VERSES OLD AND NEW.

Dominion, Volume 4, Issue 1013, 31 December 1910, Page 9

VERSES OLD AND NEW.

THE EOI'E WALK. Ess, the battle of life be a rope walk, I reckon, <'' 'An' the tost of us'spin wi'. our backs ; j turned; to. Fate,' \ '' But theer's not a soul , knows when the ' 'Master will .beckon— \ • Whether early or lata. • r 'Fin' there's none as can value'the work -t- 'of 1113 f neighbour; : . -Theer's none as can'see either end or ■J" beginning, . . i ' For the length o* the thread ban't no : part of our labour,* - , , .'. But awnly the spinning." , ' ' —Eden' Philpotts. ' DEATH AND SLEEP.. : . iill hail, ye cloudy shepherds, Death and ■■■.- ' Sleep,- "• . . vHow close your folds do lie—the near and' •;'nether; - . But one hath stars and Eying winds and , •/' weather . - -'Above his silences in earth and deep; Tho other doth the weary .living keep, ind herds his .flocks upon that toilsome • ; • tether, ■■■ ■ ' 1 Till oft the sad-eyed dreamers wake and ... weep, . And clasp cold hands and call on Death together. •• ■ ~. One fold ■is murmurous with . sorrow's sounds;. . . still them lies 'beyond the shepherd's ■ . might;' • ; ' .; .But in the silent lodges/of the mounds •. • iiroods ■: neither. pain , hor' darkness,' joy •' nor light:. " • ; .No heart shall, w'ake in tears; no grief nor , -. wounds , •. . : Can fret, the watches of that endless ' . night, . . ■; —Eden Philpotts. LIBRARIES. . ■' , Some men possess great libraries . ror costly books and rare; : While otters 'find '(/heir study-shelves Suffice, with room to spare. All mine: are, in a secret place— , Iso stranger enters there. (On? book is locked. God keeps the key : In His great safe, on High, And all tho sweetness of its lore '.' Is hid.' No human eye. -Has read that volume to the end: .... .God shut it suddenly.) : ; ; , ' ( tho. summer shadows fling : .Their, length along'the grass, Although tho months of winter time : In slow procession .pass, . vfet in the secret room I love No sand runs through, the glass. 'Tis hero :I spend long quiet, hours - In.'Welcome solitude; - 'Tis here I find a refuge from ■ Despair's unhappy, mood; ■For here all Bitterness of Heart . ' ■ Yields .-.to : Good. ' —Muriel G. E. Harris, in the "Westminster Gazette." NORFOLK. . (A Study, in County Characteristics.) . ' Norfolk, although • no' mountain" ranges • ' ; .Girdle .•your:' plains :;with ;'a bastio'ned heignt, : ... Yet is your landscape rich ;in 1 '■ tt 1, ~ n -S eye .with delight— . Heathclad uplands and lonely dingles* Slow streams stealing through level meads, •'.. • Flats where the marsh with the ocean ' ; ■ ■ ; mingles, ; .-... ~ , i Mercs doso guarded by sentinel reeds. Never a mile, but - some church-tower hoary.. 1 . , '.Stands for a witness, massive and tall, How men furthered God's greater glory— Blakeney and Cloy and Sail. Never a. rillago but:in its borders Signs oi a stormy past remain, . Walls: that.were nianned by' Saxon wanders, ... ' .■■■.: •■■■•. Barrows that guard', the bones of the Dane. Deep in your ■ heart Home left her . ' ' traces; '■ .'•'... . _ Normans held : your. manors in fee, .. Italy lent you her Southern graces, : Dutchmen -bridled' your sea. ; ' -Flemings wove, you their silks and woollens, .■ \ : .. .. , • V Romany-.magic still to you clings, ' ■ • And the fairest daughter of all the Bul- ■ • lens . . Blent you. blood with that, of your • ' . Kings. . " 1 . . I Tours are the truest names in England— ■ Overy Staithe and . Icknield' Way, ', ~ -■ Waveney River, Ringraere,',aiid Ringland,. : Wymondhariii'and Worhiegay. Land of ' windmills ' and brown-winged' wherries . ■ .; ~. , Gliding along with the gait of queens; Land of. tho Broads, the dykes, and tho 1 ferries, . Land of the Sounds, the Brecks, the Denes.. ~ .-•Gipsy lore, the heart, of his stories, " Borrow gleaned in'his Norwich-', home." Broadland, "aflame with ■ sunset, glories; ■. /Fired tho. vision 'of Crohie: ;• Tombland's echo'throughout: the pages Of Browse liko a', ' stately : Requiem '. '• runs;. ■ . ' '' >-v - ' . Nelson,, '"a name to resound for ages,'*' Crowns'the roll of your hero sons! —C. L. G., in tho "Spectator."