Resting.

Otago Witness, Issue 181, 6 August 1886, Page 30

Resting.

On the cross which surmounts the grave of Adelaide Neilson, in Brompton Cemetery, are inscribed the words, "Gifted and Beautiful. Resting." Gifted and beautiful. Resting. Life's toils and

triumphs o'er, In realms of calm contentment, where the wild

heart throbs 110 more ! Where the sunshine casts no shadow, nor sorrow checkers joy, But the gold of the jewelled chaplet is free from all alloy.

Besting. Gifted and beautiful. Besting. Besting. Not 'mid the flowers we scattered in the

grave, But where in fadeless splendour, tha amaranth

blossoms wave ; And where no cruel winter ever breathes its deadly

breath, To veil the summer sunshine with the sombre shadow of death.

Resting. Gifted and beautiful. Resting. Besting. Before life's journey had reached its

weary stage, Or the gold upon the head was flecked with sil-

very signs of age ; There where is no fatigue, or pain, or sense of lone-

liness, And the calls of daily duty come no more to curse, . but bless.

Resting, Gifted and beautiful. Eesting. Ees'tiug. Not dead, but sleeping. Waiting the destined time To speed on the blissful journey to heights yet moro sublime. Resting— perhaps to await us, when we too. shall be blest To follow our dear forerunner to the home of perfect rest.

Resting, Gifted and beautiful. Besting. WAUKICE DiVIEd,

Oh ! Was it I, or Was it You ? Oh, was it I, or was ifc you That broke the subtle chain that ran Between us two, between us two ? Oh, was ifc I, or -was it you? Not very strong the chain at best, Not quite complete from span to span ; I never thought 'twould stand the test Of settled comraou-place, at best. But oh, how sweet, how sweet you were, When things were at their first and best, And we were friends without demur, Shut out from all the souud and stir ! The little, petty, wordly race ! Why couldn't we have stood the test— The little test of common-place— And kept the glory and the grace Of that sweet time when first we met ? Oh, was it I, or was it you, That dropped the golden links and let The little rift, and doubt, and fret Creep in and break the subMe chain ? Oil, was is I, or was it you 'i Still ever yet and yet again Old parted friends will ask with pain.