POETRY.

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume I, Issue 100, 10 April 1911, Page 7

POETRY.

A TOAST Here’s looking at those who look at me When I feel the need of cheer; Here’s a hand for those that give me a hand When I stumble if none was near. Here’s a heart for those that show me a heart When my own is too tired to beat; Here’s a boost for those that give me a boost When I’m struggling to get on my feet.

Here’s love for those that give me theix’ love hen the world is charged with hate, And here’s to those that have done me wrong— Let’s wipe it off the slate.

UNKNOWN

Breatlies there the- man, with soul so dead., Who never to himself hath said :

“My trade of late is getting bad, I’ll try another eight inch ad.” If such there be, go mark him well; For him no bank account shall swell, No angels watch the golden stair To welcome home the millionaire. Tread lightly, friends; let no rude sound Disturb his solitude profound, Here let him live in calm repose, Unsought except by men he owes, And when he dies, go plant him deep, That naught may break his dreamless sleep; Where no rude clamor may dispel The quiet that he loved so well. And that the world may know its loss Place on his grave a wreath of moss, And on a stone above, “Here lies A chump who wouldn’t advertise.”