POETRY.
THE PASSING SINGER. O all of you that hold the gates of vision, Fling wide your doors to thoso without that wait, iAnd lead them through the highways of your city, And through its temples, ere it be too late. O all of you that know love's orchard closes, Bend down the boughs fop those be yond tho wall ; Gather for, them from all your wealth of blossom, And shake the branches that tho fruit may fall. 0 all of you mado stewards of earth's treasure, Givo' while you may the gold that is your trust ; Tor you shall lie at last where is no giving, With helpless hands close folded in tho dust. 0 all you dwelling in tho houao of loam Set forth your pages that the poor may read Tho gathered wisdom that tho years inherit, In haste before you pass beyond their need. ' \ 0 all of you that know the wells of glad- ' n«ss, And sing besido them, share, while yet you live, pitcher with the thirsty, ere, hereafter, You hear them cry and be too poor to » give. !Ah ! give. The road you tread has no returning, But stretches on into the ondless night ; Then give your life, your joy, your gold, your learning ; Lift high your lamp of love and/ givo its light. —Ethel Clifford, in Blackwood's Magazine.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/EP19040827.2.92
Bibliographic details
Evening Post, Volume LXVIII, Issue 50, 27 August 1904, Page 11
Word Count
225POETRY. Evening Post, Volume LXVIII, Issue 50, 27 August 1904, Page 11
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