VERSE OLD AND NEW

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVII, Issue 25, 22 December 1906, Page 33

VERSE OLD AND NEW

For Mother. I chose a gift for mother: rich gtdd and rarest gem. TlTe beauty in her kindly eyes looked down ajid humbled them; And had they been God’s golden stars dosewoven in a crown, They might have lost their lustre still when those dear eyes looked down. I twined a wreath for mother: the best of summer (lowers, White lilies and white roses, the pride of garden bowers. Their petals were no purer than her white ha lids pure and sweet. And the flowers were only fitted as a path.-, way for her feet. Then I wrote a song for mother J there was love in every line, And never rang such music yet in any song of mine; But the words were all unworthy, though the words were good and true, So I left the song unfinished, and I tore the page in two. And the richest I could fashion, and the fairest I could twii»<% Was fit for no man's mother, and so much less fit for mine! But I trust at last, in heaven, God will wreathe her with His light, And the angels sing the verses that wlb praise her worth aright. WILL. 11. OGILVIE.

The Night Rain. BY LORENZO SOSSO. Oil, how the western, wind to-night wailed hy, Stirring the mute trees in their sombre .shrouds! Tile slowly moving caravan of clouds Crossed wearily the desert of the sky. But silence like to death, As though the vastuess held its breath, Made still more solemn and intense The looming hills, the forest dense. Then suddenly across the firmament A vivid Hash of lightning went: I saw, I knew the message Nature sent, And thriliingly awaited the event. O weary lives that murmur discontent, O other lives of splendour sadly spent— Who find your grief a banc, Nor think your giory gain, But all is sorrow, all is vain— Come forth with me into the night When all the sea with rain is- white; When every hill and every plain Receives the benediction of the rain. And every flower rejoices it is wet. That you may learn forgiveness and forget.

Sister's Best Feller." My sister’s “best feller" is most six-foot-three, And handsome and strong as a feller can be; And Sis, she’s so little and slender ano. small, You never would think she could boss him at all; But, by jing! She didn’t do a thing But make him jump round like he worked with a string; It just makes me ’shamed of him sometimes, you know, To think that he’ll let a girl bully him so. lie goes to walk with her and carries her muff And coats and umbrellas, and that kind of stuff; She loads him with things that must weigh ’most a ton; And, honest, he likes it, as if it was fun. And, oh. say! When they go to a play lie’ll sit in the parlour and fldgit away. And she won’t come down till it’s quarter past eight, And then she’ll scold him ’cause they get there so late. He spends heaps of money a-buyiu' her things Like candy and flowers and presents and rings; But all he’s got for ’em’s a handkerchief case— A fussed-up concern made of ribbons and ku-e - Rut, mv If*.nd! -He thinks it’s just grand. ’Cause she made it, he says, ‘*wilh her own little hand.” He calls her an “anger’ — I hoard him — ami “saint.’’ And “beaut if ulest bein’ on earth’’ ~ but sift ain’t. ’Fore T go an errand for her any time I -Just make her coax me and give me a dime; But that great, big silly — why, honest and true!— lle<l run forty miles if she wanted him - to. Oh, gee-whiz! 1 tell you what ’tis! 1 just think it’s awful — those action* of his. I won’t fall In love when I’m grown — no. Mr-reeJ My sister’s “best (oiler’’ ’s a warnin’ tn me!

Worries. There’s a worry in the morning because the coffee’s cold. There’s the worry of the postman, and the •’paper” to unfold. It’s worry getting on your boots and going to the train. And you’ve gat to put your hat on and take it off again! It’s a wonder now I live with such a constant strain — I’ve got to put my hat on and take It off again!

There are “Worries” in the noontide, and “legion” is their name; There’s the worry of the luncheon that always tastes the same. There’s the worry of the ’baccy, that’s the greatest worry save The humiliating worry when you know you want a shave!

That’s a “weally wicked worry,” ana your pardon must I crave. If 1 use some strongisli language when I mention that 1 shave!

There are worries in the evening; you’ve got to dress and dine: There’s the worry of the speeches that accompany the wine; There’s the worry of remembering what card your partner led; And then the awful worry of getting into bed!

Of all the fearful, awful bores this really is the chief. And the world’s one great "da capo*' of the worrying mot it! •—“Loudon Academy."

What’s the Use ? ” Stories are nothing but clusters of words; Reading is nothing hut looking at print; Money is nothing — folks throw it ar birds; Pictures are notbfyig but colour ano tint; Dinpitrs are nothing but something to Walking is nothing hut moving your feet— What’s the use? Dancing is nothing but prancing in tune, Riding is nothing bin moving along: Sleeping is nothing but waking too soon. Singing is nothing but talking a song: Playing is nothing but fooling around; Boxing is nothing but learning to pound — What’s tlie use? Working is nothing buf earning your pay, 1 .Gating is nothing — and harder to do, Silence is nothing with nothing to say; Dressing is nothing but garment and shoe; Smiling is nothing bid twisting your Jace; Moving is nothing but changing your base — What’s the use? “Chicago Post.”

Never Trouble Trouble. My good man is a < lever man. Which no our* will gainsay: He lies awake to plot mid plan ? Gaiust lions in the way, While I. without a thought of ill, Sleep sound enough for three: For 1 never trouble trouble till Trouble troubles me. A holiday wo never fix But he is sure ’twill rain. And when the sky is clear at six He knows it won’t remain. He’s always prophesying ill, To which I won’t, agree, For I never trouble trouble till Trouble troubles me. The wheat will never show a top — But soon how green the field! We will not harvest half a crop — Yet have a famous yield! It will not sell, fl never will! But I will wait am! see, For I never trouble trouble till Trouble troubles me. 110 has a sort of second sight. And when the tit is strong. lie sees beyond the good and right The evil and the wrong. Heaven’s cun of joy he’ll surely spill Unless T with him be. For T jTevor trouble trouble til! Trouble troubles me.

A Riddle to Willie. I nsdced mv TM n sininle tiling: “Where holes in d<ni«dinuts co?** Pa read his paper, then he Raid: “Oil. you’re too young to know.*’ I a*kod mv Mn about the wind: “Why can’t you see h blow?’’ Mu thoncrht n moment, then she «;a!d! “Ob. you’re too young to know.” Now. why on earth do vou sunoose Thev went- and licked me en? Ma asked: “Where I* that .Jam?” I satd: “Oh. you’re too young to know.”