AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1289, 12 November 1896, Page 12

AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE.

ORIGINAL VERSE. IN MEMORIAM. (Written for the New Zealand Mail J [By A Friend.] j Frank Albert Taylor, aged 34, died at Te ! Horo, November 2nd, 1896. I Like a treein'its pride.by the storm laid low, j In his manhood's prime he has passed away; I He has gone the way we all must go, ) And there is a void in our hearts to-day. I " From the sleep of death may his spirit wake \ In a land that is fairer," we softly say ; I Yet that does not lessen the weary ache Or fill the void in our hearts to day. A manly fellow, a faithful friend, A ttue-hearted soul, has passed away. Ah, well ! all friendships have an end ; .But, oh ! the aohe in our hearts to-day. "Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust," Fall the words o'er the lifeless clay ; And we try to iLurmur, " The Lord is just," But, oh ! the ache in our hearts to-day. SELECTED VERSE. AN UNBIDDEN GUEST. [By Christian Bdrke.] Sorrow once said to Youth : "I needs must dwell With thee awhile—l pray thee let me in. For if thou shelter me it shall be well, And thou fresh treasure for thine own shalt win, ! New conquest over Self, new strength 'gainst Sin." But Youth refused ; and B\vif t shut-to the door, Crying, " Depart, I will not see thy face !" Yet Sorrow knocked more loudly than before, Pleading, " Bet me abide with thee a space, Lest I some fearsome form am forced to take— I The heart that will not yield I needs must break !" Then Youth, with tears, no lotger dared delay, But bade the Stranger welcome —till one day, Behold ! Joy sat in Sorrow's vacant place. — Pali Mall Magazine. — THE STEERSMAN. [By Robert Cameron Rogers.] The fore shrouds bar the moonlit scud, The port rail laps the sea : I Aloft all taut, where the wind clouds skim, Alow to the cutwater snug and trim, $ And the man at the wheel sings low ; sings he : " Oh, sea room and lee room i And a gale to run afore ; I From the Golden Gate to Sunda strait, ! But my heart lies snug ashore."

Her hull rolls high, her nose dips low, The rollers flash alee— Wallow and dip and the untossed screw Sends heart throbs quivering through and through— And the man at the wheal sings low ; sings he :

" Oh, sea room and lee room And a gale to run afore ; Sou'east by south and a bone in her mouth, But my heart lies snug ashore."

The helmsman's arms are brown and hard, And pricked in his forearms be A ship, an anchor, a love-knot true, A heart of red and an arrow of blue, And the man at the wheel sings low; singa he:

" Oh, sea room and lee room And a gale to run afore ; The ship to her chart, but Jack to his heart— And my heart lies snug ashore." —The Bookman.

KEN OUN CEMENT,

[By Alice Meynell.]

I must not think of thee ; and, tired yetstr' ng, I shun the thought that lurks in all delight— The thought of thee and in the blue heaven's height, And in the sweetest passage of a song. Oh, just beyond the faire*t thoughts that

throng This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright ; But it must never, never come in sight ;

I must stop short of thee the whole day long. But when sleep comes to close each difficult

day, When night gives pause to the long watch I keep, And all my bonds I needs must loose apart, Must doff my will as raiment laid away,— With the first dream that comes with the first sleep I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart. AN "OUf-OF-DATE" COUPLE. We are "so out of date," they say, Ned and I ; We love in an 01.-fashioned way, L ing sine* gone by, He Mays 1 am lih helpmate true, In everything, And I—well, 1 will own to you He is my king. We met in no romantic way 'Twixt "glow and gloom." He wooed me on a winter day And in—a room. Yet, through life's hours of stress and storm, When griefs befell, Love kept our small home-corner warm, And all was well. Ned thinks no woman like his wife— But let that pass ; Perhaps we view the dual life Through roseate glass; _ Even if the prospect be not bright, We hold it true The heaviest burdens may grow light When shared by two. Upon the gilded scroll of fame Emblazoned fair, I cannot hope to read the name I proudly bear; But happy in their even flow, The years glide by. We are behind the times, we know, Ned and I, 7 — Chambers' Journal*.