AT EVENING TIME
A little child, with fingers filled with sand, , Which, tightly claspod, it strives in vain to hold, So seem I as I clutch Time's lessening gold, _ And feel ib {slipping ever from my hand. What have f gained from all the passing yearc> Which bore me, struggling, on their foaming crest? I only found, amid their wild unrest, Time for a little laughter, many tears. "Always I hoped to reach some sheltered bay. Where angry winds no more should meet and vex, 'Where oattling currents should no more perplex, AMI might anchor, till ; the close of day. ; ? The night comes fast—and still the tempests roar; r r Life's sands slip fast—and I can reach no more. Ninette M. Lowater.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/MEX19110812.2.37.3
Bibliographic details
Marlborough Express, Volume XLV, Issue 185, 12 August 1911, Page 6
Word Count
122AT EVENING TIME Marlborough Express, Volume XLV, Issue 185, 12 August 1911, Page 6
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