POETRY.
IN MEMORIAM G. 0. (A SUSSEX PEASANT).
No more for him the morning winds Will blow fleet shadows o'er the downs, No more for him the sunset-red Will deepen o'er the Western towns. His patient hands no more may wrest Scant profit from the barren soil, No more his tired feet may tread The paths that marked his daily toi;1.
The horse his kindly voice controlled (By loving tendance made his own) Will chafe beneath a stranger's touch And wonder at a stranger's tone.
Labour is prayer and God is love, And when he sought his daily task Be sure that in the Eastern light He, silent, gained what others ask.
Be sure that in the Western sun His evening prayers were mutely said, And when the long night came at last Faith comforted his dying bed:
Confident as a child that turns, When tired, on a lonely road To nestle on his father's arm, Feeling in love a sure abode, So dwelled he in his Maker'acare, Resigned no longer here to roam, And when he bade, his friend farewell Said: "Matey, I am going Home."
He loved his wife, he reared his brood, A quiet, steadfast Englishman, A loyal worker firm in faith,— Better the record ye who can !
And when for us the. wild down winds Blend dully with the wistful foam, May we no greater trouble feel Than "Matey, I am going Home."
A. C. STEEL:.
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