SELECTED POETRY

Mataura Ensign, Volume 6, Issue 335, 29 February 1884, Page 6

SELECTED POETRY

From Town to Country. From the hum of the city and stir, Be ot by the concourse of men, — From the din, and the stir, and the whirr, Cast up to the skies by ye men, — From the oaths and the lies, and the strife, " W hich troube the mind from its calm, I have fled to a peace-fuller life — ?,fv heart in its joy sings a psalm I iv tnis home on the mountains hight, 'Mid fragrance of woods in the spring : Where the skies are so blue and so bright, j And the birds in the early morn sing, Uplifting their voices of praise I Of the Giver of Life and Light, — In these happy, most innocet.t days, Or solemn sad silence of night : I, too. sing with the birds in joy I join in their poen of praise ; For the gold is without alloy. I live every hour of my days I When the sun in the fire-mist shines Like a platter of molter gold, And his rays branching out in lines, Quick vanish with night and cold, Have I thought of a bed of down Or, dread of the labor to come ? Do I pause as of yore in town 1 Would I gladly remain at home? No 1 I spring from my coach awake, Awake to the glory of Life ! For 1 live, and I strive to make With indolence war to the knife. Oh ! I hate the sad life I passed, For so many wearyfuJ years, In the hopeless vain struggle at last To win to a fortune in tears 1 Now I know I have chosen right, I know there is peace to be found ; Bven I find my life grown bright : Ihe chains from my soul are unbound 1 — " Crow's Nest.' 1 The Lust Litany. One summer's day a weary one Lady pale and still, Earih's task nigh done When from the little church hard by Was heard the sound of melody. The parched lips moved, and thus he said : "Oh, mother, raise my drooping head 1 It may be I'll ne'er hear again The plantive chant or organ's strain." She gently raised him in the bed, And placed her arms beneath his head. In tears she smothed the clust'ring hair — A mother's heart was breaking there. He hears sweet chords (no earthly strain^ "Oh, mother, hark 1 the choir again. They bid me join their fastal ray, Wouldst thou my beating spirit stay?" A long drawn sigh, no answer came ; His spirit left its earthly frame, Her marble lips have pressed his brow, There is no separation now.