THE ROSARY OF MY TEARS.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXII, Issue 21, 20 September 1895, Page 27

THE ROSARY OF MY TEARS.

Some reckon their age by yearp, Some measure their life by art — But some tell their daya by ihe flow of their tears, And their life by the moans of their heart. The dials of earth may show The length, not the depth, of yeaia ; Few or many they come — few or many they go — Bat oar time iB beet measured by tears. Ab I not by the silver grey That creeps through the sunny hair, And not by the scenes that we pass on our way— And not by the furrows ihe finger of care

On forehead and face bare made ; Not bo do we count our years ; Not by the sun of the earth— hut the shade Of our souls — and the fall of our tears. For the young are oft'timea eld, Though their brow be bright and fair.; While their blood beats warm, their heart lies cold — O'er them the spring time — but winter is there. And the old are oft'times yonng, When their hair is thin and white ; And they sing in age as in youth they sung, And they laugh, for their cross was light. But bead by bead I tell The rosary of my years ; From a cross to a cross they lead — 'tis well 1 And they're blest with a blessing of tears. Better a day of strife Than a century of sleep ; Give me instead of a long stream of life The tempest and tears of the deep. A thousand joys may foam On the billows of all the years ; Bat never the foam brings the brave barque homeIt reaches the haven through tears. Fathbb Btan.