A FACE IN THE CROWD NEVER SEE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5838, 3 April 1897, Page 3

A FACE IN THE CROWD NEVER SEE.

I enter the city— 'tis SaturdV.v uight, The shops and tho windows ore blazing with light Tho tnuucars and 'buses are rushing along, i Feeding tlio masses, gorging the throng. Into the square, 'neath tlio bright, flaming gas, Past tho Cathedral— forgotten, alas ! Its gaunt, sacred pile iv this pleasure crusade. Stands unheeded, alone, in its dcsolato shade. Aud I seek for a face that is sacred to me, A faco in the crowd that I never can see. Onward and backward, like rivcr3 they flow. Ever increasing tho stream as they go ; Hurrying, jostling, bustling past, As if on the moment tho future was cast. Mirthfully, ruefully, solemnly by, A soa of white faces 'neath tho bluo sky, Battling and prattling, with pleasure eudow'de But I wander ever—" alone in a crowd !" For Oh ! whero is the faco that is sacred to meP The face that I yearn for, but never can sco I Still I roam through this babel of mighty unreal!, And ob, what a study thoso faces Buggcst. There arc faces of hungry, selfish greed, AVlioso worship is only their passions to feed, „ _ Faces absorbed, that go wandering by; Faces whose every line is a lie ; Faces of wisdom ; faces of lust ; Faces unholy, and thoso that aro just ! But never! ah never! throughout can I see j That sweetest of faces, so sacred to me t Faces of mirth that laugh as they go, With never a thought of trouble or woe. Faces of misery— hopo blotted out. Faces that no ono is thinking about, Faces of beautiful, heavenly joy, Radiant with light, without an alloy. Faces of pleasure and sorrow as well, Faces that come from the confines of boll! But the faco that is sacred mid holy to me, I look, and I look— but nover can sec. Oh what is the heart that is silent and sad P What is tho grieC near driving ouo mad ? What is the damnable anguish and paiu Of a soul that is yearning, aud seeking iv vain P What is it all to the crowd iv the street, This pittoving, pattering army of feet i 1 It rises— it falls— it passes away, And ever its cadonce seems to say— " Seeking that which is sacred to thee, That face in the crowd thou never cans'fc see,** I picturo that beautiful soul — yet I trace | A taint of the earth in its spiritual face ; But its Heavenly attributes shield it from harm j It never can sink while it carries this charm, I know that I never may call it mine, I know that I never may kneel at its shrino. But I know its pure friendship, its very last brcath| Is mine to tho end, till it passes iv death. That is the face, so sacred to me, That I seek in tho crowd, but never can see ! I wander apart, far away from tho mass ; To the dark silent Avon I thoughtfully pass; I lean o'er the bridge, lift a prayer on high, 'Neath the bright Southern Cross in tho clear winter sky. I swear by our emblem that twinkles up thoro, To bo true to that friendship through sorrow OU care. The streets arc descried, the crowd is all gone, The first chime of morn o'er the etilluess is borne; And tho swish of tho waters that pnws underneath, Soonis always this murmuring strain to bequeath, "Bo patient! In; patient! und again you will neo The face that, you look for— bo .acred to thee 1 " j TB MVJZKAi