LINES ON ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

Otago Witness, Issue 2244, 4 March 1897, Page 41

LINES ON ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

Thy voice still lives in tender breathing To comfort souls forlorn ; Thy gentle hands for evermore are wreathing Flower crowns for crowns of thorn. And pressing on our aching brows the rose-crown Or bright immortal bays. The coolness of thy tender touch refreshes And soothes us in dark days. For evermore thy slender finger pointeth To steady stars — the sweet Heaven's golden flowers ; And the same hand that our sore wounds anointeth Leads us by fragrant ways in our glad hours. Oh, sister ! singing in the azure o'er us, Thou hast passed upward, soaring into light ; We know not but thy gracious wings are hovering Anear us still— at dawning or through night. For thy great heart pulsated with our sorrows And leapt to gladness with this pulse of ours ; With us thou sharedst intensity of longing For full unending life—undying flowers. And with us thou didst tread the way of sorrow, That " Shadow Valley " to the dismal tomb ; Thy ear was strained as even ours are straining i'o c.uch ' i,ie«i note Juough the gathering gloom. ! Yes, lliy voice, though it bre.iketh out in weeping, ] Cout«iuii n note of ever pjriuct ueaco ; 1 Aud thy bui.-cd heart gives out a fragrance— ; keeping An eveilastiuK balm I ill anguish cease. : Oh, sister ! tip in Heaven -.rilk angels singing, • *l>v inhering rue wlt-h us— ''n hope till higher Among tliii ser.ujh'n clvoru-- gUd aad ringing May sound a strain aa from more plaintive lyre, j A strain in minor key, yet not all Badness — A sigh as of a but remembered pain — As gentle breeze through withered leaves might whisper After the thunder and the drenching rain — j Soft stealing in to make your bliss more peaceful ; i A voice from those your words have comforted, Recalling earthly days of dust and battle, Of wounds once suffered and of hearts that bled. As thoughts of storm and wreck when resting sheltered But lull us to a deeper, softer calm, So thoughts of earth's loud discords and disasters May Bweeten even an angel's holy psalm. • Yet, oh ! we would not stir thee to thy grieving, For thou hast stirred us to an issue fine ; And as the Master's touch of old in healing, So hae thy touch too iv it of divine. Aud that one minor strain shall merge and mingle In sound and song of victory when we meet, The Great Consoler and his gentle servant j Who as the Master waßhed our weary feet. February 1897. — Maldo.