POETRY.
HEREAFTER.
WHAT, you saw Gladstone ? men will sometime ask ; Had he that look, as if he, straining, saw
A tiger creeping on an innocent child,
And none to help it; or a serpent crawl Threatening unconscious sleep ? You heard him speak ?
Did his eye burn ? His voice, was it deep, rich, Melodious, like some full-toned organ pipe, Greatest when pealing anthems o'er the dead ?
And did it swell when, 'neath the oppressor's scourge, He saw the helpless, hopeless of mankind Perish nncared for ? till the heart stood still,
And the breath stopped: and, when he made an end,
Still the ear heard : his very silence spoke ?
Ah, you were happy ! We have not such men Now. He was born nearer the times of fire; We, in a colder age that knows, not burns.
We have our warmth, but not the fire of old.
• • • • • • • Fire ? Yes, it has its danger; now and then Its child is earthquake. Yet, without that fire, Where were the heat that keeps alive the world?
A. G. D.
Previous page
