Poerty.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 2555, 24 November 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poerty.

TIRED MOTHERS. A little elbmv leans upon your knee— Your tired knee that has so much to bear; A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly Prom underneath a thalch of tangled hair. Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch Of, warm, moist fingers holding you so - tight; You do not prize the blowing over-much, You are almost too tired to pray to-night. But it is blessedness I A year ago I did not see it as I do to-day— We are so dull and thankless; and too slow To catch the sunshine till it slips away. And now it seems surpassing strange to ma That, whils I wore the badge of motherhood, I did not kiss more oft and tenderly The little child that brought me only good. And if, some night, when you sit down to rest, You miss his elbow from your tired knee ; This restless curling head from off your breast; This lisping tongue that chatters constantly ; If from our own the dimpled hands had slipped, And ne'er would nestle i» your palm again; If the white feet into their grave had tripped. I could not blame yeu for your heartaehe then 1 I wonder so that mothers ever fret At little children clinging to their gown ; Or that the footprints when the days are wet, Are ever black enough to make them frown. If I could find a little muddy boot, Or cap, or jacket, on my chamber floor, If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot, And hear its patter in my home once more. If I could mend a broken cart to-day, To-morrow make a kite to reach the skyThere is no woman in God's world would , say [ She was more blissfully content than I. But ah 1 the dainty pillow next my own Is never rumpled by a shining head ; My singing birdling from its nost has flown, The little boy I used to kiss is dead; —Aldine. ALONE TOGETHER. Cling closer, Love, and press your dear, Soft cheek to mine, and fuel no fear, Though ghostly winds without complain, And scared drops fly against the pane; For you are here, and I am here. And storms will vent their spite in vain, If love look forth in sweet disdain, And thou, within the firelight's cheer, Cling closer, Love, More bitter storms of grief and pain, In after year* will vex us twain, Ah, then, in light of love sincere, Cumo nearer, my Sweet, and still more near— Ever, in time of Life's dark rain, Cling, closer, Love. —George Horton in American.