Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 2549, 10 November 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry.

Fresh glides the brook and blows the gule, Yet yonder halts the quiet mill; The whirling wheel, the rushing sail, How motionless and still ! Six days of toil, poor child of Cain, Thy strength tha slave of want may be ; The seventh thy limbs escape the chain— A God hath made thorn free ! Ah ! tender was the law that gave This h«ly respite to the breast, To breathe the Rale, to watch the wind, And know the wheel may rest! But where the waves the gentlest glide, What imagine charms to light thino eyes ? The spire reflected on the tide Invites thee to the skies. To teach the soul its noblest work, Tho rest from mortal toil is given ; Go snatch the brief reprieve from earth, And pass—a guest to Heavee. They tell thee, in their dreaming school, Of power from old dominion hurled, When rich and poor, with justor rule, Shall ahare the altered world. Alas ! since Time itself began That fable hath but fooled the hour ; Each age that ripens power in man But subjects man to power. Yet every day in seven, at least, One bright republic shall be known ; Man's world a while hath surely ceased, When (Jod proclaims his own ! Six days may rank divide the poor, Oh, l)ive«, from thy banquet-hall j The seventh the Father opens his door, And holde His feast for all!