JAMES MACANDBEW.

Evening Post, Volume XXXIII, Issue 107, 7 May 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

JAMES MACANDBEW.

Why should our songs be sad? He needed rei»t ; Ho was afield among the pioneers Who watched at daybreak on the mountain's crest Tho golden dawning of a nation's years. He was the foremost 'mopg the sturdy band Who breasted dangers in the early days To found new homes ; his was the head that plann'd The super-structure upon which we gaze. Behold the Noble city towering high Above the silver mirror framed in green ! How chang'd the prospect now Binoe first his eye Glanced hopefully around the silent soene. The virgin forests, wrapt in deep repose, Lay on the bosoms of the ancient hilta, Adown whose sides the sun-enfranchised snows Boiled into liquid song in fountß and rills. The fertilo plains and valleys were asleep, No plough-share yet had stirr'd the quiet sod; Earth hugg'd her secret treasures bidden deep ; The noon-day rays had kies'd no kindling clod. When came the pilgrims to the promised land, With hearts prepared to dare and hands to do, j They needed but a ruler to command, ! And found in him a loader staunch and truo. | Here was a land with Nature's gifts endow'd, ' A new Canaan needing sturdy mon ; ' The trunk that now lies still, rose strong and proud, I And stood an oak among the saplings then. | He set the pulse of Progress beating high, j And laid the firm foundations of a State ; ' His were the thonghts that ever onward fly With lightning speed, to mako a people great. He beckon'd Commerce with her steam and sails, And to our lovely bay fleet followed fleet j He summoned Indnstry to bring her bales j And lay them down at young Edina's feet. ■ He waved his wand, and at the touch of toil Were opened the prolific pores of earth ; Flocks roam'd the hills, and turning up tho Boil, The ploughman told his joy in songs of mirth. He saw the primal seed-time in the land, He watch'd the first green corn that dress'd the plain ; j He saw the sickle in the reaper's hand > That gather'd in the first ripe sheaves of grain. | Why should our songs be sad '< Tears are for those Who live in vain and die with lauds untill'd, ! And not for him who sows and reaps, and , goes To peaceful sloop with all his tasks ful- < filled. Ho needed rest, he work'd an honest day, The harvest fruits are garner'd once again ; "Tis meat that be should now reoeivo his pay : The Master knows His best and truest men. Thomas Bracken,