DE SENECTUTE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3869, 8 May 1928, Page 74

DE SENECTUTE.

She was so old, and so long in dying; (Life is a swift thing to move so slow.) Rust weed’s adorning where she is lying; The unpassioned breezes blow Over the town where hdr dead youth wanders. Sailing along in an aimless ramble, Surely her spndthrift spirit squanders Time and space, space and time— Time that endured like a goalless race, Space that was filled with a miscast mime. God, who grants to the weary rest! God, who peers from a high, white place, Showering blessings on the blest, Giving the graceful more of grace 1 Generous God to him that hath! Adamant God to the proud and strong 1 Here is a case with an aftermath ; Her little life was so slow, and long. Now she is dead and her spirit free Wandering loose for a day or two. Little the grant I ask of Thee. Little enough for Thee to do; She was so cold, and so long in dying; „ (Life is a swift thing to move so slow.) She was not questioning, Thou not replying, How was her dullish old head to know That life had imprisoned her while she had hoarded — Prisoned in space with the rivets of years? Bounteous God, Thou so much hast afforded ! Stanch then this suppliant’s reverent tears, For one meagre day, at a heedless pace Let her extravagant spirit revel, Squandering time, squandering space. Afterward: Balance Thy books with the devil. —Ridley Wills, in the Fugitive.