My Son

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVI, Issue 23263, 4 February 1939, Page 6 (Supplement)

My Son

They shall not take my son—not mine I Ah, God, Was it for this I trod the paths of death. Went down into the darkness. Wrestled there With Night's dark angel, till, with shuddering breath, I Won from out the void a living soul— Flesh of my flesh and life of my own life, To guard With frenzied care from every ill? What are their Wars to me—their senseless strife? They shall not take my (on! Have I not toiled Long years, to smooth the pathway for his feet; Wept, . that he mighl have joy, and filled my cup With bitterness, that his might still be sweet? Now they would thrust him through the gales of hell, ■; And blind his ;ioul with darkness, rend 5 ' his mind „ With gloom and horror, till with bitter shame He learns to loathe himself and all his [ kind. ■ Was it for this I bore him, straight and strong, »' r • » ; And nursed him at my breast? Let them have done! ' / ■ wake no wars—mine is a nobler gift, Creation, life! . . . They shall- not take my son! My son? .. . And yet, not mine—for I am old— , My life is past—he on the threshold stands; And there is one who wails, remote and stern, And bids me loose him from my clutching hands. For still the mighty scroll of life unfolds. All things move on, and he that once was mine Musi bear his torch toward that distant goal, The far-off vision of a race divine. And so I yield—but not'to death and shame! No War shall cheat me of the life / won! / pay no toll to evil, make no pact With death. To life alone, I yield my son! —Jean H. Mather, Wellington.