ORIGINAL POETRY.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume I, Issue 13, 26 September 1861, Page 3

ORIGINAL POETRY.

DEATH! The loved, the good, the beautiful, Are all cut oii' by Death ; One moment full oflife and hope, The nest deprived of breath. ’Twas so with one the other day, Who left her native shore, To cross with her heart best loved. The Atlantic ocean’s roar. Alas! the tale when told will draw A tear from every eye ; New Zealand’s shores just reached la tito*' To lay her down and die. A mourning one she’s left behind, With mourning babe to tend ; Love, love, indeed, he now must feel. In this, to him, strange land. For none the bitter pangs can feel, None but bereaved can know How sad it is when all that’s dear Are by cold Death laid low. But God is good—he’ll not afflict Above what we can bear ; Eejoice, then, that we are not left Hopeless, or in despair. W c must not think he’s unjust, Or murmur at our lot; Death comes the same to royal halls As to the peasant’s cot. The loved, Ihe true, the virtuous, The lovely and the brave, Arc brought by Death’s mysterious hand bin to the silent grave. But all the dead the God shall rise, And be in Heaven more bright Than any ark we now can see. Or any earthly light. Then mourn them not as dead, although A ou feel your heart be deep ; Though passed from earth they are not dead They’re only gone to sleep. This gives us hope that we shall meet Them, though wc now deplore Well not count them as lost, oh! no, But only gone before. A. G. Napier, Sept. 23, 18G1.