Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXIV, Issue 2736, 25 January 1890, Page 5 (Supplement)

Poetry.

THE GATE OF LIFE. In life and death what seems to be Discord, is but sweet harmony, For both combmo to bless ; As light is useful, so is shade, By riso and tall is music made, By changes wo progress. Knowledge has made an angel bright J'rown like a demon of the night; Our flocks uuheedingly, Browse the fresh grass, inhale the air, Fate comes before they are aware— A moment seta them free. But man for ever sp.es tho dart Heady to penetrate his heart, His fall is sure if slow ; Vain seem his hopes, his projects nought, Worthless his labour and his thought Before the coining foe. Still can he dream his memory here May long to some continue dear, E'en here hia spirit live; His angel part of words or song, To distant ages borne along, May joy perennial give. The lark is singing in the sky, Rippling the river murmurs by, Spring-time is nearly gone ; The poet lies upon his bad, With damp of death upon his head, He too is travelling on To light and life. His parting soul Is stretching forward to the goal Which all things sook to gainTo that perfection, not yet found, Which restless circling round Is striving to attain. —A. G. L'Estbange. "ALL MY FRESH SPRINGS ARE IN THEE." P,3. xlvii., 7. Thino are the torrents; from their secret fountains, Thine are the cascades in tumultuous leap, Thy voice is heard amid the misty mountains, And awful glaciers in their stony sleep. Purely the snows are gleaming thro' the branches Of sombre pinee upon the vyooded neigtit. And through the silenco rolling avalanches Thunder Thy praises and proclaim Thy might. The rivor of our C4od is full of water, And all our fresh springs are in Ihee alone. Give of Thy river to oacn son and daughter, „ That healing stream that issues from Thy throne. —Clara Thwaitea. ONE WORD. I gaze ncros3 the vale of years Dividing hearts that once were glad ; Thy'face I see 'mid blinding tears— Thy wistful eyes, so meek, so sad ! Through lonely ways my lifo has led ; The bitter past I still recall; Though love's a dream and hope is deadOne word from thee had chang'd it all! While gleam the rainbow tints of joy. No thought within tliy heart I claim ; But when the clouds that light destroy, Perhaps thon'lt think of one dear name ! In lonely hours when sobs the rain, And joys, like leaves, shall fade and fall, Thy heart shall know this truth againOne word from thee had chang d it all! So. thus, I sailed earth's fitful sea, With naught save wishes vain and drenr, A beggar for a word from tliee Which would have made tho pathway clear ; Ono word—one little word—no more— Ona kindly word had chang'd it all— A beacon o'er Life's rugged shore. To sink or tot.ter, rise or fall!