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 loomOld memories.
At night I hearHis tottering footsteps cross the hall;Slowly and solemnly they fallUpon my ear.
Some night I knowThat I shall list for them in vain,That I shall never go again,To kiss his brow.
Perchance e’en nowThe Angel beckons him away.And I, O God! would have him stayWith me below.
I cannot weep.I watch him slipping from my side—Gliding upon life’s ebbing tideTo dreamless sleep.
But tears unshedScorch all the fibres of my heart.There will be none to soothe the smartWhen he is dead.
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