Page 7 Advertisements Column 1

Mount Ida Chronicle, Volume II, Issue 124, 14 July 1871, Page 7

SELECT POETRY. AFTER THE VICTORY. Tile setting sun stared down with widening gaze, And looked for his fair flowers and waving corn, Asking for one good-night with sinking rays, Then turned him red to see his loves were Death looked him back from out of trampled ears ; Death hid the flowers and crushed out all their light ; Red grew the sun ; then rose a mist of tears And hid his face before he met the night. " Oh, lift me higher, for I think I hear A shiver in the leaves, one little moan Prom some fair breeze that, shuddering, wanders near, And dare not stoop too low where death lies lone. " "Was that my mother ? Did she call to me? Ah, no ! it was the good old pastor's voic e ' Ho, everyone that thirsts, the way is free, Oh, come ye to the waters and rejoice !'

" It was no voice, but my poor silly "brain, 'That dreams away the moments left for thought, And hears the calls of those who cry in vain For water, water, now the fight is fought. " How clearly can I hear the purling stream That parts the waving hair of trailing fern, And drags the sunshine there to glance and gleam, And make sweet fancies till the shadows " I see you Gretchen ! though you turn away And let your blue eyes wander through the green, To watch the lark spring up,tp meet the day: I see you though you think yourself un- " Far off, far off, I hear the bugle call, Kiss me once more. Why is your face so wet ? Where is your hand ? hear the waters brawl; The sea is o'er us and we have hot met. " I hear you singing very far away ; Come nearer, dear, and sing that strange old hymn, 'Our God is a strong tower,' I chant all the day, Strong ! lam weak, death-struck in every limb.

" Oh, lift me higher, let me feel the air ! Oh, mother, lift me ! you once loved me so; And Gretchen, too, Gretchen with golden hair, Lift me! oh, lift me ! for I lie so low. "Oh, mother! mother ! I have often sinned, I cannot pray the prayers—oh, pray forme; Is it a victory? I hear the wind In the tall trees moaning for agony. "Is it a victory ? Is glory won? Glory in heaven? I think I see it shine. I hear them praying, but my prayer is done, I gaze at Heaven, and yet there is no sign. " I see a sign—the gleam of a pale cross ? Amid a crown of stars it shines at me. He said, ' Death is a gain, and life a loss,' But it has grown too dark for me to see. " Light! light! it comes at last—a glory gleams ! The cross stands out; and though my sins are gone, And all laid there, in these deep glowing streams, I .cannot see the stains, so bright the dawn," The red sun set, the moaning wind was there, And gently stooped her to the soldier's head, Kissed the pale face; and stroked the yellow hair; ' Then, sobbing "Death," far off she wailing fled,