POETRY.
FAITH.
I wpm not think the last farewell we bear Is more than brief " good-bye " that a friend saith Turning towards home, that to our home lies near; I will not think so harshly of kind death.
I will not think the last looks of dear eyes Fade with the light that fades of our dim air, But that the apparent glories of the skies Weigh down their lids with beams too bright to bear.
Our dead have left us for no dark, strange lands, Unwelcomed there, and with no friends to meet ; But hands of angels hold the trembling hands, And hands of angels guide the faltering feet.
I will not think the soul gropes dumb and blind A brief space thro' our world, death-doomed from birther. I will not think that Love shall never find A fairer heaven than he made of earth.
PALENHAlf BEATTY.
62 Sinclair Road, West Kensington Park, May 27th.
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