Poetry.
“LIFE HATH ITS BARREN YEARS.’’ Life hath its barren years, When blossoms fall untimely down, When ripened fruitage fails to crown The summer toil, when nature’s frown Looks only on our tears. Life hath its faithless days, The golden promise of the mom, That seemed for light and gladness born, Meant only noontide wreck and scorn, Hushen’d harp instead of praise. Life hath its valleys, too; Where we must talk with vain regret. With mourning clothed, with wild rain wet, Toward sunlight hopes that soon must set, All quenched in pitying dew. Life hath its harvest moons, Its tasseled corn and purple-weighted vine ; Its gathered sheaves of grain, the blessed sign Of plenteous ripening bread and pure rich wine, Full hearts for harvest tunes. Life hath its hopes fulfilled ; Its glad fruitions, its blest answered prayer, Sweeter for waiting long, whose holy air, Indrawn to silent souls, breathes forth its rare, Grand speech by joy distilled.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/PBS18821030.2.18.2
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Poverty Bay Standard, Volume X, Issue 1188, 30 October 1882, Page 7 (Supplement)
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157Poetry. Poverty Bay Standard, Volume X, Issue 1188, 30 October 1882, Page 7 (Supplement)
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