POETRY.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 937, 26 June 1877, Page 3

POETRY.

"SOUL MUSIC." (BY G. J. WHITE-MELVILLE.)

I know I have heard them sing, child, and I know that they spoke to me, With my mother's arms about me, while I sat on my mother's knee; And she told me of love that saved us, and a Father we had on high, And the grave that we need not fear, child, and the soul that can never die. In the gleam of the summer lime-trees, in the glow of the summer's day, And I heard them singing faintly then, for they seemed so far away.

Again, when I walked with the loved one; you remembered the loved one, dear, And the smile that is gone from among us, and the voice we no longer hear, The voice was so tender aud earnest, that joy was too deep for mirth, And the heart was too full for speech, child, and heaven had come down on earth. Not a drop in the cup seemed wanting, the thirst of a life to fill, And farther and fainter the song died out—but I heard the angels still.

Then the loved one was taken from me, and I bowed my head ill my hand, For my bark was free on a silent sea, and I was alone on the strand ; The day has gone down for me, child, the light of my life was fled, And I longed for the sleep of endless night, and to lay me beside the dead. Then I clung to the arm that smote me, with a prayer from a bended knee, And my heart climbed up to meet the song — and the song floated down to me.

I have heard so often since, child, at church on the holy morn When the music swells, and the praise goes up, that " to us a Child is born." And here in the hush of my home life, and there where the little ones play, And once in the tremble of twilight at the turn of the night and the day ; Each time they sing in a sweeter strain, they call in a clearer tone, And I look for the Reaper to house the grain, and the Master to claim his own.

I think it will not be long, child, they are bidding me home at last, To the place where the joy of the future shall be linked on the love of the past— Where the houseless shall seek a shelter, the lonely shall find a friend, Where the heart's desire shall be granted that hath trusted and loved to the end ; Where there's fruit in the gardens of heaven from hopes that on earth are betrayed, Where there's rest for the soul life-wearied, that hath striveu, and suffered, and prayed.

Gun Accident.—On Saturday last a man named Gh Welsted, whilst shooting on the Maori reserve, had his left hand shattered by the gun bursting. He was attended by Dr. Orenden, and subsequently forwarded to the Hospital.

Fai,se Pretences Exposed.—There is an unusual revival of doubtful industry at the present time among the gentry who sell imported or other health-destroying compounds as identical with or similar to that benign medical elixir, Udolpho Wolfe's Schiecam Aromatic Schnapps. Purchasers should ,isk for and only take the original article.