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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 9, Issue 9 (December 1, 1934)

Mary.—A Christmas Poem

Mary.—A Christmas Poem.
Mary must have oft been very tired, I think,
With fighting poverty and both' ring over meat and drink;
But even in her weariness one hour she'd always keep—
One twilight hour—to sing her little Son to sleep.
O, Mary's arms were soft and warm
And Mary's voice was sweet
She sang Him tender, hushing lullabies
Of trees and flowers and spring's bare, dancing feet;
Of singing birds, and mists on dim grey hills;
Of moons and stars; of laughing winds and wild—
Dear, quaint old slumber-songs
To woo dreams for a child.
Within the purple dusk the Christ-child seems
To smile: O, God who know'st my dearest dreams,
Touch thou my eager lips with joy
That when I hush my baby I may sing
The little songs which Mary used to croon
To Jesus when He was a Boy.

The following were prize-winning poems in the New Zealand Women Writers' and Artists' Society's recent competition:—