“EGO RUS IBO.”

White Ribbon, Volume 24, Issue 286, 19 April 1919, Page 7

“EGO RUS IBO.”

I weary of the houses without end, 1 sic ken of the* crass commercial wav. Ah! ticldvvard, heldvvard, let my footsteps bend, 1 hat 1 may breathe once more the living day, And listen to the* passing of the breeze Touching to sound the silver |>oplai trees. I lirice balm to me* die* fragrant stub life’s breath, Mirnc music is the* creaking of the wain. llu* years roll back, the myriad waves of death Ebb into silence* of the distant main. Ear in tin* heart of Suffolk le-ariso The* grove*, the orchard, and the* starry skies. The sixtv-vv inter'd elm ac ross the way I In* vvell-thatc lit barns of timber old and stout, Stackyard and* neat house, and the August day O’er distant water-meadows ebbing out Whereovrr steals the snow-white mist and cold. Yet t ikes not on the rising tilthland hold. And far oYrhead athwart the appleboughs, Above* the* tower’d elms, the* kindling lights Of God's supernal palace bid me rouse Mv home w ard longing w hither, God in. vitcs, And scan faj off, from that deep w ell of shade. The many mansions for His Children made. —H. E. G. Rope.