18 JULY 1914, Page 18

POETRY.

WHAT MY ISAIAH SAITH.

Is thy soul strange with waiting—wonder-wild? Behold—a mighty Mother is with child.

E'en now her babe doth leap within the womb-- The time of her delivery is at hand.

In that near day- Say—who shall stand P Shall Fears?

Shall Tears ?

Will Grief be there, and its sad sister, Gloom F Nay—for these are they Who, from that great glad hour, will flee away.

"Rejoice! rejoice !" 0 Brother Mine—" rejoice! Lift up thy voice I"— There yet shall come to thee new strength for strife; And, into thine own life A larger life.

"Rejoice ! rejoice ! "

Again, I say—" rejoice !"

Feel thy frail self wax strong—.

For, Sorrow shall bring forth ! lo ! she shall bear

To thee an offspring, fair—

That one for whom thy world bath waited long—.

And, men shall call it by the name of Song.

E. T. SANDFORD.