Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 36, 30 September 1871, Page 17

Select Poetry.

THE LORDS OF LABOR. BY JAMES MACEABLAN. They come, they come in a glorious march, You can hear their steam-steeds neigh, As they dash through Skill's triumphal arch Or plunge 'mid the dancing spray. Their bale-fires blaze in the mighty forge, Their life-pulse throbs in the mill, Their lightnings shiver the gaping gorge, And their thunders shake the hill. Ho! there are the Titans of toil and trade, •The heroes who wield no sabre ; But mightier conquests reapeth the blade That is borne by the Lords of Labor. Brave hearts like jewels light the sod, Through the mist's of commerce shine, And souls flash out like stars of God. Froin the midnight of the mine. No palace is theirs, no castle great, No princely pillared hall, But they well may laugh at the roofs of state 'Neath the heaven winch is over all. Ho ! these are the Titans of toil and trade, The heroes who wield no sabre, But mightier conqxiests reapeth the blade Which is borne by the Lords of Labor. Each bears his arm for the willing strife, That marshals the sons of the soil, And the sweat-drops shed in their battle of life Are the gems in the crown of'toil. And better their well-won wreaths I trow, Than latirels with life-blood wet ; And nobler the arch of a bare bold brow, Than the clasp of a coronet. Then hurrah for each hero, although his deed Be unknown by the trump or tabor ; For hollier, happier far is the meed That crowneth the Lords of Labor. THE THREE LITTLE CHAIRS. They sat alone by the bright wood fire, The grey-haired dame and aged sire, Dreaming of days gone by j The tear-drops fell on each wrinkled cheek, They both had thoughts they could not speak, And each heart uttered a sigh— For their sad and tearful eyes descried Three little chairs placed side by side Against the sitting-room wall; Old-fashioned enough as there they stood, Their seats of flag and their frames of wood, With their backs so high and tall. Then the sire shook his silvery head, And with trembling voice he gently said: " Mother, these empty chairs ! They bring us such sad thoughts to-night, We'll put them forever out of sight, In the small dark room upstairs !" But she answered: " Father, not yet, For I look at them, and I forget That the children are away; The boys come back, and our Mary, too, With her apron on, of checkered blue, And sit here every day. Johnny comes back from the billows deep, Willie wakes from his battle-field sleep, To say good-night to me ; Mary's a wife and mother no more, But a tired child whose playtime is o'er, 'And comes to rest at my knee. So let them stand there, though empty now, And every time when alone we bow At the Father's throne to pray, We'll ask to meet the children above, In our Saviour's home of rest and love, Where no child goeth aAvay."