POETRY.
IN MEMORY OF BISHOP PATTESON. HAM He who reaps the wheat and leaves the tares,
Who saves the rotten tree and fells the sound, No hidden purpose in the will that spares The cumberers of the ground ?
Thousands will live their lives, unloved, unblest, Long selfish lives of sinful sloth and ease ; While he—the martyr bishop—lies at rest In the far Southern seas.
Better like him, to spend a busy day, Than pass whole years in idle waste and wrong ; For truly saith the poet in his lay That " no true life is long."
Better to die for love of God and man, Than live for baser aims and lower deeds ; Better to die "in faith," than live to scan Flaws in our neighbours' creeds.
He needs no praise of human lip or pen, Nor "storied window" in the minster high ; His name is graven on the hearts of men,— His works will never die.
Soon shall the precious seed his hands have sown A goodly growth of golden blessings yield ; A fairer monument than carven stone Is that rich harvest-field.
So let us leave him ; —is it not in vain On God's decrees to spend our idle breath ? Enough for us to live,—and humbly gain Strength from the martyr's death.
SARAH DOUDNEY.
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