Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 2477, 26 May 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry.

THE DYING OUTCAST. '• Gaily from tby mothorstalk, Wert thou danced and wafted hijjli— Soon on this unsheltered walk Flung to fade, to rot, and die." —Coleridge. 'Neath tho furious blast of n winter's night, She wandered alone in a dismal plight; She staggered along 'neuth the gaslight glare, Her clothing was scanty, her feet were bare ; And the biting wind of the wintry storm, In its fury burst on her trembling form. No pity looked down from the cold grey sky, As she wandered along in a lane—to die ! And gradually weaker her powers became, As slowly flickered life's dying flame ; Till no longer the fainting limbs could bear The shiv'ring load with its soul of despair; And that poor outcast, the daughter of woe, Sank down in a heap in the pure white snow, Her cold soft bed spoke of purity fair, And she wept aloud in her dark despair ; For her thoughts went back to what she had been When she reigned in the world as beauty's queen ; And again she could see herself in glee, A guileless child at her mother's knee, — "Oh, mother!" she wailed, "could'st thou see ine now. With the brand of sin on my once puro brow ; The child that once slumbered upon thy breast, Now the victim of woe and dark unrest ! Thy loving voice spoke of Heaven's bright way, _ And the downward load where the sinners stray, And the tender Saviour, the crucified, Who to save the world in agony died. But the warning lessons I heeded n«t, And their sacred duties I soon forgot. Oh ! why did I leive fair Chastity's way In the alluring paths of sin to stray ? I could not withstand the temptation great, And I fatally entered sin's dark gate ; For I smothered the voice of conscience dear, Though its tones were plain, and its accents clear ; And now, 'neath the blast of the wintry sky, Alone and forsaken, I'm left to die. Oil, the fairest of maidens once was I, With a lightsome heart and a sparkling oye ; In beauty's bright circle I led tho way, And joined in the vortex of pleasure gay ; But the flesh was weak and I downward fell From the joys ot Heaven to tho depths of Hell; Now outcast and wretched, I'm dying alone ! And the cold wind mocks at my pitiful moan, The chill blast sweeps through the pitiless skies, My limbs are frozen, I cannot arise 1 The folds of death are encircling me now, The clammy sweat is u,xm my brow ! Oh, merciful God ! in Thy home on high Is there hope for such a sinner as I '! Can the blood of thy Son, who died on the tree, Atone for a down-trodden wretch like me ? Hear my last prayer while I piteously cry ! Oh, heavenly Father ! I die ! I die !" John M'Comuk.