12 SEPTEMBER 1891, Page 16

POETRY.

A DEFENCE.

You stand before that picture there and say, " 'Tis marvellously like, and yet—too fair ! Hers are the features, and these eyes are grey, But the sad gaze of questioning despair, Has been transformed to the sweet gravity Of love divine. The month no longer here

Keeps its stern look of pain repressed, for see

Upon those lips a smile freed from all fear ! "— Ah, stay ! The soul drawn nearer to God's light Will gain new beauties : Why not then the face?'

This Painter may reveal to our dull sight The first faint stirrings caught of dawning grace.

So through some dear, white face the sculptor Death,.

Breathes serene promise to the eye of Faith. R. C"..