STRANGERS YET.
I know that the sentence of death is written Against onr love by the hand of fate ; 1 know all the joy of onr lives is smitten A deadly, blow by the direst hate ; That our pleasant hive, with its mom’riea
tender, Its dreams and its hopes, which they deem
a crime, They would vanish from ns as the sunset splendour la banished by darkness at evening time.
But niy heart rebels with Keroeat passion ; It will not submit to their stern decree. Love cannot be slain in murd’rous fashion, Like a giant it struggles for mastery. Though they bury it deep in their deadly malice; Crushing out, as they think, its latest
breath ; Yet, with strength renewed as from blood-
tilled chalice, It will rise to prove that love knows no death.
If love is a crime—a sinful passion, Why then should a God so good and so
wise Have moulded our hearts in such wondrous
fashion, That nothing but love e’er satisfies? If it be a sin, and only repenting And firmly forsaking, brings pardon divine, Then my soul must be doomed to woes unrelenting, For no change e’er can come to a love such as mine. Q'JEKNIE. Ohanpo.
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Waikato Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 2346, 23 July 1887, Page 2 (Supplement)
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203STRANGERS YET. Waikato Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 2346, 23 July 1887, Page 2 (Supplement)
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