NOBODY ELSE.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 400, 7 September 1889, Page 3

NOBODY ELSE.

Two little hands so careful and brisk, Putting the tea things away ; While mother is resting awhile in her chair, For she has been busy all day. And the doar little fingers are working for love. Although they are tender and wee. ' 1 11 do it so nifcly,' ahe says to herself— ' There's nobody else, you see.' Two little feet just scampered upstairs, For papa will quickly be here ; And his shoes must be ready and warm by the fire, That is burning so bright and so clear. Then she must climb on a chair to keep watch ; ' lie cannot come in without me. When mother is tired, I open the door— There's nobody else, you see.' Two little arms around papa's dear neck. And a soft downy cheek 'gainst his own; For out of the nest so cozy and bright, The little one's mother has flown. She brushes the teardrops away, as she thinks ; 4 Now he has no one but me. I mustn't give way ; that would make him so sad. And there's nobody else, you see. 1 Two little tears on the pillow unshed, Dropped from the two pretty eyes. Tvt o little arms stretching out'in the dark, Two little faint sobbing cries. ' Papa forgot 1 was always waked up When he whispered good-night to me. O, motl.ei", come back, just to kiss mo in bed— There's nobody else, you see,' Little true heart, if mother can look Out from her home in the skies. She will not pass to her haven of rest While the tears dim her little one's eyes. If God has shed sorrow around us just now, Yet his sunshine is ever to be ! And He is the comfort for everyone's pain — There's nobody else, you sec.

Mary Hodges.

FOR THE PEOPLE. We nrc the hewers and delvers wlio toil for another's gain, The common clods and the rabble, stunted of brow and brain, "What do we want, the gleaners, of the harvest wo have reaped '? "What do we want, the neuters, of the honey we have heaped I We want the drones to be driven away from our golden hoard ; Wo "want to share in the harvest, we Irani to sit at the board ; We want what sword or suflrage has never yet won for man, The fruits of his toil God promised when the curse of toil began. Ye have tried the SAvord and sceptre, the cross and the sacred word In all the years, and the kingdom is not yet here of the Lord. We are tired of useless waiting ; we are tired of fruitless prayers. Soldier and churchman and lawyers — the failure, is it not thehs? What gain is it to the people that a God laid down his life, 11, twenty centuries after, His world be a world of strife ? If the serried ranks be faoing each other with ruthless eyes And steel in their hands, what profits a Saviour's sacrifice?

Ye have tried and failed to rule us ; in vain to direct have tried. Not wholly the fault of the ruler ; not utterly blind the guide ; Mayhap there needs not a rulor; mayhap we can find the way. At least ye have ruled to ruin ; at least ye have ]el astray. What matter if King or Consul or President holds the rein, If crime and poverty ever be links in the bondman's chain > What carcth the burden-bcaier that Liberty packed his load, If Hunger presses behind him with a sharp and ready goad ? There's a serf whose chains are of paper, there's a king with a parchment ciown ; There arc robber knights and brigands in factory, iield and town. But the vassal pays his tribute to a lord of wage and rent ; And the b.iron's toll is Shylock's with a flesh and blood per cent. The seamstress bends to her labour all night in a narrow room; The child, defrauded of childhood, tiptoes all day at the loom ; The soul must starve, for the body can barely on husks be ted. And the loaded dice of a gambler settle the price of bread. Ye have ihorn and bound the Samson and robbed him ot learning's light ; But his slusgfish brain is moving; his sinews have all their might. Look well to your gates of Gaza, your privilege, pride and cast ! The Giant is blind, but thinking, and his locks are growing fast. James Jeffrey Roche, in the " Indcpen' dent."