TO FOUND A NATION

Otago Daily Times, Issue 24254, 23 March 1940, Page 9

TO FOUND A NATION

By George Meek.

Dedicated to the Pioneers on the Occasion of New Zealand’s Centennial. One hundred years ago from Britain’s soil, With British blood and vigour fortified, With mighty hopes, backed by the will to

toil— To thrust the snares that shackle life

aside: To found a future where there would

abide Goodwill, and freedom more than but a

name; With burning faith that God their steps

would guide And service to mankind their lofty aim, To found a nation in the Commonwealth they came.

To blaze the trail and build upon a rock; To fashion with their muscle and their

mind, A cradle for the nation’s sturdy stock— A living monument to all mankind: To knit together and securely bind The ties of kinship, with a golden cord, That kinship which the Spirit has de-

signed. That seeks for neither favour nor rewardAnd men of honour only can afford.

The simple sweetness of the soul was theirs, That Nature gives to homely folk unsoured By mean desire, and in their homespun prayers , . , . Were sown the seeds from which this sweetness flowered: And their plain lives with lustre Heaven showered, The lustre of the meadow and the brook: To worldly heights their vision had not towered — Their Alma Mater—in the logflre nook; The Bible—their one grand and only book.

With courage struggling onward to their

goal, Through laughter and disaster, joys and

Writing unconsciously upon the scroll Of time, their wealth of worth as pioneers. Unconquered by the threat of human fears: With splendid hopes as real as they were

rare— The hopes that vision secrets In her seers, They saw a nation on land, sea, and air. And knew a strong foundation was their care.

The squandering of time they never knew Their leisure but a fragment of their lives: And to their toil that dignity is due,

That marks the honest man who dally

strives; Their fruits from toil not those which greed derives, Their sober wisdom gave them higher

creeds. That moulded strength of character which

thrives. And so they laboured, sowed, and reaped their And carved a Christian manhood In their deeds.

Life’s idle pleasures had but scant appeal— The shallow craving of the waning soul; Their labours spared them little time to A fleeting hour to play the spendthrift role: Not though the day might take its human toll, Was any task too hard nor day too long, To dim the classic memories that stole Into their lives with music, mirth, and song— Homespun, where mem’rles of the soul belong.

The simple grandeur of that humble scene. The bush log blazing on the open fire: A night newborn in peace and calm

serene, And gowned to lead that simple, sweet-

souled choir, As they, clad in their rustic-styled attire, The quaint old fam’ly organ clustered

round, And with the joys such human scenes

inspire Their honest hearts were bountifully crowned, And home, sweet home,'in that thatched cottage found.

The old aim kettle singing on the hob, With all the world around in perfect tune; And covering up a spatter on the cob. A picture of the mill Wheel by the moon; And in a rustic frame and roughly hewn, A Christian motto up above the door, Its warning text, from sin to keep immune, Humility and guidance to implore,

And keep the Lord’s Commandments to the fore.

The glorious dawn of Marsden’s noble dream, They lived to see with joy in all the land, To know that with, affection and esteem They’d helped to build the temple he had planned, Where pakeha and Maori hand In hand, With common faith in one great Heavenly guide, As men and brothers firmly took their stand; And on the march both dropped their worldly pride, And walked, and worked, and worshipped side by side. One hundred years of struggles lost and won. Its wealth of human merit unsurpassed: A century of something worth while done, That time has flung for ever to the past; But not the spirit of their toil has passed. The glory of that spirit cannot fade;

Nor can the lesson of their works he cast By time nor man, to the eternal shade Of perished effort in the lost decade.

Nor can the glory of their struggle fail To light in ev’ry human heart, a flame Of pride for those who blazed the rugged

trail And for New Zealand carved an honoured

name: Gave to her sons a just and rightful

claim, Not to a heritage of noble birth. Nor fickle fortune, nor of fleeting fame— A heritage of plain and honest worth, With peace of mind—goodwill to men on earth.

Gave to her sons and daughters that brave thought, To strive with confidence, and not to yield— What wonder? though with clumsy tools they wrought, They strode with vict’ry from the fighting field; What wonder, that their striving spirit reeled From that which marks the earthly Infidel. And to their God and man nobly revealed The spirit of their service—to excel! God grant that *in our day we serve as well.