ORIGINAL POETRY. IN MEMORY.
A damp and darksome place it is, And there not a tree can grow, Only the nettle springeth rank, And the scanty grass is low ; The ceaseless hum of a city round, Desecrates what should be holy ground. Yet from a vault in that churchyard grim, Where nothing but gloom can be, There uses a form, and reaches a hand, And it beckons unto me; Father! that ever a bone of thine, Should moulder to dust in such a shrine. They should have laid thee were how'rs could spring, Soft beneath a willow tree, With brightness above, and peace around— That were rest befitting thee. I was a child when thy spirit fled, Or thou should'st have slept in a fairer bed. I was a child—but through troubled years And changes of clime, and scene, I see before me that new made grave, As though change had never been. Father! from far o'er the parting wave, I weep at the thought of thy lonely grave. St. George. Auckland, August 20th, 1851.
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New Zealander, Volume 7, Issue 559, 23 August 1851, Page 4
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175ORIGINAL POETRY. IN MEMORY. New Zealander, Volume 7, Issue 559, 23 August 1851, Page 4
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