JAMES MACANDREW.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XIV, Issue 45, 4 March 1887, Page 18

JAMES MACANDREW.

Thomas Bracken.

Why should our songs be sad ? He needed rest ; He was afield among the pioneers Who watched at daybreak on the mountain's crest The golden dawning of a nation's years. He was the foremost 'mong the sturdy band Who breasted dangers in the early days To found new homes ; his was the head that plann'd The super-structure upon which we gaze. Behold the noble city towering high Above the silver mirror framed in green I How chang'd the prospect now since first his eye Glanced hopefully around the silent scene, The virgin forests, wrapt in deep repose, Lay on the bosoms of the arcicnt hills, Adown whose sides the sun- enfranchised snows Boll'd into liquid songs in founts and rills. The fertile plains and ralleys were asleep, No plough-share yet had stirred the quiet sod ; Earth hugg'd her secret treasures hidden deep ; The noon-day rays had kiss'd no kindling clod. When came the pilgrims to the promised land, With hearts prepared to dare and hands to do, They needed but a ruler to command, And found in him a leader staunch and true. Here was a land with Nature's gifts endow'd, A new Canaan needing sturdy men ; The trunk that now lies still, rose strong and proud, And stood an oak among the saplings then. He set the pulse of Progress beating high, And laid the firm foundations of a State ; His were the thoughts that ever onward fly With lightning speed, to make a people great. He beckon'd Commerce with her steam and sails, And to our lovely bay fleet followed fleet ; He Bummoned Industry to bring her bales And lay them down at young Edina's feet. He waved his hand, and at the touch of toil Were opened the prolific pores of earth ; Flocks roam'd the hills, and, turning up the soil, The ploughman told his joy in songs of mirth. He Baw the primal seed-time in the land, He watch 'd the first green corn that dress'd the plain He Baw the sickle in the reaper's hand That gather'd in the first ripe sheaves of grain. Why should our songs be sad 1 Tears are for those Who live in vain and die with lands untill'd, And not for him who sows and reaps, and goes To peaceful sleep with all his tasks fulfilled. He needed rest, he work'd an honest day, The harvest fruits are garner'd once again ; 'Tis meet that he should now receive his pay : The Master knows His best and truest men. — Evening Herald.