SELECTED VERSES.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8232, 8 September 1906, Page 3

SELECTED VERSES.

ENGLAND, MOTHER ENGLAND. Little, lonely woubd, watching u'er Uj. tbe waters, V Tell me what you lock for with your wistful eyes of grey? 'Far beyond the ooeaa I have sons and daughters; 1 Wn&t a mother'a heart can love her eyes can see alway. Day by day 1 see them, day by day I hear them, Hear the murmur of their voioea ever in the sea; And iny heart is yearning, yearning to be near them, Children, 1 your mother am, cry 'Mother' bacft to me. •Mother,' called me 'Mother' as you call'd me long ago; That one word by 'jhildren paid, a mother's henit shall fill. Make mo proud, my children, let the liat'ning nations know Grey-haired England is your mother, call her 'Mother* still. Little, lonely woman, watuhiug o'er the waters, Let your bosom sweel' with pride, your mother's heart rtjoine. Far beyond the, ocean you have souß and daughceis, Sonu and daughters Bwift as flame N to leap up at your voice! Whisper but a summons, sigh to them in need, East and West, and north and aouih Bounds back the anew'ring hum. Stir of children marching; beat of hearts that bleed; Ihuuder of ten thousand lips: 'O, Mothor here we come. England, Mother England, all our blood cries baok to thee, Blood of kiuship beats to blood like waves that seek the shore. Bind us dost, 0 Mother, let us gather at thy knee: Hand in hand there let us stand, thy children evermore.' —Edward C. Booth. THE OLD SPRING DAYS. Bring me a breath of tbe old spring days, A whiff of October joys, We gathered fiom moor and meadow sweet, When we were laughing boys. \ Give me a taste of the rare delights, 1 We nought by stream and weld, From break of mora and set of sun' , Before our hearts grew old. Give me a day 'ueath the vaulted blue, 'And the friends 1 use to love, A frirrow to follow all the while, And the lapwing's cry above, A hedgeway bigh, where the mavis builds, A bank where the grasses twine, To seek again for the pleasures there, As we did in Spring's langsyne. Let me sit by the stream that sang to-us, As we idled ky its side, By tbe shoggle-gate, that we tremb ling crossed, The brig where we used eo bide. And 1 will be glad for one lout* day, Whatever the years may bring, I will drop the burden my. heart L must bear, *"* And cease from sorrowing. V" EPITAPH. When the dust of the workshop is still, The dust of the workman at rest, May some generous heart find a will To seek and to treasure bis best! From the splendour of hopes that deceived; From the wanders he meant to do; From the glories nearly achieved; From the dreams that nearly came true. From his struggle to rise above the t earth On the opinions that would not fly, From his sorrows; oh, seek for some / worth J- To remember the workman by. If in vain,if Time sweeps all away, And no laurel from that dnst springs; 'Tie. enough that a loyal heart say, 'He tried to make beautiful things.' —Eden Phillpotts, in the 'Pall Mall Magazine.' UNCLE JUENRY ON THE PASSING OF THE HORSE. j Every little while they tell us that m the h?rse has got to go; First the trolley was invented 'cause tbe horses went so slow, And they told us that we'd better ) not keep raisin' colts no more. When tbe street oars got to moting that the horses pulled before, I thought it was all over for old Fan and Doll and Kit, S'posed the horse was up and done for, But be ain't went yit! When the bike orazs first got started, people told as right away, As you probably remember, that the horse had saw his day; People put away their buggies, and weDt kitin* 'round on wheels; There were lots and lots of horses didn't even earn their meals. 1 used to stand and watch 'em with their bloomers as they'd flit, And thought the horse was goin', Bat he ain't went yit! Then they got the horseless carriage, ' and they said tbe horse was done, And tbe story's been repeated twenty times by Edison; Every time be gets another of his batteries to go He oomes whoooin' out to tell us that tbe horse don't stand a show. And you'd think to see these chauffeurs, as they go a-ohauffin. it Was good-bye to Mr. Dobbin, But he ain't went yit! When the people git to fiyng in the air I s'pose they'll say', As wa long have been a-sayin', that the horse has had his day. And 1 s'pose that some old feller just about like me'll stand Where it's safe, and watoh the horses £ haalin' staff across the land ; And he'll mebby as I do, while the orows above him flit, 'Oh, they say the horse is done for, Bat he ain't went yit.