Poetry.

Southern Cross, Volume 4, Issue 1, 4 April 1896, Page 14

Poetry.

NOT BED-TIME YET. Not bed-time jet! The night winds blow. The stars are out —full well we know The nurse is on the stair. With hands of ice and cheek of snow, And frozen lips that whisper low—- “ Come, children it is time to go. My peaceful couch to share.’ No years a wakeful heart can tire ; Not bed-time yet! Come, stir the fire And warm your dear old hands; Kind Mother Earth we love so well Has pleasant stories yet to tell Before we hear the curfew bell; t'till glow the burning brands. Not bed-time yet. We long to know What wonders time has yet to show, What unborn years shall bring; What ship the Arctic Pole shall reach, When lessons science waits to teach, What sermons there are left to preach, What poems yet to sing Well, let the present do its best, We trust our maker for the rest. As on our way we plod ; '' Our souls, full dressed in fleshly suits, Love air and sunshine, flowers and fruits, The daisies better than their roots

Beneath the grassy sod. Not bed-time yet! The full-blown flower Of all the year—this evening hour— With friendship’s flame is brigi t; Life still is sweet, the heavens are fair. Though fields are brown and woods are bare And many a joy is left to share Before we say Good-night! And when, our chterful evening past, The nurse, long waiting, comes at last, Ere on her lap we lie In wearied nature’s sweet repose, At peace with all her waking foes, Our lips shall murmur, ere they close, Good-night! and not Good-bye ! —O. C. Holmes.