WAITING.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume LXIX, Issue LXIX, 3 September 1915, Page 6

WAITING.

Carry me over the long last mile, Man of Nazareth, Christ for me! i\ eary 1 wait by Death's dark stile, in the wild and the waste where the wmd blows free; And the shadows and sorrows come out of my past, Look keen through my heart, And will not depart, Now that my poor world has come to its last.

Lord, is it long that my spirit must wait? Man of Nazareth, Christ for me! Deep is the stream and the night is late, And grief blinds my soul that I cannot see. Speak to me out of the silence, Lord, That my spirit may know, As forward I go, That Thy pierced hands are lifting me over the ford. —Lachlan Maclean Watt. [It is probable that these beautiful lines have been! frequently recalled to the author's memory during his work at the front in France as a Presbyterian chaplain.]