POETRY.

Evening Post, Volume LXVI, Issue 152, 24 December 1903, Page 12

POETRY.

AT AN OUTPOST. The panting land that swims in light, The jungle scream that tears the night, The tropio diiht, tho tropic smell, The sights and sounds 1 know ao well Are Htrangers yet, For in my heart beats evermore The surf upon an iblund shore Tho North seas fret. You grant no place for sentiment Where- common-sense is prepotent, Yet h it altogether weak To hear Nomelimes the silence speak Across tho foam, To sco where bods of mist lift low The moonlight sleep on Christmas snow, Tho fields of home? Tis joy to know and strength to feel 'Tin blood that rules, and uot bare steel ; That >trutlt. and justice- hold a sway Which lu*ts beyond the fighter's day; I count it pride That hero, for heathen eyes to bo», The loHsoiis of my mother's knee Aro still my guide. The Empire's built within our heats. We fashion there its shapo and parts, As its foundations deep were laid * In sacrifices gladly wade ; Then happy I, If in its splendid eastern wing I set a stone for God and King Before. I, die. — Heavy Woolley irFtho Speotator. BY TRK WATERS OF GALILEE. . Th© wind.h! low in the oleanders, Softly stirring the rosy sea ; Out from a 1 hill a rill meanders Down to the waters of Galileo. A burning blazon of blue enamels 'Die rainloss heaven that arches o'er ; And Drusesi drowse by their crouching cuniebs Where meadows dip to the shingly shore). Crumbling (vails that tho hyssop clings to, Such is 'llxgdala'a glory now ; And the only ear that the cuckoo sings to Is thut of his mate on the carob bough. Tho columned city that Herod fashioned, That gliiitered whit© iv the noonday blaze. Naught is Left of its past impassioned Save ghosts that wander its squalid way*. Never a sail nor a galley oaring The shimmering reaches of liquid calm ; Only a waUMul vulture soaring Ovor tho crest of a lonely palm. But still tr-io mountains, violet, vernal, And tho brooding votes where the shepherds bo, And the sun in its equipoise eternal, Looking down upon Galilee. And ever, to halo tho desert places, By the spell of tho girdling silence bound, Th© haunting thought of the face of faces, Of Him througn whom this is holy ground 1 —Clinton Scollard in the Century Magazine. "NEW-BORN BABE OP THE ROYAL PALACE.' 1 "Now-born Babe of the Royal Palace, . Thino is a cradle carved of gold." "Keep thy -speech, for I have a vision Now of O'.te in a manger cold." "Now-born Bab© of the Royal Palace, Silk and natin and lace are thine." "Hush I i - I see Another lying Roughly housed with the common kine." "New-born Bab© of th© Royal Palace, Lit are tho lights in tower and hall." "See&t thou in the hcavons yonder One great star that is worth them all If" "New-born Babe of tho Royal Palace, Bells* are dunging Ihe news to earth." "Nay, not so ! 'Tis a flight of angels Choiring of a Saviours birth." "New-born Babe of tho Roya* Palace, Heir to a kingdom's crown art thou." "Yen, perchance— but I see a halo Circling another Baby's brow." "New-born Babe of tho Royal Palnoe, Hark} the rejoicings loud for .the© !" "Oh, miracle ! 'tis a world acclaiming Him who shall die upon a Tree." "New-born Babe of the Royal Palace, Writ in th© annals is thy name." '"Twill bo forgot when tho, mangered Baby > Rises into a Saviour's ftnio." "New-born Bab© of th© Royal Palace, All to tltee must homage bring." "Fools and blind ! lam but the creature — He in the manger is the King ?' —Same M. Best in Lippincott's Magatino. THE DREAM OF THE INNKEEPER'S WIFE. "Because there was no ropm for them in the inn." The childless mother rose from sleep While yet there was no light, And, thrust aside tho casement wide - 'With hands that shook from fright, And leaned far out, and all about A wild storm tore the night. "Oh, but this dream hath pierced my heart ; Since I was lain in bed Methoughb my own dead little son, Who never word hath said, Stood at my kneo and spake tq mo A» ono unoomforted. "'And, mother, oh, my mother,' he aaid, 'The night is dread and drear. But, housed nnd warm from hurt and storm, ' Ye sleep und know no fear ; Though in the wold^ono cried with cold, V© did not hark nor hear. " 'And staunch and strong thy roof-tree if, And filled my father's inn, And every guest hath food and rest, Yet this mgbt through their din Soft at thy door did one .implore Who entrance could not win. " 'And, mother, oh, my mother/ he said, 'Go take the linen fine. Where one time I did softly lie, The pillow that was mine, For sick and sore on thy stable floor One travails 'rnongtt th© kino.' "What waa it of a star he spake? My thoughts aro shifting sund ; Whut els© I heard fell strange and blurred, I might not understand ? Yet did it seem not «11 a dream." Her head dropped on hor hand. "Yea, of a child new-born he spake] And this wero truth, full fain Wero I to fleet through wind and sleet To where my kine are lain, If on my breast could there be pressed A little head again. "Nay, let me to my weary bed And bid the thought go by<" She bent her head ; the toarn sho shed Fell swift and silently. And flamed across tho sky. And while sho wept a great star leapt — Thcodoaia Uarrisbn in tho Century Magazine ONE LITTLK YEAR. I go— and few will weep ; thoughts Ho not lie so deep In the world's heart my memory to kcop. Yet I was loved full well ; tho chimes that sound my knell Once rang out joyfully my birth to tell. Full fnir 1 was, they laid ; and' crowned my childish head With sprays of mistletoe and holly r«d.

And many vows were mad© and many prayers were said ; Heaven knows how swiftly did their memory fade. Now I am fair no more, and Death stands at thu door, Tho world no longer loves mo as before. "Away I" it cries, "too long we listen to your song, Tho words are false, you sing the music wrong." 1 go — but there will como a time when you will roam The wulo world over scokAig for my home. And you will cry in vain : "Had wo that year again, How ii hud spared us this remorse and pain!" Too late^ — tho night grows wan, the sun will rise upon ? A bright Now Year, but I am past and gone. Out of Infinity, into Eternity. Ono little year, but, oh I what may it mean for you or mo? — F.M.S. in tho Westminster Budget.