POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1903, 31 March 1880, Page 3

POETRY.

NOTHING. " Blessed be nothing ? " an old woman said, As Bhe scrnbbed away for her daily bread. " I'm better off than my neighbour the squire: He's afraid of robbers, afraid of fire. Afraid of flood to wreck his mill, Afraid of something to cross his will. I've nothing to burn, and nothing to steal But a bit of pork and a barrel of meal; A house that only keepß off the rain, Is easy burnt up and built again. Blessed be nothing ! My heart is light; I sing at my washing, and sleep all night." "Blessed be nothing!" the young man cried, As he turned with a smile to his smiling

bride. " Banks are breaking and stocks are down : There's dread and bitterness all over town; There are brokers groaning and bankers sad, And men whose losses have made them mad ; There'* silk and satin, but want of bread, And many a woman would fain be dead Whose little children sob and cling For the daily joy she cannot bring. Blessed be nothing, for you and me ! We have no riches on wings to flee." Blessed bo nothing! if man might choose, For he who hath it hath naught to lose ! Nothing to fear from flood or fire, All things to hope for and desire ; The dream that is better than waking days. The future that feeds the longing gaze j Better, far better, than aught we hold, As far as mining exceedeth gold, Or hope fruition in earth below, Or peace that is in us outward Bhow. Almost, when worn by weary years, Tired with a pathway of thorns and tears, When kindred fail us, and love httafled, And we know the living less than the dead, We think that the best of mortal good Is a painless, friendless solitude. For the pangs are more than the peace they

give Who make our lives so sad to live. Blessed be nothing ! it knows no loss, For the sharpest nail of the Master's cross : No friend to deny us, of none bereft, And though we have no one, yet God is left. Yet, having nothing, the whole is ours. No thorns can pierce us who have no flowers. And sure is the promise of His word, Thy poor are blessed in spirit, Lord ! Whatever we lose of wealth or care, Still there is loft -us tho breath of prayer— That heavenly breath of a world so high, Sorrow and sinning come not nigh ; The sure and certain mercy of Him Who sitteth between the cherubim, Yet careß for the lonely sparrow's fall, And is ready and eager to help us all. Rich is His bounty to all beneath ; To the poorest and saddest He giveth death.