Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/260
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Song from “The Poet-Worker.”
CLVI.
Memento Mori.
Think Thou, the Night shall come—
And on thy drifting senses steal the clang
Of Time’s great gates behind thee, ere thou go
Into the shadows of the dark beyond !
Then with no terror, shalt thou slip thy hand
In the great angel Death’s—as in a friend’s—
And walk with him, barefooted, to the Dawn.
And on thy drifting senses steal the clang
Of Time’s great gates behind thee, ere thou go
Into the shadows of the dark beyond !
Then with no terror, shalt thou slip thy hand
In the great angel Death’s—as in a friend’s—
And walk with him, barefooted, to the Dawn.
Amy Fowles
CLVII.
Song from “The Poet-Worker.”
Bury the brave man dead
Where he fought and fell;—
Where the bubbling stream runs red
In the narrow dell;
While tears of, heartfelt sorrow rise
To dim the rugged soldiers’ eyes.
Where he fought and fell;—
Where the bubbling stream runs red
In the narrow dell;
While tears of, heartfelt sorrow rise
To dim the rugged soldiers’ eyes.
But the green grass will grow,
After one sad year;
By the grave the stream will flow,
Pure and bright and clear.
And joy through all our grief will well,
To think how true the man who fell.
After one sad year;
By the grave the stream will flow,
Pure and bright and clear.
And joy through all our grief will well,
To think how true the man who fell.