SELECTED VERSE

Waikato Times, Volume 126, Issue 21035, 10 February 1940, Page 11 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE

TO THE VETERANS Your Peace, she never came of age. The Peace you bought with bitter price; Nor now survives in this dull rage One sign of all your sacrifice. A risen Fiend ! A faded goal! These trampled lands, this wasted sky Keep no surprises for the soul Either of hope or agony i O, if we fail in this mischance. Not you alone we shall betray, But all our long inheritance Since the first dreamers lost the day ! —J. C. Squire, in The Times (London) DON’T—AND GIVE When you get hard knocks and buffets— As in life you're bound to do— Don’t give in, nor whine and murmur, But determine to win through. Strip your coat off, roll your sleeves up, Set to work and be sincere; You’ll win through a heap of trouble If you smile and persevere. *Tis the one who’s full of sunshine, And who genuinely tries, Who will clear the clouds of trouble i From his own and other’s eyes. Deeds of honest lovingkindness Give a fallen fellow heart, And upon his uphill journey, Help him play a manly part. T. Eaton’s Hamilton Bi-Weekly

SONG OF THE SOLDIERS What of the faith and fire within us. Men who march away, Ere the bam cocks say Night is growing gray. To hazards whence no tears can win us' What of the faith and fire within us ' Men who inarch away ? Is it a purblind prank. O think you, Friend with the musing eye, Who watched us stepping by, With doubt and dolorous sigh ? Can my pondering so hoodwink you ? Is it a purblind prank. O think you. Friend with the musing eye ? Nay. We see well what we are doing. Though some may not see— Dalliers as they be!— England’s need are we; Her distress would set us rueing: Nay. Wc well what we are doing. Though some may not see ! In our heart of hearts believing Victory crowns the just, And that braggarts must Siuely bite the dust, March we to the field ungrieving, In our heart of hearts believing Victory crowns the just. Hence the faith and fire within us Men who march away Ere the barn cocks say Night is growing gray. To hazards whence no tears can win us Hence the faith and lire within us, Men who march away. —Thomas Hardy