THE BATTLE OF LIFE

A FAIR young girl with a serious look
Sat pondering deeply over her book;

And lifting her head in innocent grace
Intently gazed she in her mother's face.

'Oh, what is this "battle of life"?' she said, 'Where are the soldiers? By whom are they led?

'Our Queen hath her warriors brave, I know, But what is this army? Who is their foe?

With pennant and plume, and brave array
Are the soldiers dight on the battle-day?

'With flashing sword and cannon, and lead, Mow they down the living, heap up the dead? '

'Ah, daughter, the men in the battle of life,

Do not meet on the blood-stained field of strife;

No sword is seen, nor pennant, nor plume,

Nor rolling thunder of the cannon's boom;

'Nor charge of rifles, are heard on the plain, Where combatants struggle for life or gain.

'Strange soldiers are some in this battle of life, The young and the frail; the widow, and wife;

'Unequal the contest, yet on they go, Their leader Necessity, Want their foe.

'And countless heroes now gone to their rest

Ne'er wore the Victoria Cross on their breast.

'More noble than they who have scaled the height Of some dear ambition, kept well in sight.

'Yet the battles fought by these heroes great Are seldom acknowledged by King or State.

'Oh, the garret all bare, and lowly cot Give shelter to many brave hearts, I wot!

'The slim pale youth in his attic high, Must face this terrible ordeal, or die.

'And many a woman shrinks not to yield Her very heart's blood on this battle-field.

'The strain on her heart, and strain on her brain Are more than human power can sustain.

'The weak and weary soon slip out of sight, Crushed by the conflict they sink in the fight.

'Ah, yes, there are battles fought valiantly 'Neath poverty's shadow, with none to see.'

She finished; a pause; then the quiet air
Was parted by sound of a whispered prayer,

And the fair young girl on her bended knee,
Wept tears at these pictures of misery.

MY CHOICE

I

THE bard may sing of eyes so blue,

And say that none compare,

With their sweet beauty, emblem true

Of all that's good and fair.

II

And others sing of bright dark eyes
That flash 'neath jetty brow,
While each glance with its fellow vies

To make all hearts to bow.

III

But, oh, give me dear kindly eyes
That beam with Love's soft light,
Which throughout ev'ry change ne'er dies,
But gathers depth and might,

IV

With all the long, long, changeful years,
Whose joy now comes, now goes,
And in each chequered phase endears
The hearts wherein it flows.

V

Then give me eyes bright with pure love, Whose lovelight shines for me;

And whose sincerity years prove

The truest love to be.