Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 52, 20 January 1872, Page 17

Select Poetry.

A RELIC. Only a woman’s right-hand glove, Six and three-quarters, Courvoisier’s make— For all common purposes useless enough, Yet dearer for her sweet sake. Dearer to me for her who filled Its empty place with a warm white hand— The hand I have held ere her voice w r as stilled In the sleep of the silent land. Only a glove ! yet speaking to me Of the dear dead days now vanished and fled, And the face that I never shall see Till the grave give back its dead. An empty glove ! yet to me how full * Of the fragrance of days that come no move, Of memories that make us, and thoughts that rule Man’s life in its inmost core. The tone of her voice, the pose of her head — AH, all come back at the will’s behest; The music she loved, the books that she read— Nay the colors that suited her best. And oh! that night by the wild sea-shore, With its tears and its kisses, and vows of love, When as pledge of the parting promise we swore, Each gave a glove for a glove. You laugh ! but remember though only a glove, And to you may no deeper a meaning express, To me it is changed by the light of that love To the one sweet thing I possess! Our souls draw nurture from many a ground, And faiths that are different in their roots, Where the will is right and the heart is sound, Are much the same in their fruits. Men get at the truth by different roads, And must live for the part of iteaeh one sees; You gather your guides out of orthodox codes, I mine out of trifles like these. A trifle, no doubt ; but in such a case, So bathed in the light of a life gone by, It has entered the region and takes its place With the things that cannot die! This trifle to mo is of heavenly birth ; No chance, as I take it, but purposely given To help me to sit somewhat loaser to earth And closer a little to heaven. For is seems to bring me so near, oh, so near, To the face of an angel watching above— That face of all others I held so dear, With its yearning eyes of love! —“ Scotsman.” J.B.S. WHAT TO TEACH CHILDREN. Teach them wherefore their Creator Made their head and hands and tongue, How to live by honest labor— Virtue must be learnt when voung. Teach them love to one another, And to creatures that are dumb ; Cats and dogs need not be beaten Though they keep them in a slum. Teach them truth in all their dealings, When they buy and when they sell; And when they spend their hours of leisure, Lies in play they need not tell. Teach them how to help each other In the daily walk of life ■ Those we help we love more dearly— Nothing good comes out in strife. Teach them how to keep their money, . How to pass each tempting shop ; • And of drink, which makes men demons Tell then not to taste a drop. Teach them not that making money Bringetli joy to one and all, But self-denial well exerted Frees the soul from many a thrall. Teach them when they see a neighbor Bowed beneath affection’s rod,

To step forth and help him freely— Friendship lightens much the load. And of all the learning, teach them To take care of everything That is placed within their keeping— Waste doth nought but misery bring ; And that He who made them loves them, And will gather to His fold Those refined by tribulation When their days on earth are told. M. T. London. KEEP ON WORKING. To the idler, the day seems long ; To the dreamer, the world goes wrong And many a shirk, In this world of work, Would sell his life for a song. To be happy, a man must thrive; And to thrive, a man must strive : Use the talents given, Or be quickly driven, As a drone from the human hive! Like the wings of a fanning-mill, Or like soldiers at daily drill, Muscle and brain, And nerve and vein, Must tug and toil with a will. To the worker, life is complete ; To the toiler, bread is sweet: For the man who tries, Be he daft or wise, Shall be given an honored seat. Then up with the lark betimes, And dig for your dollars and dimes, And life will flow For you below, As sweetly as Nature’s rhymes! Mrs M. A. Kidder.