Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVII, Issue 5, 31 January 1912, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

Supersensible. THE harp is ever singing to itself In soft and soul-like sounds we cannot hear. The stars of morning sing, and soundless words Make God's commands run swift from sphere to sphere. Each flower is always sending incen-e up As if in act of holy worshipping, Till fragrant earth is one great altar, like To heaven where saints their prayerfilled censers swing. The stars send out a thousand rays, writ full Of mysteries we can not read nor see. Of histories so long, and goings forth So vast, the volumes till infinity. Celestial presences have walked with man. Alluring him to Nebo's lofty height; Transfigured forms in tender light, too oft Invisible to our low range of sight. 0 Source Divine of things so fine and high, Touch all thy children’s souls with power to see That vibrant earth and air and boundless sky Still throb with immanent divinity —- Bishop Henry AV. Warren. © © © Ave Atque Vale. The autumn is dead, And the year lies a-dying, Where yellow and red The sere leaves are flying. They cover him up as a pall, while the winds of the -winter are sighing.

They have made him a bed; They have pranked it with holly; With berries of red . . To slay Melancholy. Ye fools! She will rise from her grave, though you bury her deep in your folly. He came to the crown In the midst of our cheering; To death he goes down With our wailing or jeering. The Boy King we set on the throne of his sires with caresses endearing, A health to the King Who -comes on the morrow, From flagons that fling Defiance to sorrow. The wine of the present is ours, the wine of the future we borrow. A health to the King From glasses of gladness. His coming shall bring Surcease to our sadness. Let tie eat of the fruit of Desire and be drunk with the wine of our madness. —S. J. Alexander. © © © The Gid Path. Oh, love! Oh, love! this way has hints of you In every bough that stirs, in every bee, Yellow -> nd .glad, droning the thick grass through; In blooms red on the bush, white on the tree: And when the wind, just now, came soft and fleet, Scattering the blackberry blossoms, and from some Fast darkening space that thrush sang sudden sweet, You were so near, so near, yet did not come! Say, is it thus with you, oh, friend, this day?

Have you. for me that love you, thought or word? Do I with bud or bough, pass bv your way; - . With any breath of brier, or note of bird? If this I knew , tho-'you be quick or dead, All my sad life would I go comforted. -—Lizette Woodworth Reese. © © © The Conquest of the Air. With a thunder-driven heart And the shimmer of new wings, I, a worm that was, upstart, King of kings! I have heard the singing stars, i > e 'vt' hed the sunset die. As I burst the lucent bars Of the sky. ' Lo. the argosies of Spain. As they ploughed the naked brine, Found no heaven-girded main Like to mine. Soaring from the clinging sod. First and foremost of my race, I have met the hosts of God Face to face. Met the tempest and the gale Where the white moon-riven cloud Wrapt the splendour of my sail In a shroud. When the ghost of winter fled. Swift I followed with the snow, Like a silver arrow sped From a bow. I have trailed the summer south Like a flash of burnished gold When she fled the hungry mouth Of the wold. I have dogged the ranging sun Till the world became a scroll; All the oceans one by one Were my goal. Oh, the winged men may come. Pierce the heavens, chart the sky, Sound an echo to my drum, Ere they die.

I alone nave seen the earn jjsf-e old u.ters swept aside, In e l ’ ■'osy of new birth Deified! Harold Trowbridge I’ulsifer. © © © A King of Tang. There looms a lordly pleasure-tower o*e? yon dim shore. Raised by some King of Tang. Jade pendants at his girdle elashed, and golden bells Around his chariot rang. ’Strange guests through sounding halls at dawn go trailing by—ami mocking winds; And sullen brooding twilights break in rain on rain 'To lash the ragged blinds. The slow sun-dappled clouds lean down o'er waters blue, Clear mirrored one bv one. Then drift as all the world shall drift. The very stars Their timeless courses run. How many autumn moons have steeped e walls. And paled the shattered beams! What is their royal builder now! A lord of dust? An emperor of dreams? (This poem was written by Wang Po, a Chinese who lived between 1148 and 076 A.D. The translation is by L. Cranmer Byng.) © © © Innocence. 1 tower so Ixgh above you. little son, You think me brave and strong and pausing wise: While 1, with half life's battles fought and done. Bow to the glory .that around you lies, — The visions white you brought from Paradise. Aly soul soars to your level, spotless one. Only when on my knees I meet your eyes,— Not when I tower above you, little son. Emily Sargent Lewis.