Verse Old and New

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLI, Issue 5, 29 July 1908, Page 49

Verse Old and New

“ Attempted Suicide.” Your Honor, I ha’nt rot a word to say in my defence; You’ve listened to the painful facks, but ef it’s no offence I’ll tell you in a simple way-—I ain’t great on the talk— Whyfora a grey old chap like me wanted, to “cut the stalk.” Its forty years since me and Ruth wuz tied as man and wife, And nary mortal ever had a truer mate for life. In all them years we’d never had a word as you’d call cross (Barin’ the Christmas Day she bruk the knees of Jeff, the boss). We growed up like a elm that runs two stems from the same bole; Sometimes I thought that over yond’ we’d only have cue soul! I never done a thing I did’nt ask her ’pinion fust, And o’ner than you’d think I found my own way wust. When nabers asked me how’s my farm I’ c’rect ’em —-£ay 'twas her’n. That Ruth done all the thinkin’ work and I wuz thar to learn. She saved and saved and paid and paid until the place wuz clear — Poor gal, she didn’t ’spect ’twould go so soon ter th’ auctioneer! We never had no childer, barrin’ Zach, and he wer bad; Cut off fum hum and went to N’York ter lain to write and add. Said me and mother hedn’t sense ter come in out the rain! I ’spect he’s dead, ot decterin’ p’r’aps fer grammer on the brain. That’s years and years and years ago; but Ruth she never blamed The lad as gave us up ’acos of home he wuz ashamed. She larnt me how to write quite good, a-sayin’ as our Zach ’Ud be so proud his father knowed so much when he got back. But Zach he’d throwed us up fer good; and so fer many years His mother’s heart wuz wearin’ down with floods of secret tears, I offen catcned ner weepin’‘when I come in fer my tea, And I thinks, “Poor lass, you’re breakin’ fast with too much constancy.” One stormy day she stay’d i’bsd, and I sat by her side; (The rain come down like Ni’gra). I just sat thar and cried, For she talked of sunny mei.dows, seemed ter hear sweet songs afar; And I know’d the Hord had sent down word he wanted her up thar. Then when she fetched around a bit she says ter me, says she, “Don’t be too erosst with Zach—and practice on that cap’tal D. “I’ll tell the Lord how*good you wuz; although he hears and sees And knows we never had no words, ’cept ’bout that boss’s knees.”

It ketched me in a tender p’int ter see her thar so sick, Troublen’ about my writin’ and about my ’rithmetic. She took my hand, we kissed goodby, and ’ranged ter meet agen Where tears is tears of gladness and death can’t enter in.

Your Honor, when I’d buried her my life wuz struck with blight; There weren’t a blame thing ’round the farm that I could ’tend to right. My thoughts weren’t thar. One day I took the hoss ter get a shoe, And woke up standin’ by the stun reading “aged sixty-two.”

And so at last I soiled the farm and went ter find that lad, Ifhinkin’ that p’r’haps he’d growed out of his shame for his old dad.

For twenty montlr. I’ve s’arched and s’arched and end up now in N’York, All gone—too poor ter drive around and much too tired to walk. And then, oh, blessed God! I’m glad ye sped that bullet wide. There’d be’n a tear in hcav’n if IJiad died a suicide. His Honor’s fainted! Water here! Where is my specks'? Jeewaek! Ruth, Ruth! look down from paradise! I’ve found him. Here’s cur Zach! —THOMAS FROST. © © © Crown of Character. Where are the swelling majesties of old, The kings who built on skulls and emptiness ? Where Ninas, with the dove upon his shield ? His name is now a whisper from the dust That once was Nineveh, that once was pride.. And where is Raineses, the king of kings? He has gone down to nothingness and night. One sunken stone beside the dateless Nile Stammers to time his ineffectual fame. And Jamshid —name for splendour—• where is he, Whose palaces did pulse with precious stones ?— His dream in marble and his brag in brass. With all his towers, are faded with the clouds That lighly blew above Persepolis. When punctual death comes knocking at the door. To lewd the soul upon the unknown road, There is one crown, one only, never flung Baek to the dust by his fastidious hand. Touched by this crown a man is king indeed And carries fate and freedom in his breast: And when his house of clay falls ruining. His soul is out upon the path of stars! This is the one thing stronger than the years That tear the kingdoms down. Imperious time. Pressing a wasteful hand on mortal things, Reveals this young eternity in man. The peasant he may earn it with the king. And tread an equal palace full of light. Fleet youth may seize ibis crown; slowfooted age May wear its immortality. Behold! Its powers can turn bare rafters to a home Hallowed with hopes and hushed with memories; Can turn a Held of ruin to a place Where pilgrims keep the watches of the night; Can change an earthly face-until it shine, Touched with unearthly beauty. It can tun' A prison to a temple of the God, A gallows to an altar. In its might A reed did once become a sceptre —yen, A cross became a throne; a crown of thorns A symbol of the power above the world. —EDWIN MARKHAM. © © © To the Point. When you have a thing to say, Say it. Don’t take half a day. Where you're tale’s got little in it, Crowd the whole thing in a minute! Life is short—a fleeting vapour —■ Don't you fill the whole I k med paper With a tale which at a pinch Could be cornered in an inch! Boil her down until she simmers; Polish her until she glimwtrs; When you have a thing to say, Say it. Don't take half a day. —The Editor.