Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 2668, 17 August 1889, Page 5 (Supplement)

Poetry.

THE COLONEL'S TOAST. " May the Lord Love us and not Call for us Too Soon." Unto the little child, whose happy heart With dancing feet keeps merry time and tune When death comes, and the life plan falls apart, " Too soon !" we cry : "Alas, too soon, too soon !" To youth, the diearner, in whose vision lies Life one long splendid day of splendid •' June, 1 While Love, the great Enchantress, veils his eyes, Too soon, the latest summons, all too soon. Even to the heart grown old to yearns and care, , , Whose song of life is set to saddest tune— Youth's shining curls, aud age s thin gray i hair, Alike the cry, " too soon the call, too soon !" O Death, the truest friend of this sad earth, Drawing our soul 3 as draws the tides the moon! When shall wo know thee ? not as death, but birth To that new life which may not be too soon ? We count the vacant chairs we used to sit Dear friends, with merry iest, and laugh, and tune, Called hence —ah, the question not the truth of it— To us, but not to them, too soon, too soon ! It must bo that from some diviner sphere Back looking to earth's morn, and night and noon, . Wa yet shall say our world was fair and dear, But loving us, God might not call too soon. . , —Ina D. Coolbraith. S.F. News Letter. WHEN THE CHILDREN ARE AT BEST.

When the household cares are over, And thp quiet zephyrs pass Through the crimson heads of clover And the daisies in the grass ; Then the mother's busy fingers Do their silent labour best, Toiling fast while daylight lingers And the children are at rest.

In the sunny hours of morning She hath other work to do. Softly chiding, gently waning, Watching all the noontide through ; Love and strife and pain and pleasure, Crowd within one little nest, Mother hearts can find no leisure Till the children are at rest.

While wo sleep the Father waketh, Working, watching for us all, In Ilia mighty hands he laketh A.ll the ?aslis that we let fall ; We have wrangled, tolled and striven Through a long and weary day, Lo 1 we rest, and help is given, Aud the pain is soothed away.

Ho who loves us will not. slumber While our feeble hands are still, Bleaainps that we cannot number All the hours of darkness fill, Till the broken links are mended, And the worst becomes the best, And the toilsome task is ended While His children are at rest. —Sarah Doudnky Sunday Magazine.