Poetry.

Lake County Press, Issue 2185, 5 September 1907, Page 2

Poetry.

MOTHER’S SO AG.

Wlion Ike thrushes cease their singing unci the wild Ik is have the diner; When the glory of the sunset fades and loaves the heavens pale ; Wi en above the hill and mountain misty

shades of twilight hover, And the discords of the daytime far away in distance fail;

When flic rath wheat gently rushes and the timid aspens shiver, And the west winds, sighing softly, scents Ircm the sleeping (lowers bring ; When the peewits cry together plaintively by brook and river— Then it is that I hear the old song that my mother used to sing.

Round my neck I feel the pressure of her fingers, warm and slender, And in sleeping dreams and waking I hare felt it many times, Just as when’of old I litt"ned to that ditty, quaint and tender, Till the boughs that waved above us caught the cadence of the rhymes ;

And my heart throbs loud and quickly’, as 1 hear it rising clearer, Youth is mine, its hopes and visions, dreams and plans are mine again ; Earth is fairer, life is sweeter—ay’, and heaven itself seems nearer

To mo as 1 list in fancy to that ne’er for gotten strain.

A GLINT OF GOLD.

Unmindful of the wintry cold, The snowdrops peep above the mould, And show an inner glint of gold To eyes that care to see. The violets sleep till v inch of March Have swept the clouds from heaven’s blue

arch; The thrush will sing upon the larch Before they smile at me.

But these fair children of the snow — A slender, swaying, glistening row. With all their silver hells ablow — Swing lightly o’er the rime. Hush! though the world looks dark and

drear, It only needs a listening car To catch the music—famt, yet clear— Of their prophetic chime :

Which says, ‘Though gloom the earth enshrouds, And fierce winds drive the heavy clouds, And seagulls landward fly in crowds On tempest-beaten wing, The sky will not be always gray ; But you, please Grod! shall wake some day To feel the sun again, and say, With laughing lips, ‘ ’Tis Spring.’ ’ —E. Mathcson.