  Lucien V. Rule, poet, was born at Goshen, Kentucky, August 29, 1871. He spent one year at State College, Lexington, when he went to Centre College, Danville, from which he was graduated in 1893. Mr. Rule studied for the ministry, but he later engaged in newspaper work, in which he spent six or seven years. During the last few years he has devoted his time to writing and speaking upon social and religious subjects. His first book of poems, entitled The Shrine of Love and Other Poems (Chicago, 1898), is his best known work. He is also the author of a small pamphlet of social and political satires, entitled When John Bull Comes A-Courtin' (Louisville, 1903). This contains the title-poem, the sub-title of which reads: "Sundry Meditations on the Rumored Matrimonial Alliance between J. Bull, Bart., and his cousin, Lady Columbia;" and several shorter poems. Those inscribed to Tolstoi, Whittier, and Walt Whitman are very strong. Mr. Rule's latest book is The House of Love (Indianapolis, 1910). In 1913 he will probably publish a group of poetic dramas-in-cameo for young people, and a brief collection of biographical studies. Mr. Rule resides at his birthplace, Goshen, Kentucky.
WHAT RIGHT HAST THOU? [From When John Bull Comes A Courtin' (Louisville, Kentucky, 1903)] What right hast thou to more than thou dost need While others perish for the want of bread? What right hast thou upon a palace bed A vicious and voluptuous life to lead, While millions struggle on in rags and shame? What right hast thou thus vilely to inflame Thy fellow men with hate, O fiend of greed? What right hast thou to take the hallowed name Of God upon thy lips, or Christ's, who came To save the race from sorrows thou dost cause? Not always helpless 'neath thy cruel paws, O Beast of Capital, shall Labor lie; Thy doom this day is thundered from the sky! THE NEW KNIGHTHOOD [From the same] Arise, my soul, put off thy dark despair; Say not the age of chivalry is gone; For lo, the east is kindling with its dawn, And bugle echoes bid thee wake to wear Majestic moral armour, and to bear A worthy part in truth's eternal fray. Say not the muse inspires no more to-day, Nor that fame's flowers no longer flourish fair. Live thou sublimely and then speak thy heart, If thou wouldst build an altar unto art. Stand with the struggling and the stars above Will shower celestial thoughts to thrill thy pen. Put self away and walk alone with Love, And thou shalt be the marvel of all men! |
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