Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 7, Issue 379, 24 May 1866, Page 1

Select Poetry.

THE PUREE PATH. fO bird-song floated down the hill, The tangled bank below was still; No rustle from the birchen stem. No ripple from the water’s hem. The dusk of twilight round us grew. Wo felt the falling of the dew ; War from us, ere the day was done. The wooded hills shut out the sun. But on the river’s farther side We saw the hill-tops glorified.— A tender glow, exceeding fair, A dream of day without the glare. With us the damp, with us the gloom: With them the sunset’s rosy bloom: While dark, through willowy vistas seen. The river rolled iu shade between. Prom out the darkness where we trod We gazed upon the hills of Gon, Whose light seemed not of moon or sun; We spoke not, but our thought was one. We paused as if from that bright shore Beckoned our dear friends gone before ; And stilled our heating hearts to hear The voices lost to mortal ear! Sudden our pathway turned from night; The hills swung open to the light; Through their green gates the sunshine showed; A long, slant splendour downward flowed. Down glade and glen and bank it rolled; It bridged the shaded stream with gold; And, borne on piers of mist, allied The shadowy with the sunlit side! “ So,” prayed we, “ when our feet draw near The river, dark with mortal fear, And the night cometh chill with dew 0 Fatherl—let thy light break through! So let the hills of doubt divide. So bridge with faith the sunless tide! So let the eyes that fall on earth Ou thy eternal hills look forth: And in thy beckoning angels know The dear ones whom we loved below.” —Whittiee.