VERSES OLD AND NEW.

Dominion, Volume 5, Issue 1252, 7 October 1911, Page 9

VERSES OLD AND NEW.

THE MIST TEAT'S OVER IRELAND. There's n mist Hint's over Ireland whero the blackbird calls, And ivhvn you come it's rissn* and when yon go it falls. It's mad l - of green and silver and tho rain and dew, And the finest sun is over it you ever ' knew. Och, _=uro. it isn't mist at all, except a ■.mist o' tears, A ha/.e of love and longin' for the happy ' years, When myself that's old and fretted now and colder than the Hone Was young in golden Ireland with tho friends that's gone. The iv.ist is like a curtain that the wind'll blow And "ift a little wisp of it till you seo below Tho f,Mpin-c«t country ever was of hills and streams With the faces do be haunting yon in lonesome dreams. Thore's f people do he in tho mist: their - life's hard to find, Their faces full of welcome,, and their smile "so soft and kind.' It was little I was thinkin' in tho days that ran away How I'd sit and break my heart for them ' one weary day. It isn't fields and mountains and it isn't ■'streams and trees,' Though nil- b* them is in the mist, nor hummin' of tho bees, • ■ v . , Nor yot the thrush and blackbird, could • vex mo as I stand And look the way of Ireland with my head in my hand. Tis little that wo valuo them, when wo are voung and tray. Wo. think' we'll have them with us for ever and a day. . . We never know the good we have till lovin' friends depart And leave, us just with half a life and ■ half a heart. . ; . - There's a sold mist over Ireland that will ' never rise, And'some is walkin' in it was the light of ■ ■ my eyes. ■ ■ They're never old and troubled now, and never sick and fad. The days'we had together were the best I ever,had. Pka<-e f/od, some day that's comin', when the .dread of death. is past. ■ . •• 'And Intake the-' lonesomo valley : we all must, take at last, I'll sieht- the- hills of Heaven and the people all in white, And you. and ymi, among them was my heart's delight. , . The .'mist that's over Ireland will be blowin in my face, I'll trnch the other sido of it to tho happy place. '" And'l'll not be Inokin' backward like a lonesome ghost From the mist that's over Ireland and the friends I lost. —Katharino Tynan. . QUANTITY AND QUALITY. Tho poor have childer and to spare But with the quality they're raro. . Where money's senrevthe cMlder's many Where money's thick you'll scarce find _ any. Borne wanted here, too many there— ' It's quaro.

Now if tho rich and poor could share T here fl .soon bo childer everywhere; «nt God-'.-hnve pity on- the' mother " lnrit gives her child nt> to another; An so yon'll find n'mansion brfro— A cabin rich in all that's "fair— Ifs.quare. • —\y. M. Letts. ":.H V "THE WAY , OF LIFE. Shadow of wines W the window-curtain Push of life in the pear-tree bonsrh, J3iiris lung hesitant, leaves, uncertain, softly murmurincr, "Now, now, now!" lyes-(if lovo irom. the past fiat beckon--iieckon.frnm whero no past can be!— And, snito of, winters Ifcarce dare reckon. louth and Spring at the heart of me! : Now Tvhile the loud-lipoed ages thunder lhis fr.iil biflv must: soon to sleep," Wriieo is tho still, small viioe, I wonder Whispers. "Was it not thine to keen?" Truth stands sentry at LiiVs wide portal; Could but his thoughts to T.i<e olin? true, Man e'en now were of ■ mould immortal j Let him bo wise and. win thereto! Knowledge-fashioned and Law-surrounded, J'ramed o'er nature to rule suhlime, Firm as the rock beneath thee founded Wouldst thou smile at the tides of time. Dr»arf no menace of fiem! infernal, Powers of the earth, as strips above— Tunq thy sonl to tho foiies eternal. Faith, Omnipotent, Wisdom, Lovo. Though my words bnt awake your laugh- ■ ter, Thoncrh men sicken and die to-day, Yet shall those to be born hereafter Heck.. persevere, and find tho Wnv. How should tho world's illusion blind him, How catch trippinsr the toils of sin— Man, made ware of the Mteht behind him, Man, grown conscious of God within? Into the Silence let mo cuter, Pierce tn the Spirit's inrrost shrine, There in the glow of the soul's hid oentre. Bathe each tboi'ght till it burn divine! So', lot the change como swiftly, slowly, ii'arth-bound body, thou yet shouldst bo Cleaned, transfigured, a house made holv Tor That which thrills at the heart of me! —James Ithoades.