Verse Old and New

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 1, 6 July 1907, Page 30

Verse Old and New

“He Giveth His Beloved Sleep.’’ Among the shorter poems of Mrs. Mizalwth B. Browning, there is perhaps none which has appealed so strongly to so many readers as the one which is here republished. Its quiet beauty, its simplicity and serenity, joined with a deep yet calm solemnity, have made its words sink down into the hearts of many thousands. In it are conveyed spiritual comfort and a sense of rest. One feels on reading it as if he had been soothed by the touch of a gentle hand. Its form is also far more nearly jH'rfeet than the form of many other of its author's writings. The title was taken by Mrs. Browning from the One Hundred and Twenty-Seventh Psalm, where one finds the words: “it is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so He giveth His beloved sleep.’’ Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward into souls afar Along tin* Psalmist’s music deep, Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace, surpassing this?— “He giveth His beloved sleep.” What would we give to our beloved? The hero’s heart to be unmoved, Ihe poet’s star-tuned harp to sweep, The patriot’s voice to teach and rouse, The monarch’s crown to light the brows? He giveth His beloved sleep. What do we give to our beloved? A little faith all undisproved, A little dust to overweep. Ami hitter memories to make The whole earth blasted for our sake, — He giveth His beloved sleep. “Sleep soft, beloved!” we sometimes say, Who have no turn* to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep; But never doleful dream again Shall break the happv slumber when He giveth His beloved sleep. Oh. earth, so full of dreary noises! Oh. men with wailing in your voices! (•a, delved gold the wallers heap! Oh. strife .oh. curse, that o’er it fall! God strikes a silence through you all. And giveth His beloved sleep. His dews drop mutelv on the hill. His cloud alx.ve it saileth still. Though on its slope men sow ami reap More softly than the dew is shed. Or cloud i- floated overhead, lie giveth His beloved sleep. Aye. iiihi may wonder while they scan A living, thinking, feeling man Confirmed in such a rest to keep: But angels say —and through the world I think their happy smile is heard—“He giveth His’beloved sleep.” For me. my heart that erst did go IHo-t like a tired child at a show, That sis through tears the mummers leap. Would n«»w its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His h»ve repose Who giveth His Uloved sleep. Ami friends. dear friends, when it shall Im* That this low breath is gone from me. Ami round my bier ye come to weep, lx*t one most loving of you all Kav. “Not a tear must o’er her fall! lie giveth His Udo\ed sleep.” An Optimist s Philosophy of Life. Have you found your life distasteful? My lib* did. ami doe**, smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved, and hold complete, your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me I’ll complain! Mu-t in death vour daylight finish? sun «*et* to rise again. Robert Browmng (1812 1889).

The Sailor's Dance. W hat s he that talks of a jig or a reel. Who has never been a sailor, Or a hornpipe seen on a ship of the Queen, Or an Arctic Ocean whaler? You hear the ring of the bosun’s call—- “ For a dance, my lads, all ready; The moon is high in the radiant sky, And the old ship going steady!” The tar alone has a dance of his own, And it takes a tar to dance it. Though a lassie sweet, with her two little feet. Is the one charm to enhance it. You dance with one or you dance with two, As the notion takes your fancy. In an Indian glade with a dusky maid, Or at home with blue-eyed Nancy! It speaks of home to the hearts of a crew, • And it sets us all a dreaming, As we dance in tune, to the light of the moon. On a lovely ocean gleaming. It takes us back on the homeward track To the friends that soon will greet us; The ringing cheer, as we touch the pier. And the welcome that will meet us. Oh, it's heel ami toe To the tuneful bow, And it’s all so light and breezy: You may look in France or in Spain for a dance, But. you’ll say’ Any day That the hornpipe beats them easy! (By J. L. Molloy). © © © The Quest of Love. LoveF looked in on me one day I reached fond arms out to caress him: He only jeered and ran away To seek some other mates to bless him. 'Twas to give him power and gold To make his life a dream of pleasure I wanted him to have and bolr: He spurned with anger all my treasure. Love looked in on me agin. In poverty he found me living My soft couch a bed of pain. He knelt beside me. fond, forgiving. “ Here I'll stay.” he gently sighed. " My mate, my love,” to this confessing : In luxury I would have died. In poverty. 1 find my blessing. — Mrs. M. L. Rayne. © © © The Shopper. When Annabel goes shopping She rises with the lark Ami scans the morning papers The bargain sales to mark. She hurries through her breakfast, Ami ties her veil in haste. Ami leaves her mail unopened— No precious time to waste. She looks at silken blouses, Am! parasols ami gloves. Am! lingcrit and laces. Ami hats —such perfect loves! She tries on frocks from Paris, Ami prices chiffon veils. Ami muffs of mink or sable With half a hundred tails. She <loes not stop for luncheon, But Hies from store to store, And nightfall finds her weary*. And sick, and sad. ami sore: Ami home she goes with camphor To bind her a< head. Ami proudly shows her purchase—* A spool of cotton thread. v Minna Irving,