SELECT POETRY.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 6, Issue 323, 13 November 1865, Page 1

SELECT POETRY.

GEANDFATHEE’S PET. This Is the room where she slept Only a year ago,— Quiet, and carefully swept. Blinds and curtains like snow. There, by the bed la the dusky gloom, She_ would kneel with her tiny clasp'd hands and pray, Here is the little white rose of a room,— With the fragrance fled away S Effie, Grandfather’s pet, With her wise little face I seem to hear her yet Singing about the place. But the crowds roll on, and the streets are drear. And the world seems hard with a bitter doom. And Effie is singing elsewhere,—and here Is the little white rose of a room. Why, if the stood Just there. As she used to do. With her long light yellow hair. And her eyes of blue,— If the stood, I say. at the edge of the bed. And ran to my side with a living touch, Though T know she be quiet, and buried, and I should not wonder much. For she was so young, you know,— Only seven years old. And she loved me, loved me, so. Though I was gray and old. And her face was so wise, and so sweet to see. And it still looked living when she lay dead. And she used to plead for mother and me, By the side of that very bed. I wonder, now. if she Knows X am standing here. Feeling, wherever she be, We hold the place so dear? It cannot be that she sleeps too sound. Still in her little night-gown drest, Kot to hear my footsteps sound In the room where she used to rest. Nay,—though I am dull and blind. Since men are so bad and base, The Lord is much too kind To mar such a sweet young face. Why, when we stood by her still bedside, She seemed to breathe like a living thing! And when X murmured her name and cried, She seemed to be listening! 1 have felt hard fortune’s stings. And battled in doubt and strife, And never thought much of thing* XJeyond this human life; But I cannot think that my darling died Like great strong men with their prayers untrue— Bay- rather she sits at God’s own side. And sings as she used to do! A weary path I have trod: And now X feel no fear,— For I cannot think that God Is so far, since she was here! A* I stand, I can see the blue eyes shine, And the small arms reach thro’ the curtain’d gloom. While the breath of the great laird God divine Stirs the little white rose of a room! —Good Words, September.