Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXV, Issue 2826, 23 August 1890, Page 5 (Supplement)

Poetry.

LIFE-TRACING. Yet rest upon your axn a little, mate, The grave (if what we were; Childyouth but ochoes in remembered time, Cloud trails upon the air, Remembered time; —a dreaming, then a wandering, Unrest before repose ; We reached away in space, there still was space, And still tho silence rose. Nor in our mind stretch gain'd the cagl-) rest, But years to breadth unrolled, Taught, by a higher work-allotment, we'd a life to build, A fellow-man's to mould. And life loads on from thought to thought, In steady growth to certainness, Finding in nights and morrows; strength and faith ; A deck that is all tremorless. The round sun sinks, the pale bluo hills, Leave with the night in trust; The near hoars rounding o'er us, close will hold Their silenco of white dust. Dim forms fade in tho distance of the evermore, We stretch our hands across, Unclasped ; the ghost-like presence wavers into air, Yet is the quiet, loss ? The morrow may not pulso upon our shadow ; yet Ero the low death-throbs spread,' We'll clear this bit of bush,—a pillow make, A grave—and so a bed. Indifferent th' brook-born showers will fall, Daisy and grass will grow ; Hearts, half within the grave and half in heaven, Long for their rest below. And senso and sight are failing fast. We cannot see th' life-stone there ; Yet mate, perhaps we'll wako again, and View it in the otherwhere. I'IIANK W. W. HUIIIURD. Whangamarino, August 181)0. FAITHFUL. It is something sweet, when the world goes ill To [know you are faithful and love nie still : To feel when the sunshine has left the skies That the light is shining in yourj dear eyes. Beautiful eyes ! more dear to me Than all the wealth of the world could be. It is something, dearest, to feel yon near, When life with its sorrows seems hard to bear ; To feel, when I falter, tho clasp divine Of your tender and trusting hand in mine. Boautiful hand ! more dear to me Than the tenderest things of earth could be. Sometimes, dearest, the world goes wrong ; I'or God gives grief with his gift of song. : And poverty, too I but your love is more To me than riches and golden store ; Beautiful love ! until death shall part 1 It is mine—as you are—my own, sweetheart ! —Chicago Figaro. 1 NIGHTFALL. j The shades of cvsning lengthen—let us close • Tho latticed window, and draw down the blind : These shadows seem as spirits, and the ■ wind Moans in its wandering; mournfully it goes As soino poor soul that grievous sorrow know--, , Or homeward traveller fearful lost he . find Beside his hearth the doom that haunts t his mind, ] And o'er its pathway its grim visage shows. *- As haunted houses are r.ur haunted hearts, , Wherein pale spirits (if past sorrows dwell ! Wherein, ns players Mint play many parts, I'resentirnents tint tragic tales foretell ! j Draw close the curtain—ay, shut out the night ; t The night is dark, let love, then, be our t light. | —London I'ublic Opinion.