Esperance.

Northland Age, Volume 3, Issue 20, 18 December 1906, Page 1 (Supplement)

Esperance.

(By J. G. Whyte-Melville.) The vines are thick, the clods are brown, Hard is the toil, thy Lord’s behest, And weak the arm, though girt the gown, And faint the heart within thy breast; A noonday sun pours fiercely down, My Brother, shall we rest ? Strong is the foe, and sharp the fray, With shivered lanceand cloven shield The champions fall, the ranks give way, Along the front, across the field, The. stoutest knights are down. Then

Forbid it, honour, courage, trust I Forbid it, all that’s brave and wise ! Toil freely on, since toil you must, The day of harvest brings the prize ; From black defeat, andcrimsoneddust, See golden victory rise ! Peace is the end and aim of strife, The palms of heaven are earned below ; Earth’s vital powers are rich and rife, Beneath her winding-sheet of snow ; Death is itself the germ of life, And joy the child of woe. Then Esperance I hope on, the fight Is never lost, while fight we may ; At home the hearth is shining bright, Though yet unseen along the way ; And the darkest hour of all the night Is that which brings us day.