sorrow, the optimistic eye can either look to the future in 27 cheerful hope; or backward in sweet memory of happy days that were. In memory's gallery are many sacred pictures of unfading brightness. To sit in meditation of happy "by- gones" is to engage in gratitude's prayer; and such a prayer never ascended but that heaven sent its blessings down upon the soul that prayed. This moment you can shut your eyes and see more in memory's gallery than to open your eyes to behold the limited scenes around you. The horizon is where the clouds and earth seem to meet; but go to where the horizon now seems-and it will still be the same distance away. So we can not see very far ahead in life's uncertain journey; but no power save death, can prevent us from looking backward- as far as fancy may carry our thoughts on white wings of ease. The pessimist alone looks backward upon unpleasant scenes and forward on predicted unpleasantness. The optim- ist not only sees the silver lining of the dark cloud and lives in a beautiful castle of hope, but looks backward upon happy "by-gones" and lives his childhood again; sees the dear, sa- cred pictures in memory's gallery and keeps his spirit sweet. Again our poetic hero gives us a poem which illustrates what I desire to say. In reading his lines may you, with the poet, draw "mind pictures" and sit in the bliss of memory's gallery, where a thousand sweet things are recorded and are at your command. 28 IN MEMORY'S GALLERY. If you would see, 0 friend, Gently close your eyes And every rainbow color Will illume the skies; For the fairest pictures That forever last Are in memory's gallery- The unforgotten past. Now I close mine eyes While I sit alone To recall the past With thoughts of every zone. And while I'm sitting here I sail a thousand seas; I hold a slender hand And sink upon my knees. For I have to pray To thank the God of Love That the gentle breeze Did my vessel shove O'er the sea of thought To the laughing shore- Where flowers wither not, But blossom evermore. 29 In dear memory's gallery Are my golden treasures, Gathered from the past Of a thousand pleasures. And should my present wants Never be supplied, The scenes in memory's gallery Would make me satisfied. I only reach my hand And close mine eyes to look- To gather buds of childhood By the babbling brook. And I see again The darling that I kissed And the pleasant strolls The other fellow missed. To-day I sit in dream- A dream almost divine- Thinking of a love That's forever mine. And it lights the future Like the golden past, For 'tis only love That makes heaven last. 30 The meanest flower that blooms has a blessing for man, bee or butterfly. It takes a noble, large soul to enjoy and appreciate flowers. Remember the gay butterfly that flits from flower to flower and makes its heaven in the garden, had to grow into a nobler being ere its ability for enjoyment. When the butterfly was yet a worm, beautiful flowers lost their fragrance in the sweet air where it creepeth and the poor dull thing never knew the sweetness thereof. Not only did God desire us to appreciate flowers when He said, "Consider the lillies," but His delight is that we also learn from His singing birds, a foretaste of heavenly music, for our God says that "He notes the sparrow's fall." Then, that which is not too small to attract the attention of the Creator of the world and everything therein, is certainly worthy of our thought and appreciation. No poet ever lived whose love for birds and flowers sur- passed the love of our poet hero; and in the verse which fol- lows is a whole sermon in rhyme; and students of the Bible will find in it a message well told. HE NOTES THE FALLEN SPARROW. The One who said, "Consider The lillies of the field" Is the author of a love That never was repealed. 31 And never can it be; For He who cured the lame And heals the broken heart Remaineth just "the same." The One who paints the lillies And made the babbling rills Also "owns the cattle On a thousand hills." And His loving eyes See the fallen sparrow When cruel hands have loosened The piercing, deadly arrow. Every foot that trods "The straight and narrow way" Makes a track toward heaven At labor or at play. "The way" is broad enough- Tho,' indeed, is "narrow"; And He will guide us home Who notes the fallen sparrow. "He who notes the sparrow's fall" Has made "the way" so plain That not one honest heart Will have to seek in vain. 32 And we're told "a fool Needn't err therein, For Jesus calleth all And seeks alike to win. Mothers will find in our poet's heart deep sentiments of appreciation, and in his verse sweet consolation, sympathy and inspiration. A mother's prayer is the silver key that opens heaven's golden gate; and thru her earnest pleas from the depth of a mother's heart, many wanderers have been lured from sin's benighted path to "the straight and narrow way" of righteousness. I would that every praying mother in this world of woe could read our poet's following words: A MOTHER'S HEART. I stood beside the door While the cradle rocked And saw the mother's pride That in her heart was locked. And down in her breast Was a love so deep- That death alone could sever From her babe asleep. 33 I heard the mother's voice In an undertone Which was a prayer Known by God alone. For He whose Son was born Of a virgin dear Knows a mother's heart And her prayers doth hear. Now, we will follow our poet to a white-washed cabin in Kentucky. In order to enjoy the poet's verses immediately following this comment, let us take fairy wings of ease and fly before the cabin door by the lane where the scene is painted. Around the cabin grows a patch of sugar cane; the rustic farmer is sitting by the door playing the violin, while the poet is taking in the scene while he eats some ripe apples, throwing the cores to the hungry chickens. The birds are singing in the trees as if they were also in- spired by the violin's music, and two kittens are playing beneath the tree. Presently lovers are seen eating sugar cane, and in the poet's fancy the winding road in front of the cabin changes to "Lover's Lane." In the yard are red roses and snowy white lilies, and across in one corner a frisky pup is capering over a lazy hound. In the floor lies the baby upon its back playing with its toe. 34 The farmer pauses, the bow is still a moment, while the good wife (woman-like), who has listened till tears fill her eyes, leans upon her husband's breast anxious to be wooed. Amid this enchanting scene, tho' only be its existence in the fertile field of its author's imagination, do you wonder at our poet writing the following inspired lines BECAUSE THE VIOLIN HAD A BOW. Down in old Kentucky Amid the sugar cane I sat beside a cabin That nestled by the lane. The farmer played the violin By the open door; And while I ate some apples The chickens ate the core. By the white-washed cabin The birds began to sing- Catching inspiration From the violin string. And methought that heaven Occupied that place; And I saw the kittens In their fond embrace. 35 Then I saw two lovers Eating sugar-cane; And the winding road Changed to lover's lane. And I wondered why They walked so very slow; But sweethearts are in fashion, 'Cause the violin had a bow. And passing by the gate The lovers came and went; For the violin talked And they knew what it meant. For it spoke of love As they would come and go; But lovers are in fashion, 'Cause the violin had a bow. It took me back to childhood When I was on the farm- Where a little lassie Clung upon my arm. Those were happy days That only lovers know; But sweethearts were in fashion 'Cause the violin had a bow. 36 And by the little cabin The bow began to quiver- And methinks my tears Nearly made a river; For in its voice I heard A sound soft and low, And I thought of sweetheart, 'Cause the violin had a bow. Then I shut mine eyes And saw her dimpled chin- Where smiles were chasing blushes And hiding there within. For I saw the darling "Dressed up" in calico; For wooing was in style, 'Cause the violin had a bow. And methought the music Was better than a band, For in the vale of memory I held a slender hand. And I thought my heart Would fill and overflow; For childhood came again, 'Cause the violin had a bow. 37 The roses in the yard Blushed a pretty red, While the farmer played And swung his silver head. And the garden lillies With faces white as snow Bended to caress, 'Cause the violin had a bow. And the frisky pup Was playing with the hound- Active as a monkey, Rolling on the ground. And the cooing baby Was playing with its toe; And sweethearts were wooing, 'Cause the violin had a bow. And the farmer's wife Leaned upon his breast; And 'ere the music ceased The woman was caressed. And love made that home A heaven here below- With wife and husband lovers, 'Cause the violin had a bow. 38 Love is a sunbeam That lights the night of life, Making home a heaven For a man and wife. The heart will never age When thru its center flow The blood drops of love, 'Cause the violin had a bow. I like to see the aged Going down life's hill- In the path of love In peace and wooing still. For the aged hearts A sweetness can bestow; For youth and age are lovers, 'Cause the violin had a bow. And tho' it be a cabin White-washed with lime, Love makes it a heaven- An eden most sublime. And the sugar-cane Bended from its row To greet another stalk, 'Cause the violin had a bow. 39 And while the violin's music Did its beauties blend, I only wished its voice Would never, never end. For the joyful thrills The playing did bestow Brought me happy memories 'Cause the violin had a bow. Then let all the lovers The happy harvest sow And reap the grains of love Instead of tares of woe. For to them my pen Shall never be a foe; For I'm a friend of lovers, 'Cause the violin had a bow. Kentucky's poet seldom writes pessimistic poems, for an optimist generally writes the sentiments of his own heart. Yet, with his fertile imagination, he sees both sides of life -and for a few moments he can step into the shoes of Mr. Pessimist and relate his woes to the world. It is said that the poet wrote the following poem just after an interview with a bachelor who had wooed a young girl in vain. 40 The poet surely read the lines of woe in the unsuccessful wooer's face when he wrote: THE LOVE-SICK BACHELOR. Oh, the heart is troubled! And its pain is doubled When a fellow misses The blisses and the kisses In the honeymoon carriage Of a happy marriage. Life is but a "phony" In anti-matrimony, For the joys that mingle When you're gay and single Become unwelcome hisses Without a woman's kisses. Life is dull and dreary, Days are long and weary When man is straying In his sore dismaying From the path that's flower-bedded Where the true are wedded. 41 The love-sick bachelor described in the above poem was woeful because he chose to wear the "robe of cares." Or again, he may have been reaping the harvest of his own sowing in early life; for perhaps he, like many others, has "trifled with affection" by winning the love of some true woman, pretending to love her in return, when his pretention was a lie. If this be true, the bachelor of our comment was a God-made pessimist, for the Divine law is, "Whatsoever ye sow, that shall ye also reap." However, let us learn this lesson: A "God-made pessimist" does not have to remain a pessimist after he has reaped the harvest of his sowing, for then he has paid the price of his folly. Our merciful God will forgive, and every "reaper of woe" may change the seed he plants and become an optimist again. All of us have made mistakes; many have made the same mistake. But let us pray the forgiveness of the One who is ever ready to forgive, and throw off our robe of cares. In ore sentence our poet expresses much in connection herewith: THE ROBE OF CARES. The man who knows Life's many woes Is he who wears The robe of cares. 42 Whether in the open fields, woodland or secluded in his sitting room, our poet is never lonely, for his thoughts surely entertain him. I would that all of us could, like our hero, be at home with our thoughts no matter where we go, for I truly believe that contentment is from contented thoughts. "As a man thinketh, so he is."-Bible. AT HOME WITH THOUGHTS. My joy is deep as the ocean; My trouble is light as its foam; And where my hat is off I am at "home, sweet home." And I am contented As the cow that "chews her cud"; My thoughts are jolly company In city, valley or wood. My thoughts are my companions- And I am their guest, For we abide together At work, playtime or rest. And if the day is sunny Or filled with cloud and rain, My thoughts never fail Their guest to entertain. 43 Companionship is the one word which makes matrimony worth while. But, alas! many married persons are not com- panions. To be companions, the two must be one in sacrifice, loyalty and love. To be happy, each must strive to please the other; and be no cause for mistrust. Doubtless there are times when our poet;s heart yearns for companionship, for in his following lines he sees God's mated species of birds, fishes, rivers, flowers, and even the blades of grass: COMPANIONSHIP. The mated birds are happy And linger close together; Love walks with love And will walk forever! And the countless fishes Are mated in the sea; Then why not my darling Livest thou with me The blades of grass together Grow to healthy green; And flowers bloom together Living there between. And as brook meets river And journeys to the sea, Will you, oh! my darling, Journey now with me 44 The sunbeams and the flowers Hold each other's hand; The shells by the seashore Sleep in golden sand. The honey in the blossom Lures the busy bee; So natural is companionship, Then why not you and me At the first thought you will think our poet is giving queer advice when he says "Kiss the cook." But ere long you will agree that many cooks are hungry for kisses-for frowns are given instead. I like to see men who possess enough gratitude to distin- guish them from hogs. The man who eats good biscuits made by the dear hands of wife, sister, daughter or mother, and never "praises the cook," is acting but half a man. The hog also eats his fill beneath the apple tree with nothing but a "grunt." Don't frown and growl if the meal is accidentally "below the standard" but say: "Well, dear, the good meals of the past more than make up for accidents." Do this, meaning it deep down in your heart, and "the cook" will not make many "accidents." 45 Woman craves appreciation; she longs for sympathy; but alas, too many get it not. KISS THE COOK. If I gave enough advice To fill a massive book, On every page I'd write: "Be sure to kiss the cook." For cooks re fond of kisses- And the finest bread Awaits the man who praises The simple, dainty spread. When no one is near To interfere or look, My advice to you Is to kiss the cook. Of course, I mean to say- To avoid all strife- That this advice applies When the cook's your wife. 46 In reading the complete works of our poet, doubtless some will ask if he has "ever been disappointed in love," for there is a tearful flow in many poems. This question came to my mind and I was not satisfied to write this biographical sketch without knowing. At last, I decided that the best way to determine this question satisfactorily was to ask our hero whether he had ever been disappointed in love. I was frank in asking the question and obtained an honest reply none the less frank. The answer was, "No." But our hero is human. He has wooed ladies who have since passed out of his life; but to use his own words, the courtship was ended "by mutual agreement." I accused our poet of being "a disappointed lover." His reply was: "You might as well accuse me of being a mother, because I write with a mother's sentiment." I am glad to give so definite an answer to my reader, for "love" comprises so large a portion of his works. However, in reading the whole, I find that our hero's writings on love are largely optimistic; and the saddest phase of love is expressed in his following verse: 47 LOVE'S GRIEF. Love's way is steep; And depth and height Is often reached Thru blackest night. And the one who sorrows With a cause to grieve Gives to one their love And love doth not receive. The reader will be pleased to know some of the existing conditions under which the following poem was written. Its author was conducting a revival meeting in a Kentucky town when several young ladies invited the "poet-preacher" to take a stroll with them in the "daisy field." Our poet accepted the invitation; and while the girls gathered daisies in the beautiful valley, their guest sat beneath a tree and wrote the following: 48 WITH THE DAISIES. In the field of daisies Where lovers long have trod Methinks I hear the whispers Of kind Nature's God. For "He who notes the sparrow" Surely hears their song- And gives them inspiration And their lives prolong. In the field of daisies Our wandering feet may tread- Where the pretty blossoms Lift their yellow head. And here in solitude Amid their fragrant smell, The daisies nod and bow At strollers in the dell. The song birds are singing While the others hop O'er the field and meadow From hill to mountain top. And methinks their music Among the daisies here Is full of youth and joy, Mingled with a tear. 49 The sky is blue and crimson Beneath heaven's dome- And earth and heaven meet Where daisies have their home; For here, indeed, is beautyl Not from an artist's hand- But only equaled yonder In heaven's happy land. The pretty, sloping hillsides Dressed in robes of green Are beautified with daisies Blooming here between. And here is Lover's eden- Where the air is sweet Amid the nodding daisies At kind Nature's feet. Oh! sweet, blooming daisies- My queenly summer flower- I-love thee as a friend Every day and hour. And when I stroll among you My pen is light and free- For of all the flowers The daisy is for me. 50 In thy yellow hair Is a speck of black- And when we leave you here You seem to call us back. For here we find a welcome Amid your stately bloom- Away from town and city Where there is plenty room. And here may lovers ramble And tell the olden story- Till it newer seems In its sacred glory. For in this blooming valley Is love and sweetest bliss- Where even nodding daisies Seem to woo and kiss. When we tire of roaming O'er the meadow lawn- The daisies seem to smile And lure us on and on. And the skies are golden When we sit at rest- With a bunch of daisies Pinned upon our breast. 51 And there the living daisy Hears our throbbing heart- And lies its pretty head And withers ere we part. And if the daisies told The lover's thought and word- They would be the sweetest The angels ever heard. Good-bye, pretty daisies- The falling rain and dew Will visit you from heaven, For Jesus cares for you. And now we journey homeward, But with sweeter thought Of the noble lessons Which you, sweet daisies, taught. so WHERE LOVE IS. A mansion is a cottage; Yea, 'tis but a hut! Where the door of pride Is closed with love outshut. And let me tell you this- Listen! gentle reader: I'd rather have a cottage By a lonely cedar- If love is there With its golden hope- Than a shaded mansion Where love and peace elope. LOVE LED ME BY THE HAND. There is an olden proverb Which says, "Love is blind"; But Love's eyes are perfect And Love is very kind. Love took me thru the dell- Led me by the hand; Led me where I knew not O'er river, sea and land. 53 'Twas I who was blind; The fault was all in me. But since I go with Love I stumble not, but see. I see the blossoms of the skies Set in the vault of night; And since I'm led by Love The world is full of light. Love led me by the hand, Leading just before- Thru unknown paths of beauty Will lead me evermore. The south wind's balmy kiss Swung flowers to and fro; And I have promised love With her to ever go. God's strongest command is love; and love makes a happy home a foretaste of heaven. Love makes angels of human mortals, and without love no soul can abide with the redeemed in the eternal "city not made with hands." Love is the tie that binds two hearts into the oneness of holy endeavor, and is the inspiration of earth's noblest good. Love is life's evening star that sheds its constant light to illumine sorrow's blackest night. Without love, life would be a burden void of the beautiful. 54 Our hero gives to the world a heavenly blossom of undying fragrance in the following poem: LOVE BUILDS HEAVEN. "God so loved the world That he gave His Son;" And His love was proven By the crucified One. Jesus said, "I go To prepare a place for you." Then if love gave us Jesus, It gives us heaven, too. Love builds an earthly heaven In vhich to go to heaven in; For earth is an eden To the heart that hateth sin. And he who is the richest Gives his love away; For truly love is needed To pave the "Narrow way." 55 SHE IS SO SWEET. I have a girl so charming And so very sweet That the clover blossoms Kiss her cunning feet. And if I were a bee Seeking honey tips, I'd suck the honey From her rosy lips. And the fragrant breezes Kiss each floating curl Which adorns her head, Making them unfurl. And the dew-kissed flowers I pinned upon her dress Seem to lure her eyes, Begging her caress. The sun with arms of gold Her slender form embrace, While a thousand sunbeams Are born upon her face. And if I were a sunbeam, The love-light in her eye Would be my pretty bride Or else I'd want to die. 56 THE SCHOOL OF LOVE. The dew-kissed flowers of the morning Bring thoughts of love without a warning. And in my walk I stop to pray, For love doth crown each new-born day. The bird that sings as he flies Charms my ears and longing eyes; And when he flees beyond the cloud My pen is busy, my head is bowed. And only a lover can understand The easy flow of a poet's hand; For when with love the heart is stirred The soul dictates each written word. The heart that feels the true and good Can not be misunderstood. And love can never turn to hate, For love's the key to heaven's gate. In pretty Eden love began; And since has been the goal of man. And the God who gave it birth Made love the holiest thing of earth. My life is sweet; love makes it so; And a lover can only know The deep, sweet joy that love has brought Since at Love's school I have been taught. 57 LOVE IS HERE. Let my heart be singing, For love is here; Ope' the golden gate, For heaven is near. Sing, sweet nightingale; Grow, roses, grow; Babble, dear, old brook; Flow, cool waters, flow. Let music and melody And praises and rhyme Mingle in beauty For immortal time. For love is here- 'Tis here at last! And all the darkness And shadows have passed. WITH THEE. The wind gently whispers The sound of joy entralfing, And the mockingbird Thy dear name is calling. And I sit alone With every moment blessed; For I think of thee When at prayer and rest. 58 I'm living in your sunshine; I'm living in the shade; I'm living in the heaven Which your love hath made. My heart leaves its bosom To with thee abide, For I'm truly happy When I'm by your side. No matter where I wander Or what roof I'm beneath- I'm in a flower garden Where I make a wreath. For my thoughts are flowers Since the day we met; For I loved you then And I love you yet. When I look into your face Those dreamy, violet eyes Make me quite forget The beauty of the skies. For when I'm with thee All others I forget, For thy love-light glows When the sun is set. 59 LOVE IN DREAM'S PARADISE. Time has made us fonder, And love doth linger near To lighten every shadow And kiss away the tear. Love is like a fairy To light the darken places, And drives away the frowns To make the smiling faces. I hear the birds a-singing Amid my sweetest rest; And they linger near, Obeying my request. Love is in my dreaming, And my thoughts entice The happy warbling birds To sing in Paradise. The paradise of dreams Is the lover's land Where flowers bloom forever Above the golden sand. In the blessed future When dreams come true I'll then relate My happy dreams to you. 60 A DREAM OF THE ONE I CAN'T FORGET. Last night while all was sleeping The dew had fallen wet, I fell asleep and dreamed Of the one I can't forget. Somewhere within the border Of the shadowed night Her eyes were like the stars That make the heavens bright. The deep, blue shade of evening Stretched across the land; And the sky was painted By an artist's hand. The silver moon was shining Amid the clouded peaks; The splendor of the flowers Were copied from her cheeks. The night's enchanting songs In a whispering tone, Bade me lie and listen In my room alone. And thru the open window When the moon had set Came in garments white The one I can't forget. 61 And standing in the beauty Of a lover's smile She waited there in silence To let me dream awhile. With open arms of welcome Where earth and heaven met A poet's dream was ended Of the one he can't forget. LOVE AND I. Love and I were camping Beneath the starry tent; The moonlight was our blanket As it came and went. By the valley pathway The flowers bloomed anew, While the heavens showered Down the sparkling dew. The mockingbird was singing Its thrills of sweet delight, And its voice was blended With music of the night. And a brook was gushing From the mountain side; And in the arms of Nature We were satisfied. 62 We heard a hundred voices Ere we went to sleep, And the brook was singing Down the mountain steep. And in the arms of Night By the singing stream We closed our eyes in slumber In a poet's dream. Love and I are partners And with each other dwell- In the mountain shadows Or in the blooming dell. We are true companions And where one is sent The other goes along To make each content. Love enjoys my company And can not stay apart From a poet's thoughts And a lover's heart. For my heart's its home, And it will ever guide My steps o'er leas of joy Where love and I abide. 63 Tho' our poet is in the blossom of young manhood, his verse appeals to old and young alike. Safe to say he will never grow old in heart, for "souls of love" do not age. Let us catch his spirit of youth (tho' some of us be already near- ing the grave) and be young again. Be young with the same sweet love which made childhood a foretaste of heaven. May our hero live to enjoy the "youthfulness of age" when a useful life will have been spent and millions yet unborn will have read his poems of inspiration. If you would that the "childish-aged" be sweeter-spirited, begin now in yourself, and you, for one, will realize the attain- ment of our poet's following lines: MY HEART GROWS YOUNGER When my face shall wrinkle And my locks are gray My heart will be a blossom- The fairest one in May. As I pass the milestones Of the fleeting years My heart is growing younger In the pool of tears. 64 While passing thru Life's bitter phases I'l stop and rest Amid the daisies. And thoughts of love Will make me young When youthful songs Will have have been sung. IN THE CITY. God has set a billion diamonds In the bosom of the night; Man has dressed a darkened city With a flood of mellow light. I am sitting by my window Looking o'er the crowded street, Listening to the mingling voices And the sound of horses feet. Far above the dear, old city The moon is shining yellow gold, Softly falling on the house tops, Shining as it shone of old. And beneath the sloping house tops Is a world of joy within; For love can make a home Be the roof of slate or tin. 65 Flowing by the dear, old city Winds the river with its song, Singing with the same old music Ever floating on and on. And life is like unto the river When in heaven-God, with Thee- We'll reach our distant home As the river finds the sea. God, protect the dear, old city! Every home and standing wall; For in mercy thou has promised To even note "the sparrow's fall." Bless the hands that toil and labor, For to them the city owes The progress of the desert Which has "blossomed as the rose." Looking out upon the city We behold the passing crowd. Some are rich, some are toilers, Some are humble, some are proud. Some are renters, some are brokers, Yet the richest of them all And the poorest was the Savior Who was born within a stall. 66 And the honest man who labors Gets the praises of my pen, For a carpenter was Jesus When he taught the sons of men. And methinks that every mother Is a gem of priceless worth, For 'twas a holy woman Who gave our Savior birth. Aud our meek and loving Master, Whose heart is full of pity, Was born in the manger In a crowded city. For the inn was crowded As they in many cities are; But the stall was lighted By heaven's evening star. Looking out upon the city With a prayer for every home I behold the sons of men Who in sin and sadness roam. But the love of Christ Who bled upon the tree Offers peace and pardon- A priceless gift, but free. 67 God not only made the earth and "called it good," but He dressed it in a beautiful gown of green grass which adorns its exterior like the stars adorn the evening sky. There is beauty in the grass unnoticed by thousands, who, "having eyes to see, but see not." The grass which provides alike a bed for the "weary tramp" and the prowling beasts, also adorns the barren earth with new life, beautifying the home, giving food to hungry grazers, cheerfulness to envi- ronment, and wealth to the commercial world. Try to imagine the dire result were grass extinct from the earth. Surely any poet could write of flowers, but not every one can hold a blade of grass before the world and show therein the value and beauty of its possession. The Creator, "who doeth all things well," clothed His creation with green and inspired our hero to thusly declare its beauty: 68 GRASS. I am not a flower, Yet I am the queen Of every growing blossom And every sprig of green. Were it not for me To carpet field and vale, The earth would be a desert A plain of no avail. Boasting not the fragrance Of the summer rose, My path is everywhere The wind-god blows. Boasting not the color Of a single flower, I comprise the wealth Of earth's greatest dower. From yonder grassy mountain To a distant hill My seed is safely planted From the sparrow's bill. And where I touch the earth The barren peaks are rife With a rug of beauty And a touch of life. 69 I climb the giant cliffs Where man has never been, And there I feel at home As well as in the glen. Should I refuse to grow For a single year- Failure, woe and famine Would be approaching near. I beautify the mansion Or the humble cot; I make a pretty lawn Of a cheerless spot. I kiss the feet of paupers; I kiss the feet of kings; I'm the "stamping ground" of herds And a thousand things. Beneath the winter snow When you'd think me dead rm waiting for the spring To lift my sleepy head. For when the golden sun Wakes me with a kiss, My bed a-rife with green, Forgets its loneliness. 70 I cover all the meadows For the grazing flocks; I penetrate the earth Above the giant rocks. I border winding streams And beautify the shore; The sky is my roof And I am heaven's floor. And every one I welcome Of myself to share; And when you come to my house You'll always find me there. Come and sit upon me, For I am cool and clean; And of Nature's carpets I am surely queen. Fairer than the flowers Of every name and class Is a pretty lawn Composed of common grass. For of all the beauties I have ever seen A simple blade of grass Is the stately queen. 71 He who is guided by love will reach the silver heights of happiness in the end. No matter how steep the mountain before you, or how "mirery" the valley around you, love will pave the way with gold and "burn the bridges behind you." Foes and conflict retreat and fade from love's way like the darkness fades before the morning light. But great things are not done in a day. The patient God took His own good time in perfecting creation. "Time," the "error-mender" and the "love-defender," will in its own glad season, remove the obstacles from your feet and place them anew as stepping stones .to reach the goal. Large souls are born not "on flowery beds of ease," but often "in the rough." But "the greatness" of a large soul is measured by the "struggles in the rough." The man who grows to manhood without "trials" to tem- per his character is but half a man; his vision is narrow; his capacity is small. If you want to enlarge a balloon, fill it within. So with man. Man's largeness is measured not by exterior adornment. Too many "black hearts" are living beneath "white linen." Man paves his own way by his aspirations, and the world largely accepts him at his self-value. The buzzard is not an ugly bird; but is. little respected because of its low aspiration. 72 The eagle is king of the bird world because of his high aspiration to soar above the "storm cloud." Man, to be much and do much, must soar his aspiration on gilded wings far above the cloud and storm of life. And if he resumes his flight above the "storm of woe," it is his holy aspiration which will keep him above the gulf of failure. Small ships cannot buffet the waves of life's sea. Love enlarges the soul; and large souls can rise above the storm-ridden tide. In every rosebud is the heart of the rose; but it takes sun- light, rain and shadow to perfect its blossom. In the heart of every man is a spark of love; and this spark is capable, by cultivation, of becoming a mighty flame. Great fires are started from small sparks; and it takes the wind to fan them into greatness. So in man, the wind of adversity only enlarges the blaze. Love your way thru the world. Love your enemies into friends. Love melts cold, selfish hearts into friendship. Love opened up the way thru "the red sea" and closed the way behind to destroy the enemies. That's "burning the bridges behind you." Love never has and never will fail. "God is love;" and love will ever guide you. Let the world "read as it runs" the following words of our poet: 73 LOVE WILL GUIDE YOU. Tho' the road be rugged O'er grief's benighted way, The star of love will guide you To a purer, fairer day. For the soul of man enlarges And the heart forgets its pain- When life to love surrenders Letting only peace remain. Free thy soul from every idle! And the love which fear defied Will put to flight all evil And conquer selfish pride. Love will "burn the bridges" Across the stream of woe- Leaving far behind you Each evil-minded foe. If your way is rugged And the stones have tried you, Crowns of peace are waiting Where love will ever guide you. If the road is rugged Be thou not resigned, For future's way is brighter Than the fairest way behind. 74 IN THE VILLAGE OF YOUTH. When I lived in the village of youth Lakes were as large as the oceans. I dreamed of the life of "grown-ups" Devising a thousand-odd notions. Apples adorning the orchard, Bumble-bees flying about, Children eating green apples Amid the laughter and shout. The world was full of sunshine; Life was springtime and summer. The singing birds were welcome And every joyous comer. Dreams in the eyes of maidens, Wooing in man's attention- And walks 'mid clover blossoms Where joy was not a pretention. The town seemed larger than city; Manhood seemed a century away. Our goal was a romp in the meadow; Our pasttime was laughter and play. The harmless shadows of evening Were full of tigers and bears; And the sweet joys of childhood Outnumbered our ills and cares. 75 I loved in the village of youth And my heart came out of its prison; I wooed in the morning of life Till the sun was higher risen. I dreamed in the village of youth Till evening caressed the morning; But dreams, like the apple blossoms, Were only a brief adorning. TO MAKE THE WORLD BETTER. Don't say that the world is evil And every one's out for the money; Don't mimic the goal of the buzzard- But the bee that seeks the honey: For life is a withering blossom Containing the bitter and sweet; And its fruit will ripen in heaven If we stay at the Savior's feet. As in the tender heart of the rosebud Is sleeping a beautiful rose- So in the heart of each man Doth the flower of goodness repose. And to awaken the flower, You must be patient and kind- Seeing not the evil prevailing, For 'tis often wise to be blind. 76 The world will never grow better With a pessimistic redeemer; But life's beautiful dreams Are born of a joyful dreamer. The Savior "came not to condemn"; Not merely to reform, But stood upon the sea And calmed the raging storm. Not to condemn, but redeem Was the Savior's glad mission- Calming the storm in the heart In its troubled condition. And if the storm of trouble In your heart is abiding, Remember, in the shadows of night A beautiful star is hiding. To some comes large opportunity, to others small, to others none. To the latter I fain would cheer-and indeed there is for him a chance. Self-made opportunity asks favor from no one-and often is the wing which flies highest above the gulf of failure. And he whose opportunity is small, truly has a right to be en- couraged; for ere the butterly-a worm; ere the flower-a tiny seed; ere the mountain trail-the valley journey; and often ere the greatest victory is temporary defeat. All sunshine or all 77 shade can not develop one sprig of the vegetable kingdom. So with man. The shadows of sorrow if we meditate upon their lessons, make us stronger, truer and better equipped to meet every phase of life. To every man who possesses a true spirit-the shadows, the small beginning and the struggles of life only mean that he is going to succeed. Expect a new morning to succeed each black night-for 'tis Nature's law. So with human life. THE VALLEY PATHWAY. In the smallest bud that ever grew A perfect flower reposes; Sun and cloud and rain and dew Bring forth the perfect roses. And be it so in the life of man- At first the step is small; Ere he is able to say "I can" Into his life some cloud must fall. And he who climbs the mountain height Must go the valley way- Expecting shadows of the night Before the dawn of day. 78 TO THE NIGHTINGALE. Secluded in the woodland In summer's leafy June I'm sitting in the splendor Of the yellow moon. And mingling in the air The voices that prevail In sweetness can't compare To thine, dear nightingale. To-night I hear a voice From yonder leafy limb That charms my very heart Like a sacred hymn. And the moonlit dell Beneath the sky is pale While I pause to hear Thy song, dear nightingale. While the earth is sleeping The shadows of the night Seclude the happy songster Beyond the human sight. The dogs are in the woodland Running down a trail. The dell is full of song From thee, sweet nightingale. 79 There is enough of heaven In thy charming voice To fill the soul with joy And make the heart rejoice. Tho' tiny be thy throat And be thy body frail, Thou art large enough To sing, dear nightingale. And thy cheerful song Upon the evening air Seems to fill my heart And drive away my care. Be other songs forgotten, Memory can not fail To remember thine, My cheerful nightingale. Often in the night Many hearts that pine Fain would rejoice To hear that song of thine. I, too, would sing for others And shadowed lives avail If I had a voice Like thine, dear nightingale. 80 BY THE SURGING SEA. I like to stand on the golden sand And see the waves retreat; For on their tide the vessels ride And the rolling waves are fleet. Like unique things with mammoth wings The ships are coming in; And here I sit and thoughts commit Of where the ships have been. Before our doors from distant shores O'er a trackless road Comes the freight in value great And at our docks unload. The ships go back o'er a watery track, Leaving the waves for me; And let my pen proclaim to men My thoughts by the surging sea. Beneath the wave in an ocean grave Many are the dead that sleep; Burried from home beneath the foam With no mourners there to weep. The wavelets tell as they roll and swell A message strange, to me; And a thousand tales of giant whales Belong to the surging sea. 81 A LAST WORD. Dear reader, in reviewing this little book, you have read only a few of hundreds of William Lee Popham's poems. The poems you have read in this book do not appear in any of his other books. Therefore, in ordering another book of poems by the same author, no two will be alike or the same. You should never rest till you order a copy of William Lee Pop- ham's new book of verse entitled: "Poems of Truth, Love and Power." 200 Pages. 240 Poems. Finely Bound. Price 1.50. Every lover of poetry should be the proud owner of this book. To give the reader an idea of the value of this great book, the "preface" is hereby printed from a copy of "Poems of Truth, Love and Power": PREFACE. "It is needless to say much in behalf of this volume, as it speaks for itself louder than echoes of tongue or pen. "This book is original. It is of the Author's brain and heart. "This volume will be appreciated by all lovers of nature, beautiful sentiments, echoes of kindness, love and hope, advo- cates of Christianity and dreamers. 82 "This work throughout is of matchless simplicity. It ap- peals to the better nature of man. "Its sentiment kisses the beauty-land of flowers, love, womanhood, music and art. It is affectionate, romantic and dreamy. This work is ideal for school, church and home. "Poems may be found herein to suit nearly every occasion. Here's a rich field for school commencements, parlor gather- ings, Christmas celebrations, the stage and entertainments in general. "Herein is a choice collection for elocution teachers and their pupils, and ministers of the Gospel. Many a brief sermon is preached in poems. Ministers of every religious sect will quote some of these gems in their pulpits. "And well they may. Often one verse of a poem will express a speaker's text. "Some chord of life's harp of a thousand strings will utter sweet music in response to a tender touch. Tho' this chord be invisible to the pessimist, unseen by the false, and unheeded by the vain-yet the music is slumbering there on some golden key. "Second in beauty to the angel's message, 'Peace on earth, good will toward men,' are the sentiments of a poet-true to humanity and God. "Tho' he plays upon life's golden keys and alone hears the music; tho' he flies amidst the fairyland to gather flowers of Praise, his fiction, his rhyme, his truth-must be weighed in the silver scale of a poet's meaning. 83 "'The truest heart can always find Some truth amidst the fiction; For you cannot bind a poet's thought With chains of restriction. A poet's thought may kiss the sky Where his heart is leaning- And tho' it be a fairy tale The true may catch its meaning.'-Popham. "Very respectfully, "BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. "New York City." Remember the Name and Price of the New Book, "POEMS OF TRUTH, LOVE AND POWER," Title in Gold. Price 1.50. Order all copies from- THE WORLD SUPPLY CO., Louisville, Ky. Agents wanted everywhere. Write for Terms. 84 Books by William Lee Popham. Poems of Truth, Love and Power. Containing 200 pages and 240 poems with "thoughts that breathe and words that burn." To own a copy is to keep and cherish it as long as life lasts. This book is fully described on the three preceding pages in the "Preface." Title in gold. Price, in beautiful ricn blue cloth, 1.50. Silver Gems in Seas of Gold. Containing the author's beautiful lectures, sermons and es- says, covering nearly every phase of human life. This massive volume is an ideal guide for public speakers, elocution pupils and composition writers. Persons who aspire to be much and do much in life will find in this book the very stepping-stones to success and hap- piness. Mothers will find throughout its pages sweet consola- tion, hope and peace in "the truth that makes you free." Its noble lessons should inspire the lives of our modern youth to nobility, progress and virtue and bless millions yet unborn. No home, school teacher or pupil can afford to be with'out this book. Large and complete. Title in gold. Price in cloth binding, 2.50. 85 Nut Shells of Truth. Being a book of short sayings and toasts of wisdom, com- mon sense and beauty. Unique, striking and charming. It's a forceful "shotgun" that hits on every side and makes no apology for whom it strikes. I Replete with about one hundred pages of sentence ser- mons. Title in gold. "A You just ought to own a copy. Price in cloth binding, 1. FIVE BOOKS OF FICTION. 1. The Villalle by the Sea Being a love story of romance, morality and every-day life. This story begins at the marriage altar and continues thru the experiences of married life, showing the thorns and flowers, sunshine and shadows. You will be interested in their only son's romance with a young woman school teacher, to whom the "young chap" went in the "log schoolhouse," where he easily learned "the first rule." The story pictures the sweetest, happiest "home life" to be found beneath heaven, and is full of tears that make the heart better for their flow. A story picturing nearly every side of life. No words can briefly describe its sacred beauty. Price, in cloth binding, 50c. 86 2. A Tramp's Love. Being a love story of a young man who left home and lost his wealth in speculation. One cold night he, a ragged and hungry tramp, rang a mansion door-bell for "a piece of bread and meat." A damsel with brown eyes and auburn hair an- swered the door bell and gave the tramp "a hand out." He fell in love with the damsel "on first sight"; and it is very interesting to read how he brought about a courtship with this dashingly pretty girl. No one can read this great romance without being the better for its heart-throbs of sweetest lovte. Price, in cloth binding, 50c. 3. Love's Rainbow Dream. The heroine is a romance-loving girl of "the land of flowers" who fell into the hands of a Gipsy fortune-teller whom her rival bribed to put her on a "false trail of love." The story tells how time changes the heroine's true lover from a moralist to a follower of Christ, how truth conquers false- hood, how love "burns its way" to seek its own; and how two lovers, each unaware of the other's love, drift thru the vale of tears till love's every foe retreats. A story of "word paint- ing," unique plot and moral uplift. You will be interested to read what part the rainbow plays as this dreamy, dark-eyed, romance-loving girl starts on her hunt for happiness thru the blooming dells of Florida-over swollen streams to reach the 87 rainbow's end as it clung in beautiful colors to the bosom of heaven and pointed to the "land of her dream." Price, in cloth binding, 50c. 4. She Dared to Win. A love story relating the wooing of a poet and a girl artist. You will read with uncommon interest how Gladvs set "love's net" to make the acquaintance of a poet whom she had seen only once. A sweet story of "love at first sight," where his poetry melts into her pictures and her drawings melt into his poetry. Read how this beautiful gray-eye(l girl of twenty summers dared to win. Price, in cloth binding, 50c. 5. The Valley of Love. Being a story of two cousins in love with an author-de- scribing his trip in the Kentucky mountains, where he wrote his new book and dreamed and wooed in Love's valley. You will be charmed to read how each cousin plans to win the same man and will enjoy roaming with the author on fairy wings of fiction o'er sunny hills and shady dells where earth and heaven meet in Kentucky. Price, in cloth binding, 50c. The foregoing described seven-dollar-and-fifty-cent series of eight books make an ideal series for every home; and no library is complete without them. The special price for the 88 above described series is only 6. A saving of 1.50 if the series is ordered together. Books sent at once on receipt of price. Send all orders to THE WORLD SUPPLY CO., Louisville, Ky. Agents Wanted Everywhere. WRITE FOR TERMS. 89 How to Get William Lee Popham's Books FREE. Any reader may earn one or all of William Lee Popham's books by taking a few orders for this book-"Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet"-among their neigh- bors. Use this copy in taking orders; and when the required number of orders are secured, collect the retail price from your customers and remit same to the World Supply Co., Louisville, Ky. Then the books so ordered will be shipped, prepaid, to you at once, together with the free book or books we offer from William Lee Popham's pen for your service. Have your friends read the prose and verse you like in the copy you own, entitled "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet," and you can easily earn any of the poet's books you desire. To all readers who want to earn one or all of William Lee Popham's books by taking orders for "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet" we hereby make the following liberal and permanent offer: "POEMS OF TRUTH, LOVE AND POWER" for selling six paper-bound copies of "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet," or three cloth-bound copies. "SILVER GEMS IN SEAS OF GOLD" for selling ten paper-bound copies of "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet," or five cloth-bound copies. 90 "NUTSHELLS OF TRUTH" for selling four paper-bound copies of "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet," or two cloth-bound copies. You are only required to sell two paper-bound copies or one cloth-bound copy of "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet" to earn either of the following five books: "The Village by the Sea." "A Tramp's Love." "Love's Rainbow Dream." "She Dared to Win." "The Valley of Love." Each paper-bound copy of "Love Poems and the Boy- hood of Kentucky's Poet" is to be sold for the regular price at 50c, and the cloth-bound copy at 1. Use the copy you own and begin to take orders at once for copies of "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet." Collect as you go, and send us the money as you take each order, and when you will have sent the required orders to earn the book you desire, we will send same to you, prepaid. We fill all orders the same day we receive the money. Each order you send us is credited to your list; so you don't have to wait to send all orders at the same time. Thousands of readers are earning William Lee Popham's whole series of eight books by taking orders for this book- "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet." To earn this whole series of eight famous books you only have 91 to take thirty orders for the paper-bound or fifteen orders for the cloth-bound book-"Love Poems and the Boyhood of Ken- tucky's Poet." In case you earn the whole series-of William Lee Popham's eight books we will not require you to send the money you collect in advance, but will express the books to fill your order, together with the series of eight books you will have earned- and after you will have opened the box of books in the express office, counting them carefully, you may pay the money to the express agent, who will forward same to us. There is an extra charge for "C. 0. D." return, but we will pay for same and also pay the other express charges. In remitting money to us use either postoffice money order or express order. In each case the one issuing the order gives you a plain receipt, showing the exact amount you have sent us. So there is no risk should a mistake occur; for it could be righted at once! Remember we pay all express, postage or- freight on all books sent from our office. Address all orders to THE WORLD SUPPLY CO., Distributers of William Lee Popham's Famous Books. Louisville, Ky. 92