Original Poetry.
LINES WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF A VISIT TO THE BLENHEIM CEMETERY. Oh, fell disease ! In Death’s dark hand A dart both swift and sure ; Can nought be found your power to stay. And work more oft a cure ? So short the space since many hero Beheld the light of day, Now, wrapt from friends who loved them well, Tn these small beds of clay. Here young and old reluctant move When Hng’ring ills befall; Short time, grim visitant, you give; Your touch seems Death’s own calL Oh weary, weary hours of watch; Tho’ short, too short for those Whose anxious care would ward the blow That brings this still repose. Sad sight! Of seven, a family group, Here six are laid at rest! A few short weeks since, all in health. Their parents’ eyes they blest. But—“ Suffer little children, come,’’ We’ve heard a voice declare ; And, while we linger round these tombs, ’Tis whisper’d in the air.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/MEX18680829.2.19
Bibliographic details
Marlborough Express, Volume III, Issue 133, 29 August 1868, Page 6
Word Count
161Original Poetry. Marlborough Express, Volume III, Issue 133, 29 August 1868, Page 6
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