POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2496, 6 April 1882, Page 4

POETRY.

“THOU KNOWEST.” Through blackness, deep as night, we grope, Unohoered by hope ; The mocking world, with laugh and song. Moves gay along ; Only one thought can peace afford—- “ Thou knowest, Lord.” Thou dost not sit serene in heaven, Wh ven. With harp ar .aeb? r, . a ® 0 : fared throngs, U- ,‘their v^lanc. That hen are pieroeu n( ,j d ; r w’s sword, a'hou knowes,. it> ;' Thou who has borne eartSfsßTi.ariest loss. And dreadful cross,.T 1 * With anguished heart, thou pltieat still j ’ Tls not Thy will That life should only grief afford, “ Thou knowest, Lord.” We cannot see Thee in tho dark, Yet Thou dost mark Our agony, and Thou art near ; Although no cheer May coma to us, we trust Thy word ; “ Thou knowest, Lord.” lio, when our lips are dumb with woe, And all below To our bewildered gaze appears A sea of tears. What can we do but trust Thy word ? “ Thou knowest, Lord.” THE JAOOBITF jfitf'TO WEE HILL. He tripped up the steps with a bow and a smile. Offering snuff to the ohaolain the while, Arose in his buttonhole this afternoon, ’Twos the tenth of the month, and tho month it was June. Then, shrugging his shoulders ha looked at the man With the mask and the axe, and a murmuring ran Through tho crowd who, below, were all pushing to see The gaoler kneel down and receiving his fee. He look’d at the mob, as they roared, with a stare, And took snuff again with a cynical air. “I’m happy to give but a moment’s delight To the fliwor of my country agog for a sight.” Then he looked at the block, and, with scented cravat. Dusted room for his nook, gaily doffing his hat, Kiosod his hand to a lady, bent low to tho crowd, Then, smiling, turned round to the headsman and bowed. “God save King James!” he cried., bravely shrill, And tho cry reached the houses at foot of the hill. “ My friend with the axe a votre service," he said, And ran his white thumb ’long the edge of the blade. When the multitude hisaod he stood firm as a rook; Then, kneeling, laid down his gay head on the block. Ha kissed s white rose, in a moment ’twas rad With tho life of the bravest of any that bled. Walter Thobnbuby.