Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 2587, 9 February 1889, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry.

ONLY SO MKT LUES. 'Tis only sometimes that wo linger At till! close of a busy day, To think of the. beauty and promise Of tho years that aro far a» ay, When tliii great world stretchud before lis Ah a tit-lil so fair and wide, Whore love might be had for tho seeking, With never a prayer denied, And success was tin: one thins certain To all who strove their best — Life's noon should be full of pleasure, And its evening peace and rest. And only sometimes do we. ponder On memories sadder st ill, Of hearts onco warmly glowing That in death lie calm and chill, Of lovo we deemed immortal And above all meaner tilings, Till a silence fell on its music And the earth slain soiled its wings. But. 'tis only sometimes that we hear it — The voice of our buried I'ast— As the wail of a sorrowful spirit Over fogs too frail to la.jt. But those are mem'rics only, And the harvest day by day Calls us to plan and to labour, And forces our dreams away. And the golden noon is fairer Than the misty morning hours ; We have truth instead of a shadow And fruit in the place of flow'rs. And when through the twilight stillness We hear those lingering chimes, Let us think—'' It is well to remember The l J ast and its sorrow sometimes." Susanna J. THE POPULAR CREED. You say she's a fallen woman, A miserable worm of the dust; A vile, contemptible creature Unworthy the tears of the just. Bv you she's shunned and sc.'lied at, By you her name is down-trod, And you say her sordid soul has lost Its beautiful imago of God. Yon think because she's fed On the foulest of all foul food, That she never is hungry and starving for a morsel of God's own good. You think slio has ceased to hope For higher, holier things ; _ You think that neier a lunging Her weary worn heart wrings. Did God give women souls, then ? To furnish the devil, I pray? Something to kill, in tho future, To while the moments away '! No ; her soul, in its undefilment, Shall pass from the denl at death, To : bteathe ill tho air of heaven Its lirst pure, wholesome breath. Each stripe on her sin-stooped shoulders, Kich piercing pain she bore, II as been counted up in heaven . F,>r as much as. your prayers, or more. What right have you to a heaven Yon never have struggled to win ? What right to His mercy to sinners ? You never have tasted sin. l''or her, with her pleas for pity, 'For her, with her siu-staine I heart, You coldly and calmly tell her A hell has been set apart; And the pardon to all from heaven You claim as your very own, And you kneel with your hallelujahs, And crowd the Redeemer's throne.

Only God knows how she has striven To rise from the depths of her shame ; How a will that was stronger than hers Has caused her to sink again. lie has counted her fruitless efforts, ■first as He counted the sneer That showed on your face as you passed her, Crouched on the Church stops near. —Sara it FwarscE Veach. ti. n Jose, Cal., November 17, lSfjS.