ORIGINAL POETRY.
LINES TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE COLONIAL CHAPLAIN. We miss him in our Sabbath prayer, His reverend words of hope and fear— Not truly valued then, and there, But mourned for now he is not here. We miss him in the poor man’s home, For there he loved to soothe and cheer— Not valued when his step would come, But mourned for now he is not here. We miss him in the haunts of crime, Even there, his *golden words were dear— Not truly valued at the time, But mourned for now he is not here. We miss him in the house of woe, He best could stay the bursting tear. He best could ease the aching brow— We mourn him now he is not here. "He is not here, for he is risen”— Break the glad tidings on the ear, A crowned saint, and prince in heaven— Why mourn we that he is not here? St. George, Auckland, November, 1853.
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New Zealander, Volume 9, Issue 797, 3 December 1853, Page 3
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164ORIGINAL POETRY. New Zealander, Volume 9, Issue 797, 3 December 1853, Page 3
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