THE ONE HOPE.

Auckland Star, Volume XX, Issue 40, 16 February 1889, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE ONE HOPE.

Cloud upon cloud in fair and stately guise Adorns the western skies. Flushed with the splendours of declining light Rosy and ambor bright!

The skies are" blue as autumn's skies can be; And here and there I see Some shining cloudlet idly borne along, As my thoughts are in song.

It is the close of a calm Sabbath day, As once again I stray By the cool river, loitering to behold Its beauties manifold.

I love to watch the shifting currents gTido With the impetuous tide; The 3unny wavelets in their sportive glea Are musical to me.

Near to a graceful bridge that spans and stems These waters of the Thames, I seek the coy recesses cool and sweet Of a beloved retreat.

My fancy wanders to that blissful time, When in the June's fair prime Beneath an avenue of limes I roved With one by me beloved!

Again I do recall her fair, young face Bright with surpassing grace ; And dream I listen to the soft-toned voice That made my heart rejoice.

The angel glances of hor soft brown eyes Within my soui arise ; Their beauty haunts me constantly, but here Their charm is doubly dear.

The scene is still unchanged—save that the breeze Disrobes the spreading trees; And the green leaves that made a fragrant shade Low in the dust are laid—

Low in the dust as youthful hope is laid, Yet I am not dismayed ; Loye like a Phoenix from funereal pyre Surmounts the flame and fire.

I may not taste again the peerless bliss, The sweetness of her kiss; Her beauteous form will nevermore be seen Where once its grace hath been.

Yet though this cannot be, there is a joy That death can not destroy. In thinking of the rapture that hath been Amidst this sylvan scene.

The heart has memories, even as the mind. And in it are enshrined The precious keepsakes into which is wrough* The giver's loving thought:

One treasured relic of this season fair Still with me here I bear; Although my fancy needs no artist's a However well pourtrayed.

When J am freed from this material strife— This masquerade of life, Where strangers walk as friends and friendships made Are by seif-interest swayed— If I might choose, her sainted form should be Companioned there with me ; For oh! not shining seraphs to my sight Could yield me such delight! So, when my body moulders in the dust, This one sweet, gentle trust Will haunt me in those viewless realms of air With bliss beyond compare! A. W. HußitT. Helensville.