SELECT POETRY.

Mount Ida Chronicle, Volume II, Issue 151, 19 January 1872, Page 6

SELECT POETRY.

THE SWAGGER'S LAMENTIast to my weary lay; A stagger's strain , I travel day by day, Sunshine or rain. By cruel fate assigned, To beg for bread; And often then to find Charity dead. Methinks it is my doom, —-For hope is gone— To wander on in gloom —Friendless, alone.— Youth's happy days are past, With love so fraughtArid I've become at last Scarce worth a thought. No gentle love to soothe No gentle friend to cheer— N<}thi -lg achieved to smooth Life's journey here. Oh! say when will it cease, This weary life; Clouds drearily increase, Teeming with strife. . Oil! ve of happy lor, Help the forlorn; Thy. aid is ne'er The heart its bourne. [Ye Loaders pause awhile—- ' You are to blame ; Who emigrant's beguile To vagrant shame. Can it indeed be right , To study, self? With poverty in sight To scoff at wealth.] You say the fault is mine, But are ye pure ? A thousand blessings thine— A thousand more. For kindness to the poor, Nor reason why The stranger at thy door Hath hungry eye. Jehovah died to save . Those full of sin j If all were pure—His grace Would nothing win, Let Charity grow great —lt is a crown— Which gvants exalted state ■ —.Divine reftowfli,