Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/44
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8
The Battle of the Free.
Untrammelled Nature past all loveliness,
The roofless toil that shapes the hard, clean life,
And lighting all—clear on the snows of fate
The perfect goal that crowns the upward way.
The sun that flames the iron from the East
Enshrouds at eve the crest of furrow-waves,
The axe-song rings its triumph to the stars,
And ceaseless toil is burnt upon my soul.
Yet spirits whisper as the furrows heave
Sweet promise of the end I shall not see,
Of law-shod Empire bridging all the world,
Stainless and just—serene as circling suns:
An end of ends—as man has ne’er conceived
Since God first fired ambition in his heart
And lit his soul with flame of patriot’s love.
And every stroke that seeks the timber’s heart
Swings into place another fretted stone,
Or shapes to loveliness some breathing curve
Upon the branching temple of our name.
God-summoned to the ripening cause I stand,
Upon the van of Empire, hand to task,
To work the purpose of the centuries.
The roofless toil that shapes the hard, clean life,
And lighting all—clear on the snows of fate
The perfect goal that crowns the upward way.
The sun that flames the iron from the East
Enshrouds at eve the crest of furrow-waves,
The axe-song rings its triumph to the stars,
And ceaseless toil is burnt upon my soul.
Yet spirits whisper as the furrows heave
Sweet promise of the end I shall not see,
Of law-shod Empire bridging all the world,
Stainless and just—serene as circling suns:
An end of ends—as man has ne’er conceived
Since God first fired ambition in his heart
And lit his soul with flame of patriot’s love.
And every stroke that seeks the timber’s heart
Swings into place another fretted stone,
Or shapes to loveliness some breathing curve
Upon the branching temple of our name.
God-summoned to the ripening cause I stand,
Upon the van of Empire, hand to task,
To work the purpose of the centuries.
vi.
The Battle of the Free.
To arms! To arms!
Hear ye not the trumpet’s peal?
Hear ye not the clash of steel,—
Hear ye not the trumpet’s peal?
Hear ye not the clash of steel,—