AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE

New Zealand Mail, 29 January 1902, Page 64

AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE

THE TIRED .WIFE, All day the wife had been toiling, From an early hour in the morn, And her hands and feet were weary With ' the burdens . that they had borne. But she said to herself, ‘’The trouble That weighs on my heart is this: That Tom never thinks to give me A comforting hug or kiss.’'

And she counted over and over The years that she had been Tom’s wife, And thought of the joys and sorrows She had known in her married life. To be sure, there was money plenty, And never a lack of food, But a kiss now and then and a word of praise Would have done her a, world of good.

Ah! many a one is longingFor words that are never said, For many a heart goes hungry For something better than bread. But Tom had an inspiration, And when he went home that day He petted his wife and kissed her In the old-time, lover-like way. And she—such enigmas are women — Who had held herself up with pride, At her husband’s display of fondness Just hung on his neck and cried. And he by her grief reminded Of troubles he might have shared. Said, "Bless me. what I fool I’ve been; And I didn’t suppose you cared!” —J. D. Oliver. Edinburgh. WHAT SHALL I WISH YOU? What shall I wish you, dear heart, tonight, As the old year dies away. A happy new year, or a glad new year, Such as we always say? Or shall I wish you a sunshiny one, Where shadows just softly play, And the sunbeams bright with their happy light Turn into gold the grey?— Now here, now there, with their tender touch That glints thro’ the gathering cloud, Till with opening eyes in a glad surprise We see but a sun-rimmed shroud. A shroud—with the brightness bursting through Of a wealth of love untold. That can still our fears throughout the years, For the grey is only gold. This I shall wish you, dear heart, tonight, As the old year dies away. And an olden story, with gleams of glorv. May lighten you every day. -E. L. A HEART’S REQUEST. When the burden gets too heavy. And we shrink beneath its weight-; When temptation almost conquers. And our heart cries ' All too late!” When our youth is slipping from us, I And earth’s empty pleasures pall, Then we yearn for human friendship And a heart to share it all. When in buoyant youth’s bright morning, And our path is strewn with flowers; When the sunshine bright above us, Gaily speeds the parting hours: Little think we of the future, Or what Fate may hold in store, Or of hours of lonely anguish, And the days that are no more. When the storm has spent its fury, On our bowed and stricken head, When sharp thorns instead of roses Strew the pathway as we tread; Then we yearn for consolation, For a hand to hold our own, For a heart to share our sorrow, When our youthful hopes have flown. When we enter Death’s dark valley, And beside the river stand. Wl on our soul shrinks back in terror As we near the spirit land: Then we long for some strong fingers Just to clasp us ere we part, And a loving voice to whisper: “Lean thou safely on my heart.” Ah! God knows the desolation Shrined within that word “Alone!” How the heart cries out in sorrow For a soul to meet our own. When the hand is weak and trembling, And earth fades from our dim sight, May a friend be sent to cheer us Ere we sink in death’s dark night. , —A. G. Oliver. Masterton. JOYS THAT ARE PAST. There is an hour, a pensive hour, And oh ! how dear its soothing power; It is when twilight spreads her veil,’ And steals along the silent dale; lis when the fading blossoms close, When all is silence and repose: J hen memory wakes and loves to mourn tor days that never shall return.

There is a strain, a plaintive strain, The source of joy, and yet*of pain, t is the song whose dying measure

Some friend 'beloved has l pleasure; ** “ ear *l tißr' Some friend, who ne’er again The melting lay to memSg * Ah! then, her magic snelu dea f' Visions of happy days mi more; o** 0 ** There is a tear of sweet relief A tear of rapture and nt-l Sf l>«rt What soft emotions bid ifcfl w It is when memory chains s?*’ . With tender images refin’d ** mm 4 Tis when her balmv snolU Departed friends and joyi no re^°« Wellington. ® u rko. LES AMES DAMNEES. i Aa* |r d w^,;tWs i A " *««—«i*l 0»r spirits and our Icav, Give us the lights that flash tWi that glow— > coloijtj Let them be living hnmm Take the beauties of thews’Shi,, Slow, snake-like rivers, irridescen? iK,,“ s tl '° “ s « »t The carmine lips that make our lim t. seem , mes » Bound up in one fair woman. “Drowsed with the sensuous of her mouth, ° ranc ® Maddened with love songs from tu sovran South : m th 9 DrU satisfied*. doSire ~ and then > Dreamily drifting on a languorous tide u , ! We s <? ftl , y cha, i t her Praises. ’ Robed m soft sheen of amber-hued silkEyes opalescent, arms and breast like milk; Crazed with caresses, we would never tire. Wooing unceasingly the quenchless he Resistance only raises.’’ ■’ But not for us the heaven cf woman'i arms, Tho sweet insistence of her varied charms. Day after day we plod our weary roundWe till the earth, we clear the busk! clad ground. Alone with Nature’s beauties, ij Day after day we toil, all hope forgot; Night after night we toss, and slumber not; Weary we turn to rest—weary again Take up the unceasing round of labour vain And loathsome duties. —R. H.D. I Shannon.