AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1249, 6 February 1896, Page 11

AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE.

PATIENCE WITH THE LIVING. Sweet friend, when thou and I are gone Beyond earth's weary labour, When small shall be our need of grace From comrade or from neighbour; Passed all the strife, the toil, the care, And done AVith all the sighing — What tender ruth shall we have gained, Alas ! by simply dying !

Then lips too chary of their praise Will tell our merits over, And eyes toa swift our faults to see Shall no defect discover. Then hands that would not lift a stone Where stones were thick to cumber Our steep hill path, will scatter flowers Above our pillowed slumber.

Sweet friend, perchance both thou and I, Ere Love is past forgiving, Should take the earnest lesson home — Be patient with the living. To-day's repressed rebuke may save Our blinding tears to-morrow ; Then, patience, e'en when keenest edge May whet a nameless sorrow !

'Tis easy to be gentle when Death's silence shames our clamour, And easy to discern the best Through memory's mystic glamour - s But wise it were for thee and me, Ere Love is past forgiving, To take the tender lesson home — Be patient with the living, —Lover's Year Book. A WALK AND A WORD.

Do you recall our woodland walk _ After the passing showers of rain ? The soft sand underneath our tread, The wind that shook the boughs o'erhead, And brought a moment's shower again ?

The whisper'd secrets of the leaves, The silent listening air below, The cheerful voice of some far bird, High up among the branches heard, The littlo stream's untiring flow ?

Do you recall some transient words That sank deep in my heart that day ? We count the past with words like these, As circles mark the growth of trees, Which time can never wear away. Hamilton Aide.

THE NAUGHTY LITTLE GIRL

She is homely. She is tricky; And, I'm greatly grieved to tell, Her hands are always sticky With a chocolate caramel. Her dolly's battered features Speak of many a frantic hurl. She's the terror of her teachers — That naughty little girl.

She can whoop like a Comanche, You can hear her round the square; Further —like an Indian she Often creeps and pulls my hair; And she steals into my study, And she turns my books a-whirl, And her boots are always muddy— That naughtj little girl.

She dotes upon bananas, And she smears them on my knees; She peppers my Havanas, And delights to hear me sneeze; Yet —why, I can't discover — Spite of every tangled curl, She's a darling, and I love her, That naughty little girl! Samuel Minturn Peck. A SONG FOR THE COLONY. Let colonials all together join in one great martial throng : Let Britons all together join and sing the glorious song— The song our fathers used to sing upon the battlefield ; Where e'er old England's banners waved they made thorn all to yield, For Britons never shall be slaves.

Are we their sous less brave than they, or are wc sunk so low, Like cowards shall wo to turn our backs on every foreign foe ? No, never let the words be said that we're a coward race, But as our father's did of yore, let's meet them face to face, For Britons never shall be slaves.

Our sailors on the ocean wave have beat them o'er and o'er, And can beat them still, with right goodwill, as they have done before. Then never let your courage fail ; bound in one bond of love, For Queen we'll iiurht, and England';* right, in name of God above, For Britons never shall be slaves.

I Let us our fathers emulate in glory and I renown ; In courage while we are fighting, and in mercy when we've won. For angry passions ne'er should rule the gallant and the brave, For he that cannot rule himself to passion is a slave, I And Britons never shall be slaves.

Let us leave a lesson for our children, as our fathers they have done, And to our foes a warning, by the battles we have won. In honest truth and justice, let Old England s glory rise, Then the history of Great Britain will re-echo to the skies, And Britons never shall be slaves. J.P. New Zealand, January 27th, 189 G.