Various Verse

Observer, Volume XL, Issue 8, 25 October 1919, Page 31

Various Verse

RISE UP

New Zealand's sons rise up, rise up, And with your sisters sing, In silver notes, the deathless song, Thy country's praises ring. New Zealand, New Zealand, Queen of the Southern Sea. Thy Mother Britain looks with pride upon thy constancy. Thou art a nation in the bud, Young nation tipped with fame, Thy sons have raised thee to the heights, And loyalty is thy name. New Zealand, New Zealand, thy sons went o'er the sea, And rushed the slopes in face of death in far Gallipoli. Thou fought for King and honour, For the mother of thy race, In heart, in soul, one Empire, One God we all embrace. New Zealand, New Zealand, land of a loyal race, God prosper and protect thee, with his abiding grace. —John H. Kingdon. .® ®. ®

TO VIOLET

I used to think the heaven's hue Was of the deepest blue, • But I was wrong. For when I looked into your eyes I found them bluer than the skies. I used to think a gale in spring Was quite the wildest, maddest thing, But I was wrong. For when I trod upon your dress The fury of the storm was less. I used to think that in your heart A space for me Avas set apart, And I Avas—right. For when with Avounds I stricken lay You came and kissed the pain away. —William Oomyns Lee.

"BATTLE SONG."

Tune: "John Brown's Body." Onward, ever onward, the troops go 1 marching by, The challenge of the cannon is echoed from the sky, From fort and trench, from deep dug out, far carried is the cry, "Soldiers marching along." Hark the shouts of victory, the crashing of the guns, Hear the high crescendo, the cheering of our sons. They come in lines of burnished steel, and high the slogan runs, "Death is marching along. ' To give the AA'orld its freedom, to cleanse and purify The Empire's sons are fighting on earth and sea in sky, And now one voice ascending, one voice to testify, "Hope is marching along." By God of battles shriven, on sea and battle plain, They think of brave-eyed comrades asleep. amongst the slain, But ever pushing onward, one hears the loud refrain, "Marching, marching along.' The mothers' sons, the daughters' sons, like swift avengers are; Their souls are flushed with victory, their eyes like steel afire: On they go true heroes, brave sons of worthy sire, "Victors marching along.' —John H. Kingdon.

DOING HER BIT!

I used to love you, Geraldine, Because your face was fair, Because your eyes were speedwell blue, Like tarnished gold your hair. And when you leant your rosebud cheek On my unworthy arm, I kissed your lips, my Geraldine, And bowed before your charm. And now I love you, Geraldine, You dear, amazing sprite! Because 3 r ou drove a motor-van And freed a man to fight. And when I'm back in civvies dear— (I shall be soon, with luck) — I'll kiss jour lips, my Geraldine, And bow before your pluck. —jßosemary North.

A MARKER'S LOVE AFFAIR

Bob Slinkum, the marker at the "Crown" in Little Itchin, . Was loved by Mary Parker, who presided in the kitchen; She strove by artless wiles to get Bob to take the cue, But scored a losing hazard from Slinkum's point of view. Lucy Flinders at the "Magnet," a most alluring fairy, Was the lodestone whose attraction counteracted that of Mary; In. her Bob found the winner which constituted bliss (Rut the maiden in the kitchen was unaware of this). Imagine Mary's feelings when, upon her evening out, She saw Bob and Lucy Flinders acanoodlin' about; Her dream of joy departed with the lovers' parting kiss, In the jargon of Bob Slinkum she had only scored a miss. —John Francis. © ss> ©

THE RED CROSS NURSE

0' Sympathy, sweet Sympathy,. Avith thy soft and gentle hands, While pitying Avords 'frjom thy sweet lips, in gentle accents fall. You bade the dried-up sources of tears to break their bands, And hover round the anguished heart, and grief its place forestall.

And over all thy presence reigns, , all pain is cast aside, While listening to thy gentle words, of rest sAveet whispering. 0 Sympathy, thy. Sympathy, so deep divine and wide, It stole into our souls the sound of hope soft murmuring.

We clasp thy shadow in our arms, and listen to the Avord Of joy and comfort from thy lips, when pain our wounds assail. No need to speak of Angels, our feelings they are stirred, And know an Angel o'er us bends A Red Cross Nightingale. —John H. Kingdon.

SINGING

Of speckled eggs the birdie sings, And nests among the trees, The sailor sings of ropes and things In ships upon the seas. The children sing in far Japan, The children sing in Spain, The organ Avith the organ man Is singing in the rain. —By R. L. Stevenson.