ROSEMARY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LVI, Issue 17139, 19 April 1919, Page 1 (Supplement)

ROSEMARY.

ANZAC DAY, 1919. BY L. M. EASTQATE. 'There's rosmary. that's for remembrance. ' In every home there is a rosemary book and the record of happenings that is engraved on national life and human hearts is written in .it, It is bitter-sweet reading when the pages are turnedfragrant with the arresting, clinging rosemary scent for remembrance, and bitter with shed tears. It is written by no man's —t\ie pages are filled whether r.o will or not and he cannot, if he would, blcVfc them out. In the rosemary book there are pages for everything that has been loved and lost, whether by death or other causes. Next week the book opens at a pago where Anzac is written in letters of crimson and —imperishably glorious. At this time of the year many a woman closes brave, silent lips against the cry of a desolate heart as she looks back over the darkened years erf the first Anzac Day, but whether she understands it or not, that day is an inspiration to herself and hor country. For whether, humanly speaking, the great adventure 011 Gallipoli was a glorious failure or not, it gave power and inspiration to our national life. It lit an undying flame in our hearts and gave us a tradition which will live as long as out country lives. It cut | short the earthly life of many a gallant sen of the Empire, but through all our sorrow we know with them that it was worth while, for by their sacrifice greater ULings live. Year by year the poppies, untouched, intended by human hands, throw their scarlet banner over our Garden of Sleep 011 the lonely shores of Gallipoli, and year by year, in' the beloved native land of our Anzao soldiers we gather and with love and reveronce give thanks for the part they played in 'the great war against evil. Some of them are with us in our commemoration, and with all our hearts we pay them tribute as we watch them marching to keep their day of remem-brancer-many of them bearing the honourable scars of battle in their own bodies. With them are surely the Cloud of Witnesses— unseen comrades who, gallantly giving thoir earthly lives on the -fought shore? of Gallipoli, ore yet alive for evermore, , . their 9»ll*nt swords may broken lie, Their bones may bleach 'ne»th an alien sky. But I know their soma will never die— They march in a deathless army.

Pioneers in Sell-Sacrifice,

Already Anzao Day ia making its mark upon our life. The flame of self-sacrifice, lit by our pioneer band of soldiers, sets ub on fire afresh. Their day— their deeds—visualise again before ua and we greet them proudly—the firat-fruita of our offering to the Great Cause.

TjiOße who passed seem very near —as surely alive as their oomradee who are present with us. Our hearts reod not ache over that lonely Garden of Sleep in the alien land and beneath the blue waters of Gallipoli. Their brave bodies lie there until the Day of Resurrection, but for their gallant spirits tho Eternal Eastertide has already dawned.

Coming as Anzac Day does in the Easter season it sooma inseparably linked to the triumphant hope given to us at that time. The Easter anthem is still ringing in our oars as we go to our Anzao commemoration, Living or dead, our soldiers, one mid all, have offered the great sacrifice and will surely have their part with One who broke for them the bonds of Death. They are more than conquerors through Him, for they also bore the cross of selfsacrifice.

In the dawn of that wonderful Sunday morning they, who had never faced death before, in perfect health and strength, went gallantly, ..h a laugh on their lips and high resolve in their hearts to the stern and terrible work their country asked of them, and in the fiery hours of trial which followed, tnrough their great feat of arms wrote, in letters of flame on a hitherto nameless spot, the word Anzac. By their heroism they strengthened their comrades, who, in the following years, caught the torch they flung from Gallipoli and on other battlefields drove back and destroyed the powers of evil.

Lives Spent for Others. Day by day the ranks of the unseen fighters multiplied as men, and more men, made the great sacrifice, but "Death is swallowed up in victory. 0. death, where i-- thy Efcing? 0., grave where is thy victory?" Our love looks beyond the —baj'ond the thinjio that pass, and, clear-eyed, knows which is the shadow and which the reality. For after all, do we not know beyond all doubtb that life is tho poorest thing when we put our own desires and well-being before those of our Hows and their need. Life is at high tide when we spend and are spent for others.' The soldier who brings from the battlefield a spirit tuned to the splendour of self-sacrifice finds the difficult days of war's aftermath less complex and more satisfying. But all that have died for men, But Christ who endured the Cross, Count nothing but honour pined, Count all that is selfish loss.

Wo can give thanks for the men of J\nzac and their comrades who have unflinchingly followed them in the path of duty— all our hearts we can give thanks, whatever comes, that the men we love played the part of men, and did their duty simply and fearlessly. The empty seats in our homes are many, and somo will never again be filled, bult better, heart-wrung, look upon an empty chair and in spirit lay rosemary on a lonely grave in Gallipoli or France than feel that one son of the Empire failed when the call came to him. The'soldierpoet who, in the Gallipoli campaign, served and died for England at Lemnos, sang in brave words:

Slow out, you bugles, over the rich dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These laid the world away; poured out the

red Sweot wine of youth' Rave up the years to bo Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, That men call age; and those who would hate been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality.

Blow, bugles. blow They brought us, for our dearth, Holiness. lacked to long, and Lore, and Pain. Honour has come back. as a king to earth. And paid hie subiects with a royal wage; And Nobleness walks in our ways again; And we have tome into our heritage.