Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 7, Issue 372, 30 April 1866, Page 1

Select Poetry.

EVERY TREE IS KNOWN BY ITS FRUIT.

g{F so, then what a baneful tree §J Must alcoholic liquor be. Whatever is its name Bo full of evil is its fruit, It is but logical the root And branches are the same. Ah 1 there are pictures, sad, yet true. That rise before my mental view. While I about it think; Pictures of want, and sin, and strife. Of fearful death and wasted life, All brought about by drink. ! I think of one, who, fair and bright As sunny beam of morning light. In her young dawning day'— Assumed with hops the name of wife. To lead a saddened, Joyless life, Then blighted fade away. And there was one, who, brave and strong, lived hut to battle ’gainst the wrong, So high his every aim; But she who love to him had brought Became a drunkard, and the thought Bowed down his head with shame. I knew of one who had to part With him on wham she leaned her heart; And with her children left, She sought to drown within the howl The grief for him that bowed bis soul. Of whom she was bereft. Her children, left without the care That should have warned them of the snaro That sin would round them lay. Boon bore sin’s brand upon their brow; As criminals they hasten now Fast down destruction’s way. And were this all, X should confess That drink could curse, but never bless. As all its fruit must show; But oh! its ills are spread so wida That scarce a home the deadly tide Spares in its rapid flow. Then why should such a tree remain To wring the nation’s heart with pain. And bring her strong ones down f Coes English common sense survive. That such an evil tree can thrive In English freemen’s ground ? U will not. For already see The host who strive the land to free. And will not cease their toil! Til! drink, the dire insidious root, With drunkenness, its deadly fruit, Elves not on British soil. —Alliance Weekly yews. Amelia Beckwith,