Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/266

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My Father.
His eyes are dim;
This world is fading from his sight,
But flower, and tree, and sun, and light,
Are naught to him.

The past is his,
And all day long his thoughts will roam,
And weave again in fancy’s loom
Old memories.

At night I hear
His tottering footsteps cross the hall;
Slowly and solemnly they fall
Upon my ear.

Some night I know
That I shall list for them in vain,
That I shall never go again,
To kiss his brow.

Perchance e’en now
The Angel beckons him away.
And I, O God! would have him stay
With me below.

I cannot weep.
I watch him slipping from my side—
Gliding upon life’s ebbing tide
To dreamless sleep.

But tears unshed
Scorch all the fibres of my heart.
There will be none to soothe the smart
When he is dead.

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