13 AUGUST 1898, Page 17

POETRY.

Wind on the hill-top !

Wind in the tree !

Is there aught in earth or heaven.

That bindeth thee and me ?

I, through the long hours, Feebly creep and crawl O'er the green smooth shoulders.

Of the huge mountain-wall.

Whilst thou, in a moment, With roaring skirts outspread„ Leapest from the valley To the black mountain-head.

The Wind :- Little puny brother,

Why question thus of me P There is need of me : I doubt not There is need of thee.

I would smite thee, were I bidden, Without pity, without wrath,

As I smite the gauzy may-fly

On the rain-swept path!

I envy not, nor question, As I play my eager part ; But I think that thou art nearer To the Father's Heart ! A. C. BENSON.