Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 18, Issue 1118, 12 September 1871, Page 2

Select Poetry.

WHICH SHALL IT BE? [A man, who had no children, proposed to his poor neighbor, who had seven, to take one of theja, and promised, if the parents would consent, that he would give them property enough to make themselves and their other six children comfortable for life.] Which shall it be ? Which shall it be P I looked at John—-John looked at me, And when I found that I must speak, My voice seemed strangely low and weak. " Tell me again what Robert said;" And then I listening bent my head. " This is his letter : 1 1 will give A house and land while you shall live, If, in return, from out your seven, One child to me for aye is given.'" I looked at John's old garment's worn ; I thought of all that he had borne Of poverty, and work, and care, Which I, though willing, could not share ; I thought of seven yonng months to feed, Of seven little children's need, And then of this. "Come John," said I " We'll choose among them as they lie Asleep." So, walking hand in hand, Dear John and I surveyed our band ', First to the cradle lightly stepped, Where Lillian, the baby, slept. Softly the father stooped to lay His rough hand down in loving way, When dream or whisper made her stir, And huskily he said : " Not her !" We stooped beside the trundle-bed, And one long ray of lamplight shed Athwart the boyish faces there, In sleep so beautiful and fair, I saw on James's rough red cheek A tear undried. Ere John could speak, " He's but a baby, too," said I, And kissed him as we hurried by; Pale, patient, Robbie's angel face Still in his sleep bore sufferings trace. " No, for a thousand crowns not him," lie'whispered, while our eyes were dim. Poor Dick ! bad Dick ! our wayward son— Turbulent, restless, idle one— Could he be spared ? Nay, he who gave Bade us befriend him to the grave ; Only a mother's heart could be Patient enough for such as he ; '• And so," said John, " I would not dare To take him from her bedside prayer." Then stole we softly up above, And knelt bv Mary, child of love. " Perhaps for her 'twould better be," I said to John. Quite silently He lifted up a curl that lay Across her cheek in wilful way, And shook his head. " Nay love, not thee," The while my heart beat audibly. Only one more, our eldest lad, Trusty and faithful, good and glad, So like his father. "No .John, no ; I cannot, will not, let him go." And so we wrote in courteous way, We could not give one child away; And afterward toil lighter seemed, Thinking of that of which we dreamed, Happy in truth that not one face Was missed from its accustomed place; Thankful to work for all the seven, Trusting the rest to One in Heaven. —New York Tribune.