Select Poetry.
JANET'S QUESTIONS. (Prom “Good Words,” for December.) SANET! my little Janet 1 You think me wise, I know; And that when you sit and question. With your eager face aglow, 1 can tell you all you ask me: My child, it is not so. I can tell my little Janet Some things she well may prize; J could tell her some whose wisdom Would be foolish in her eyes; There are things I would not tell her. They are too sadly wise. I can tell her of noble treasures. Of wisdom stored of old; To the chests where they are holdea I can give her keys of gold; And as much as she can carry She may take away untold. But till her heart is opened Like the book upon her knee, What is written in its pages She cannot read or see; Nor tell till the rose has blossomed Whether red or white ’twill be. And till life’s book is opened And read through every age. Come questions, without answers. Alike from child and sage; Yet God himself is teaching His children page by page.
I still am asking questions With each new leaf I see; To your new eyes, my Janet, ■Yet more revealed may be. You must ask of God the questions I fail to answer thee.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/HBT18660219.2.2
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Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 7, Issue 351, 19 February 1866, Page 1
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222Select Poetry. Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 7, Issue 351, 19 February 1866, Page 1
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