THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES OF POEMS BY MARTHA ELIZABETH POWERS WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY KATE SHANNON KNIGHT " It singeth low in every heart, We hear it each and all, A song of those who answer not, However we may call." CAMBRIDGE jprtntci at tljc Ktoewtte 1892 Copyright, 1892, BY KATE BRANNON KNIGHT All rights reserved. TS INTRODUCTION IN making this small collection of poems from among those left by Miss Powers, the ob ject has not been to offer them to the public, nor as a contribution to literature; but as a part of herself, an echo of that dear voice that is forever still, they are now printed as a last token for those who loved her. That she wrote verses at all will be a surprise to many who knew her well. So modest was she about claim ing any merit for them, calling them " Rhymes " simply, even to her nearest friends, that it is with a sense of silent apology to her that I have ventured to gather together these scattered threads. It would be impossible for me to write a fit ting memorial of Miss Powers. Our lives ran so closely together, my gratitude and affection are so strong, and my sense of loss is so great, that 76404 4 INTRODUCTION it would be useless to try to be impersonal ; but it is not necessary. Those into whose hands this little book will come, those whose lives touched hers, do not need to be told how beau tiful the life was that has closed, how rare the scholarship, how strong and fine the spirit that held the frail body, without wavering, to duty and the right, nor that her friendship was an inspiration and a benediction. Strangers could not be made to understand it. The simplest statement of the truth would sound like eulogy to those who did not know her. The impromptu lines of her old friend and neighbor, John G. Whittier, fitly express the loving appreciation of those who best knew her : " Among the wise and helpful souls, Whose generous lives made ours More sweet for love's unselfishness, Be numbered Martha Powers. " The smiles that shone through grateful tears, Like sun in April showers, Lit up through all its clouding cares The heart of Martha Powers. INTRODUCTION 5 " Life is no pastime, duty's ways Not always lead through flowers, But few have walked therein more brave And sweet than Martha Powers. " Still those she loved and served in life Her memory richly dowers, And happy homes confess the debt They owe to Martha Powers." She gave her life freely, gladly, for others, not alone for her friends ; any one who needed help had a claim. Especially her heart went out to all who were struggling for knowledge or growth in any way. A desire for better things found in her instant sympathy and practical encourage ment. I recall more than one instance in which her few hours of rest were given up because this laborer or that servant could come at no other time for the halting reading lesson, some times in broken English, sometimes with a brogue. How gentle she was as a teacher, how wise, how patient ! No one who tried and failed felt stupid under her kind eyes. How boundless, 6 INTRODUCTION her compassion was for those who were left behind in the race ! She was so keen in intellect herself, with so great a thirst for knowledge, that she always read like a student, looking up every reference not familiar to her, and making one feel that all of her that was not soul was mind, and yet she devoted herself to those who were mentally maimed and halt and blind,, the "backward" ones. To her they were all " God's occasions." A mind was like a garden to her. She " planted out " the weeds with something better, and saving what was good, ah, how quickly she recognized it ! she filled in here and filled in there with infinite pains, until at last she could reap her reward by seeing before her eyes that for which she had wrought, indi viduality. No two of her gardens were alike. Her methods brought forth no copies. I need not add that her pupils did more than simply grow in the knowledge of books. They learned lessons of life that are priceless to them. Straight from more than one heart came the INTRODUCTION 1 message, " She was the inspiration of my life ; all that I am, all that I am capable of becoming, I owe to her." And what she was to her pupils she was also to her friends. It was a curious fact that each one brought his best to her. Not because she was critical ; she always had an excuse for those who faltered by the wayside, a reason for all shortcomings except what she fancied were her own. Instinctively one felt the uprightness and no bility of her character, that she was filled with " a fine sense of right, And Truth's directness, meeting each occasion, Straight as a line of light." All that she taught, all that she urged upon others, she lived in her own life. Precept and example went hand in hand, and seeing what high purpose had wrought in her made more than one set his ideal farther above him. Perhaps I ought to say a word about the poems. She began writing verse at the early age of fifteen, and was chosen Class Poet the 8 INTRODUCTION year of her graduation from the Framingham Normal School. At intervals all through life she wrote occasionally, publishing many articles, both in prose and verse, in various papers and magazines. The last poem in the collection is the last she wrote, and bears the date of 1887. Her early friend Mr. Whittier thought that her girlish verses showed talent. May be if life had fallen in easier paths, if her duty and inclination could have lain closer together, even she, with all her modesty, might have called the result something besides " Rhymes." But early in life she knew that she must join the ranks of bread-winners, both for herself and for those who were dear to her, and choosing the profes sion of teaching, she prepared for it with the same thoroughness and singleness of purpose that marked all she did. She accepted her chosen work as a trust, as an opportunity for good, and she brought to it such service as lifted up even that high calling. The winters were spent in New York; the summers in Massachusetts and Maine, and some- INTRODUCTION 9 times with a party of especial friends at a Way side Inn among the New Hampshire hills. Here for several summers, in the beginning of her extreme ill-health, she gained enough strength to carry her safely through the wearing work of the winter. "Ah, those beautiful Ossipee days ! " she used to say in recalling them. And so we all said who had the privilege of enjoying them. Where else in all the world were there such sunsets behind the mountains, where such green stretches of meadow land, such clear sands in the river bottoms, and such sparkling waters to cover them ! Where else were there such warm and abiding friendships developed ! Many a song since given to the world was sung there for the first time in the glow of the big backlog in the old " west parlor." Something in the air made all our faults seem small and our virtues large. Could it have been the " Summer Chemistry " of which William C. Gannett sings : " What does it take A day to make, A day at the Bear Camp Ossipee f 10 INTRODUCTION White clouds a-sail in the shining blue, Dropping a shadow to dredge the lands ; A mountain-wind, and a marching storm, And a sound in the trees like waves on sands ; A mist to soften the shaggy side Of the great green hill till it lies as dim As the hills in a childhood memory; The crags and the ledges silver-chased, Where yesterday's rainy runlets raced ; The back of an upland pasture steep, With delicate fern-beds notching wide The dark wood-line where the birches keep Candlemas all the summer-tide ; Brown-flashing across the meadow bright The stream that gems its malachite ; And, watching his valley, Chocorua grim, And a golden sunset watching him ! Add fifty lives of young and old, Of tired and sad, of strong and bold, And every heart a deeper sea Than its own owner dreams can be ; Add eyes whose glances have the law Of coursing planets in their draw ; Add careless hands that touch and part, And hands that greet with a heaven's sense ; Add little children in their glee Uprunning to a mother's knee, INTRODUCTION 11 Their earliest altar ; add her heart, Their feeble, brooding Providence : Add this to that, and thou shalt see What goes to summer chemistry, What the God takes Each time he makes One summer-day at Ossipee." Many whose hearts and hands touched ours there already know the mystery of the Here after. Those of us who are left draw closer in spirit as the circle narrows, with thankful hearts that we were counted worthy to have such friends even for a season. Miss Powers used to say that as she grew older she found herself with more faith and fewer beliefs. Certainly, as the years went by, her faith in the Fatherhood of God and the Brotherhood of Man grew stronger, and testing her belief by her life one came to feel that a faith which could make a life so perfect and beautiful here must be sufficient for the Here after. " She to many among us gave A reverence for the true and pure, 12 INTRODUCTION The perfect which has power to save And make the doubting sure." Hers was a simple life grandly lived. The warp and woof of it seemed sometimes to be made up too largely of the hard commonplaces of life, straitened circumstances, self-sacrifice, care, and ill-health ; but in and out and over and under were woven gentleness and grace, purity and tenderness, charity, patience, and high re solve. Those of us who watched it closest and saw it till the last felt that it was. complete, and that the King would not reject it. It seems but yesterday that the door closed between us when she went on to join " the silent ones." It is hard to realize that anywhere in the world there is a white stone bearing her dear name and the record : BORN IN SANFORD, MAINE, FEBRUARY lOra, 1833. DIED IN LAKEVILLE, CONN., SEPTEMBER BTH, 1890. We could not bear it without faith in the glad reunion of the life to come. " Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees ! IN TROD UCTION 1 3 Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play ! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life is ever lord of Death, And Love can never lose its own ! " CONTENTS ttm SUNSET 17 A SUMMER HOME IN NEW ENGLAND 21 THE PRAIRIE-LAND 24 To THE CRICKET 26 To THE SPRING BIRDS 28 MY NEIGHBOR 30 Two TIMES SEVEN 31 A LESSON FROM LIFE 33 No TIME FOR ELATING 35 LAMENT 37 TIRED OUT 40 O SOFTLY FALLING FLAKES OF SNOW 41 DRIFTING 43 DREAMLAND 45 THANKSGIVING HYMN 47 SUPPLICATION 49 AURORA BOREALIS 51 SUNSET ON BLUKHILL BAY 52 POEMS. SUNSET THE autumn wood, the sunset sky, Such gold and purple blend, No Indian web nor Tyrian dye Their beauty may transcend. Along the narrow, dusty road The matchless glory falls, Transforming lowliest abode To gilded palace halls; And myriad insects, far and near, Through glowing ether flit, Each one a living, moving sphere, By level sunbeams lit. 18 SUNSET The curling smoke-wreath lifts afar Its gold and azure pride ; The rough-hewn fences, post and bar, Stand strangely glorified. t A graceful child, with flowing hair, Bounds towards the sunset gold, And seems an angel borne in air Or saintling aureoled. Now the great blazing sun is hung Amid the laced tree-tops, Now slides their leafy depths among, Now deep in shadow drops. But sends his gleaming arrows back To fringe the purple mist That hangs above his shining track, A veil of amethyst. The splendor deepens, changes, flies ; The west is dim and gray ; Cold on young Evening's bosom lies The dying Autumn Day. SUNSET 19 But lovelier days will come and go, And brighter suns will set; Old Nature's march is grand and slow, Her triumph speeds not yet. She waits to greet the perfect man, Clear-eyed and strong of soul, To comprehend her wondrous plan And bravely use the whole. With senses broad awake and keen To read Truth's countersign In beauty eyes have never seen For lack of vision fine, She waits, but soothes th' impatient race With gift of rarer gems Than ever yet found honored place In kingly diadems. The darkness deepens. Solemn night, Her sable veil unfurled, Is slowly shrouding from our sight A restless, weary world. SUNSET autumn wood ! O sunset sky ! Night cannot hide your charms ; 1 lay your gold and purple by In memory's shielding arms. A SUMMER HOME IN NEW ENGLAND TO MBS J. J. P. LET others throng the crowded ways Where fame and foolish fashion shine, But let these quiet, restful days With peaceful Nature still be mine. No startling raids of hurrying steam Can this retired domain invade ; We walk where glinting sun rays beam Through overarching boughs of shade. In solemn grandeur ranged around, The wooded hills like watchmen stand ; Bold guardians of the peace profound, Which rests on this enchanted land. The fragrant breath of clover fields Is wafted on the evening breeze ; 22 A SUMMJEK HOME IN NEW ENGLAND The warm south wind its burden yields, Of healing balm from od'rous trees. We, grateful, breathe the perfumed air, And while the quickened pulses thrill With hope to do and mind to dare, What luxury the power of will ! No midnight mirth despoils the day ; Our curfew is the whip-poor-will; While myriad songsters, wildly gay, The early morn with music fill. Now falls the soft, caressing rain, On sun-browned sod and drooping flower, Till all the landscape smiles again, Responsive to the timely shower. Along yon pasture, forest-hemmed, The patient cattle slowly wind And crop the verdure, crystal gemmed, Good gift of Nature, always kind. A SUMMER HOME IN NEW ENGLAND 23 Our higher needs are well supplied; Our hearts that love, our thoughts that range, May safely rest, or wander wide, Find calm repose or endless change. Each gleam from One All-ruling Mind We catch with never-wearying eyes, With grateful hearts that still we find All beauty brings a glad surprise. THE PRAIRIE-LAND THEY said the prairie-land was fair, With broad expanse of waving gold; That rest was in its balmy air, And in its bracing winter's cold. They said its glorious morning sun Shone fervent down from clearest skies, But backward flung, when day was done, Cloud curtains vast of gorgeous dyes. Its lakes and softly flowing streams Spangles and threads of silver light Were woven in my sweet day-dreams And sleeping fancies of the night. I found the prairie-land one day, Too late, alas! for waving gold; In plenteous sheaves the treasure lay, And yet the half remained untold. THE PRAIRIE-LAND 25 The pure, glad winds from fields new-mown Would fan my cheek with soft caress, Ethereal contact all their own, Like heartwarm, human tenderness. Each dawn became a glad surprise, Each day a revelation new; The marvel of the sunset skies An ever-deepening wonder grew. But when the crowning beauty came Of richest crimson, brown, and gold, And autumn's rule was just a name 'Twixt summer's heat and winter's cold, When, soft and warm, a dreamy haze Wrapped bluff, ravine, and low hillside, We said, " The days are perfect days ; " The prairie-land was glorified. TO THE CRICKET LITTLE cricket, blithe and cheery, Harping all the long night through, Are ye never faint and weary? Comes no listlessness to you? Are these simple chirpings praises To the mighty God above? Songs which sinless nature raises, To extol His gracious love? Every night I lie and listen While your cheerful harpings rise, And the stars above me glisten Like the light from angel eyes. Then the loves and hopes and dreamings Of the nights of long ago Cheer me from the starry gleamings, Soothe me from the song below. TO THE CRICKET 27 Listening to your simple numbers, I forget the cares of now, And the old, soft, quiet slumbers Best again on eye and brow. TO THE SPRING BIRDS SING on, merry birds of spring, Life has no dark side for you, Friends ye love are always friends, Friends ye trust are always true. Sing on, merry birds of spring, This fair world is all ye know, And upon its trifling things All your time ye may bestow. But it scarce becometh me, Born to live for endless years, On life's vanities to spend All my cares or all my tears. Life to me means something more Than to live from day to day, 'Tis a fierce and ardent strife, Not a child's unstudied play. TO THE SPRING BIRDS 29 Yet this world is not all gloom ; Such as ye its gladness bring, Cheering sad and weary hearts, By the blithesome songs ye sing. Sing on, then, ye merry ones, Let your sweet, wild music come From each little joyous throat, In your new-chid woodland home. MY NEIGHBOR MY neighbor Las a garden, all in sight; Nasturtiums, asters, pinks, and dahlias bright Smile sweetly in the sun's caressing light, Or graceful bow beneath the autumn rain. My neighbor's flowers, every one, but still, Mine to enjoy and dream about at will; His to be careful for, to watch and till. Ah me ! his joy is mixed with toil and pain ! My other neighbor owns a house and lands, Counts up his daily gains with jeweled hands, Might mark the fleeting hours with golden sands; This neighbor passes for a happy man. Heaven make him such ; my castle towers as high In far-off Spain, beneath a kindly sky, Where safe from tax or mortgage my lands lie, Tell me who is the richer, ye who can. TWO TIMES SEVEN Two times seven ah, blissful age ! Childhood's sorrows ended, Life begins a happier stage Child and woman blended. Standing on the sunny slope, All the past seems brighter; Looking up and on with hope, Youthful steps grow lighter. Griefs that made the child-heart sad Now are griefs no longer ; Well-done work shall now make glad, Mind and will grown stronger. Wisdom gained in earlier days, Less from love than duty, Now shall strew along life's ways Happiness and beauty. 32 TWO TIMES SEVEN No wise prophet lips are mine; This no revelation Caught from oracle or sign, All is love's dictation. Eyes that watch the opening rose Need no quickened seeing, While before them surely grows Mystery of being. Then should words become a prayer For all light and sweetness On the opening life so fair, Verging towards completeness; For a glory on the way To the " three times seven ; " Onward thence to perfect day, Blending earth with heaven. A LESSON FROM LIFE THE birds made music through the bright June days, As though there were no sorrow, Nor fear of any morrow, But only joy and love and praise. Their glad songs fell on ears attuned to hear The sweetness of all voices With which the earth rejoices, When Death seems far and Heaven near. The brightness left the day, the songs were turned To notes of woe or warning, For Death came near that morning, Too well the birds and listeners learned. 34 A LESSON FROM LIFE The singers mourned, perchance, a blithesome mate Or too adventurous nestling, While human souls were wrestling With grief in homes made desolate. The summer days go on with sun and shade : Once more the birds are singing, While Time sweet balm is bringing To soothe the wounds by Sorrow made. So ever alternating song and sadness fill The cycle of all being. So wills the Great All-Seeing, And so, submissive, let us will. What kindly thought and tender hand may do To soften all life's grieving Is well, if, calmly leaving The rest, we all life's work pursue. NO TIME FOR HATING BEGONE with feud ! away with strife, Our human hearts unmating ! Let us be friends again this life Is all too short for hating. So dull the day, so dim the way, So rough the road we 're faring, Far better weal with faithful friend Than stalk alone uncaring. The barren fig, the withered vine, Are types of selfish living ; But souls that give, like thine and mine, Renew their life by giving. While cypress waves o'er early graves, On all the way we 're going, Far better plant where seed is scant Than tread on fruit that 's growing. 36 NO TIME FOB HATING Away with scorn! Since die we must, And rest in Nature's keeping, There are no rivals in the dust, No foes where all lie sleeping, So dry the bowers, so few the flowers, Our earthly way discloses, Far better stoop where daisies droop Than tramp o'er broken roses. Of what are all the joys we hold Compared to joys above us ? And what are rank and power and gold Compared to hearts that love us ? So fleet our years, so full of tears, So closely death is waiting ; God gives us space for loving grace, But leaves no time for hating. LAMENT ONE more great, loving heart forever hushed, Two hands forever still, Rest for another spirit worn and crushed, O God, was this Thy will? We saw him here, but yesternight it seems, He smiled upon us then ; The long days since have passed like time in dreams, Shall we not wake again? Ay, wake to hear that noble heart throb on In Christ-like tenderness? To see those eyes beam on the suffering one, With light to cheer and bless? 38 LAMENT O Father, let us wake, and speak one word, Our late regret to prove To him who too much of our censure heard, Too little of our love. In vain our pleading, we must wake to weep, But not to work for him; O pitying God, forgive the sinful sleep With which our eyes were dim! Forgive, nor let the wealth of sympathy That comes too late to save Be scattered to the winds so wild and free, Nor buried in his grave. O let us learn from him and our regret, To feel another's woe, And chide no more a heart with grief beset, Whose wounds we may not know. He rests at last, beyond all pain and care, Beyond temptation's power; LAMENT 39 No blight o'erspreads the home that holds him there, No clouds above him lower. The spring will wane, the summer come apace, With all its birds and flowers, To sing and bloom above his resting-place, Through long, bright, dreamy hours. But fairer seasons cheer the spirit's home, More fragrant showers are there, And music, such as thrills no earthly dome, Fills all the perfumed air. So let him rest, and when we vainly long To hear his well-known voice, We '11 catch its music in celestial song, And in our grief rejoice. TIRED OUT TIRED out ! Ah ! yes, dear heart, we know, Too well, indeed, we understand The weariness that creeps so sad and slow O'er heart and brain and hand. It comes not oftenest to those Who proudly walk life's public ways; The hardest toiler may be he who chose A path apart from [human] praise. The life that gives itself for lives, Through years of trial, care, and pain, Knows more of toil than his who only strives For glory or for gain. SOFTLY FALLING FLAKES OF SNOW SOFTLY falling flakes of snow, What silent tales ye tell ! Ye bring the days of long ago Around me like a spell. 1 stand among the breezy hills, A dreaming child again ; The mystery of living thrills My busy, childish brain. I look along the coming years With mingled hope and dread; Will flowers of joy or rain of tears Bestrew the path I tread? Will those who love and guard me still Be always at my side, Or must some stern, resistless will Our pleasant ways divide? 42 O SOFTLY FALLING FLAKES OF SNOW O silent snow that made no sign The wond'ring child to cheer, To-day your secret all is mine, To-morrow brings no fear. On hallowed graves where dear ones lie, White-winged ye gently fall, But love and memory cannot die, For heaven is over all. The wintriest day in all the past Had more of good than ill, And cold misfortune's chilling blast IB fraught with blessing still. And so I watch your silent fall Divide the Sabbath calm, Content that He who ruleth all Can will His own no harm. DRIFTING I AM drifting, not on the broad ocean, But close between beautiful shores, Borne on by the current's soft motion, With hardly a dip of the oars. I am drifting, I cannot tell whither, And why should I question or care? It was Infinite Love brought me hither, And Infinite Love leads me where? Other voyagers are floating beside me, Always near me in sunshine and storm ; Friendly voices now cheer and now chide me, Friendly hands clasp my own, kind and warm. Some rash ones, too weary with drifting, Seized the oar with a vigorous hand, 44 DRIFTING And gayly the bright water lifting, Hurried on to the shadowy land. I meet not a voyager returning, Our vessels are all outward bound ; Though I call them with infinite yearning, Vanished friends make no answering sound I Some morning I too shall be going Beyond where the dark shadows fall ; Yet I calmly drift onward, well knowing My Pilot is Ruler of all. DREAMLAND ABE my dreams but fancy's Wild and shadowy train In fantastic glances Gliding through the brain ? Yet they charm and hold me With their magic spell; Books nor tongues have told me All they seem to tell. Hints of bloom and beauty In a realm so near, Where Love walks with Duty, Both apart from Fear; Where Truth rules serenely With unveiled face, Walking calm and queenly In the highest place. 46 DREAMLAND Where brave Friendship chooses For all time his friend; Where Hope never loses Heart until the end; Where Life one long blessing - Meets, at set of sun, Death, with arms caressing, And the twain are one. THANKSGIVING HYMN FOR love that crowns the fruitful year, O Holy One! we raise, While gathered in Thy presence here, Our songs of grateful praise. We thank Thee for Thy bounteous thought, The fruit of tree and vine, For skillful work our hands have wrought, They all, O God, are Thine. No foreign foes our coast alarm, No civil feuds are ours; Our soldiers sleep secure from harm, We deck their graves with flowers. We hear, across the surging main, The voice of fatal strife: We see where on the battle-plain Goes out a nation's life. 48 THANKSGIVING HYMN Thy hand is here, Thy hand is there; The fairest autumn flower And noblest fruit that ages bear Proclaim alike Thy power. We shout our " Harvest Home " to-day With glad, uplifted voice, The harvest of the nations may Soon make a world rejoice. So, then, in calm and holy trust, O Father, we would rest: We know Thy will and purpose must Be evermore the best. For sun or storm, for joy or woe, Oh, let us ever praise, Till bliss which only angels know Shall crown our ripened days. SUPPLICATION PRESS tenderly, O winter snow, The grave of him we love so well ; On that dear head now lying low The snows of age too rudely fell. O winter wind, so wild and strong, Blow softly o'er his place of rest; The blasts of poverty and wrong Too long his tender heart distressed. O winter sun, shine brightly down Where our beloved calmly lies; Nor Sorrow's cloud, nor Fortune's frown Shall longer vex his weary eyes. Ah ! weary eyes that looked too far Beneath the seeming good of things, So missed Hope's cheerful guiding star, Nor caught the gleam of angel wings. 50 SUPPLICATION Ah! weary eyes whose smiles were few Whose lids were often wet with tears. They look on joys forever new, They weep no more through endless years. O blest assurance, doubly blest To us whose hearts with sorrow swell, That such a soul finds such a rest, That heaven is gained, and all is well. AURORA BOREALIS MYSTEBIOUS invader of the night, In silence leading forth your ghostly band From out some unknown realm of sea or land, We ask, while lost in marvel and delight, The priceless boon of deeper, keener sight To look beyond, or strong hand to upraise The veil that hides your sources from our gaze. As soon will finite mortals understand Whence come the mighty hosts of human thought, In what fierce forge the chains of love are wrought, How passion's deadly glare can scathe and blind. Thus questioning, the Infinite is sought ; We yet will ask, for none but seekers find. SUNSET ON BLUEHILL BAT WE sit beneath the softly whisp'ring pines Whose fragrance mingles with the soft breeze sweet ; The squirrel gambols fearless at our feet ; Gulls, snow-white, clothe the rocks, as day de clines ; From gold and crimson skies the low sun shines ; The cold sea blushes, by such warm rays kissed ; The granite mountains change to amethyst, Till earth and heaven in calm communion meet. We cannot know what bliss or rapture waits, To longing souls incarnate still denied, But if there lies beyond the western gates, Or where the eastern hills stand glorified, The topmost plane of all celestial states, Would we pass on, or choose the hither side? University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY 'FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. Form L9- JC SOUTHERN REGIONAL UBRARYFACIUTY llliliiiiM''''' _ . nr\f\ o PS