THE PASSING OF THE HON. R. J. SEDDON.

Colonist, Volume XLIX, Issue 11957, 10 June 1907, Page 2

THE PASSING OF THE HON. R. J. SEDDON.

JUNE 10th, 1906. PAX. The way that he liath gone is dark ; Try how I may I cannot j>eer Beyond the vale of hence and here ; I onl { know he lies all stark. On hillside climbing from the wave, Where crowds applaud his noble deeds ; And deep within my heart the weeds Of sorrow cling about the grave. Come, let us sing a noble song. Compose a stately epitaph ; A nations towering cenotaph ; Enduring fame shall raise ere long, Hear ye tlio truth, with strident voice I call to you, the weeping crowd ; To-day you see the grandest shroud That ever held a nations choice. This is tlie greatest one of all The great ones that our land has seeii ; How greater still he might have been But saddens more this gloomy pall. We, ranging down the lower plain, Could scarcely grasp the high intent That filled him with divine content, To strive for truth with might. and main. He too.k the button from his foil And bared his rapier clean and bright, And, though he waged a bitter fight, His keenest thrust could never soil. We wont from home to gather news, We crossed the sea to find him great, He, triumphing from State to State, Made us at home the deeper muse. He left behind the lonely quay ; . We waited for • our king's ' return — His coming but a voiceless urn, — A clicking wire : 'He died at sea.' Hark to the cannon's horrid sound ! The warship booms the note of woe At minute intervals, and so We leave him in. the holy ground, Within our leader's guidiig hand We fain would loiter by the way, And snatch perhaps an hour of play ; Mayhap lie sees, wo dare not stand. But still must forward on some quest, Must still pursue a ' holy grail,' And if, unlike him, we should fail, We still may do what is our best. The idle dreams of Thomas More He coined to current politics ; Ne lesser flight his soul might fix, Than highest flight where soul may soar, How great he was a higher art Than mine more fully shall express ; But singing makes my grief the less, And soothes the aching of my heart. But still perhaps my simple verse Best suits the large-souled 'humanist; For though this earth may fade in mist, He shall outlast the universe. 'Tis something that New Zealand's soil Holds our dead statesman in her breast ; The landward breeze, with paling crest, May soothe him after all his toil.

Sleep well, thou Seddon, truly great, In that thy greatness strove for good ; A Seddon, fully understood, We leave thee in thy solemn'state ! R. J. Irving, Clinton,