The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1898-05-22
Mr.. Gladstpne's only Published Poem

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Mr.. GIadstone's Only Published Poem
From the Literary Digest.
Mr. Gladstone, at one time or another in
every form of serious literature. VITA the
exception of novel-writing and the drama,
he has dipped into everything-theology
history, criticism, philosophy, and even
poetry. His attempts at poetry, 60 far as
known, were all made in the early years of
his career; and while il is said that he
wrote a great deal of verse, ouly one of
his poems, if his translation of Horace be
not considered has ever been published.
According TO the London To-day ne show
ed these poems to his friends alone and
had the discretion to keep them out of
print. The one poem that he gave 70 the
public appeared in magazine now long
since forgotten. The verses were written
in 1896, three years before his first book
on Church and State" being thus really
his first public literary effort. Al this time
Mr.. Gladstone was in political retirement
with the passing of the Peel cabinet, in
which he had held the position of under
secretary for the colonies What circum-
stances may have led to the writing of
his poem and to its publication are not
stated.
On an Infant Who was Born, was Bap-
tized, and Died on the Same Day.
How vast thou made to pass
BY short transition from the womb
Unto that other darkness of thy tomb,
Babe, o Brother TO the grass?
For like the herb so thou art born
At early morn;
And thy little life has flowed away
Before the flowing day;
Thy willing soul hath struggled and Is
free;
And all of thee that dieth
4 white and waxen image lieth
Upon the knee.
"Oh, whittier hast thou fed
From the warm, joyous world removed?"
Might one of old have questioned
OF his dear and dead,
Painting and straining for relief
Unto a passion and hopeless grief;
WHITTIER, o thou in vain beloved,
Whither has thou borne
The smiles and kisses that were gathered
up
In thee. for her that bore thee now for
lorn
AS sweets in the wild rose cup
Before the morn"
III.
rs that thy feeble cry
But just beyond the threshold of the
grave,
Art thou yet waiting in the voiceless hall
OF Dis, or hearst the morning waters
foil? oil
Thou canst not sure be nigh
When mad and Sinking spirits rave,
Or dost thou slumber take
BY deep CLASSY and translucent lake
Through = chill exhaustless night
Apart from wo, yet senseiess of delight"
There was no audible reply,
Only faint far echo to that cry
OF natu al yearning. But our task
Is lighter far; and when we ask,
us all thy fate as dark
As in the pail upon the limbs?
Is there no Sun above, no Savior ark,
That on the black sea swims
And bears the children, loved of God and
blest
Unto the land CT rest?'
We hear voice from the high seats of
bliss,
That answers. Yes"
"
Yes! Narrow was the space
Whereby life ran is hurried race
Like one affrighted by the far-off glare
OF the worlds pleasures and alarms;
That from the sin, the sorrow and the care
Fled TO seek shelter in the arms
OF mis- first father and had rest
Upon his breast
VI.
OH JOY that on that narrow space
There is no spot of actual sin,
No burning trace
As where evil thoughts have been.
Thou hast not known how herd it Is to kill
The inveterate strength of self-desire,
To quench the smoldering and tenacious
fire:
And never did thy uneXpanded will
Gather up conscious energies to move
Against the God of love.
VII
The volume of this life was soon unrolled,
But the hours of thy small earthly store;
Altho no more
Than might be numbered at the dawn of
sense
Ely a childs first Intelligence,
Yet were their single moments told
To them that stood around
by a faint moaning sound,
Repeated with that laboring breath
haf