ANZAC DAY IN WELLINGTON

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XLV, Issue 18, 2 May 1918, Page 18

ANZAC DAY IN WELLINGTON

■] —-—; m SOLEMN IN MEMORIAM CEREMONY. ELOQUENT SERMON BY RECTOR OF ST. PATRICK'S COLLEGE. One of the largest congregations ever assembled at St. Mary of the Angels' Church, Wellington, gathered there on last Thursday morning, when Solemn Requiem Mass was said for the repose of those who fell during the landing at Gallipoli. His Grace Archbishop O Shea was celebrant, the Rev. Father Mahony S M was deacon, the Rev. Father Hoare, S.M., subdeacon! and.; the Rev. Father Hurley, S.M., master of ceremonies. The Mass was beautifully and impressively sung by a choir from St. Patrick's College, and included the "Dies Irae." The ceremony was deeply impressive all through. Among those present were General Sir Robert Henderson, of Australia, at present conducting the N.Z. Defence Commission of Enquiry The Rev. Father Gilbert, S.M., Rector of St. Patricks College, preached an impressive sermon, and stirred his hearers with his eloquence. He took his text from the offertory of the Mass for the Dead as follows: "We offer to Thee, O Lord, sacrifices and prayers; do Thou receive them on behalf of those souls whom we commemorate this day. Grant them, 0 Lord to pass from death to that life which Thou didst promise to Abraham and to his seed of old." "We are met to-day," said the preacher, "to honor the memory of our brave dead. We are met to-day to pray for their souls, and to offer to the Lord our God a united sacrifice that He may show them mercy m their hour of need. For nearly four lon* years has this ghastly war been littering"' destruction broadcast over the earth, till the whole worldmachinery has got tangled and chaos is writ lar<-e over its mangled mass. For God has scour-ed the world with war, and men are smitten with fear. He has poured out over mankind the seven vials of His wrath, and in the shock of war Empires have reeled and thrones been levelled with the dust and even now nations lie prostrate with their life's blood oozimr a way Even we, in these uttermost isles of the sea, have had to tread the winepress of the wrath of God. Our garments, too, are dyed red, for the blood of the nation has been spilled. As a nation, we have had to go down into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and come out again with blood dripping from our battle scars— of the boy you fathered, blood of the boy you mothered, blood of the boys we loved and taught. All up and down, and through and through these once peaceful isles has the keening and the wailing been heard; Rachel for her children mourning because they are not. Men of wealth ; men of golden hope ; men of courage and athletic prowess ; men of virtue true and tried; all have fallen before the sickle of the relentless one, and well might we, even we, on this distant shore of time, take up the plaint of the Israelites of old, and cry out: 'How are they fallen, yea, my mighty ones fallen even in battle.'

Sacred Memories. "But, my brethren, to-day is not .a day for mourning over the past. Anzac Day belongs to" history, and the Anzac hero needs no tears. Blunder as the venture might have been, tragedy as it was, it is yet a venture round which are clustered the most sacred memories of our people. We are a young nation with a future yet to weave, but into the warp and woof of our history will be woven golden memories of brave deeds done in 'the years of the nation's youth—for Anzac mean's bravery, endurance, pluck, and love greater than which no man hath, for these men laid down their lives for their friends.

“In the opening days of the great war, when the whole nation’s pulse quickened at the thought of outraged justice, when the whole nation’s mind burned red with indignation at the thought of truth and honor torn into shreds, - wfcuen the whole nations soul was roused from its lethargy at the thought of force triumphant, -• no braver man stepped forth than the young New Zealander, a veritable giant eager to win his way. No nobler mind burned with a more righteous indignation than the mind of the young New Zealander. No loftier soul than his made honor its quest. For these men believed in the justice of their cause. They were free men, with life’s banquet spread before them, and yet they of their own will chose the risks and alarms of war, for they felt convinced they fought for right and justice. In the spirit of the old-time chivalry these Anzac warriors rose in their freedom, and fought, and bled, and died in quest of their own Holy Grail. Let officials and blundering politicians bear the blame of their failure, but the glory of the honor rests with our men ; for there on the bleak, rugged hillside where Assyrian and Persian, Trojan and Greek, Pathan and Roman, Tartar and Turk (Christian and heathen), had fought and bled, where the very soil was sacred with legend and tradition and rich with memories of times long past, they emulated all the world’s heroes of history. Here at the gateway of the East and the West, these sons of the world’s youngest nation proved themselves the bravest of the brave. At a bound they leaped into the front rank of the warriors of all times, and clothed their own nation’s limbs with a robe of fame and victory. ‘They, these Anzac boys,’ wrote the poet John Masefield, ‘were the finest body of young men ever brought together in modern times. For physical beauty and nobility of bearing they surpassed any men I have ever seen ; they walked and looked like kings in old poems, and reminded me of the line of Shakespeare :

" 'Baited like eagles having lately bathed.' Undaunted to the End. "In the midst of privations untold, in the mire and the filth, under a blazing sun, or the frost of a Gallipoli night, in hunger and in thirst, in the midst of a hideous hell of noise and fire and sickness and pain, these men never flinched nor yielded, nor yet lost their buoyancy of heart, but stuck undaunted to their post, though they knew that many of them would be mangled, blinded or broken, lamed, made imbecile or disfigured, with the color and the taste of life taken from them, so that they would never more move with comrades nor exult in the sun. These things they bore in silent patience, till death seemed relaxation and a mound a luxury. But no, # wrote again John Masefield, 'these things were but the end they asked, the reward they had come for, the unseen cross upon the breast. All that they felt was a gladness of exultation that their young courage was to be used. They went like kings in a pageant to the imminent death.' 'All was beautiful in that gladness of men about to die, but the most moving thing was the greatness of their generous hearts.'

The Lesson They Have Taught. " 'The greatness of their generous hearts,' yes; and pluck, and endurance, and hope and trust, and love and the bearing of one another's burdens, the beatitude of toil and want, to teach us these did the Anzacs bleed and die. And to-day, from the storied land where their bones lie bleaching, their voices are calling over the sea: 'You will be a nation great and honored among men when you learn the lesson we have taught. When you learn that justice is above party interest, when you learn that charity thinketh no ill, is patient, is kind ; when you learn to live together in peace and amity, even as we died together; when you learn as a nation to believe that above us all—kings and prophets, and peasantsthere reigns a God, in whose keeping is your destiny.' 'But go ye down into the narrow by"-' way of factions, barter your honor and your faith for filthy gain, make selfishness your god, and war profits

your-patriotism—then we are not of you, for you have grown : craven and mercenary and, unprincipled, and have forgotten the lessons for which we died.’ “Anzac, if it is to mean anything to us as a nation, must be a trumpet-call to learn the lessons for which our brave men have died—that might is not right tnat minorities have rights even as small nations have ; that true patriotism is based on justice and charity. That our obligations to ourselves, to our fellow-men, and to God are more than scraps of paper. If as a nation we learn these lessons, our brave men shall not have died in vain.

Prayers for the Dead

“We are met here to-day to offer a united prayer and sacrifice to God for the repose of the souls of our brethren who have fallen in the war. It is the greatest measure of charity we can do. We are Catholics, with the faith and belief that our prayers may help our dead. Whether, they die in the trench or die on the sea, we know they have not passed beyond our ken. Even should our friends in their charity call our belief a superstition, we Catholics will forgive our friends, if so it be we may still pray unmolested for our dead. For amidst all this present crash of empire against empire, amid all the rout of tottering thrones and fugitive kings, amid all the shrieks of war, and the cruel agonies of slaughtered armies, there rings out clearer than any battle-cry Christ’s message of hope and comfort to the Christian soul, * I am the Resurrection and the Life. Thy dead shall live, my slain shall rise again. Awake, ye that dwell in the dust and give praise.’ ‘We shall all indeed rise again . . . for the trumpet shall sound and the dead shall rise again incorruptible,’ says the Scripture. . . ‘ And when this mortal hath put on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O Death, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?'

“The Charters of Our Faith.’’

“This hope in Christ’s promise is the charter of our faith. Pray therefore for the souls of your slain. You may not wish to go to war— may not approve of war—but no matter what your political creed, no matter what your social standing, you have, as Catholics, a duty to your Catholic dead. Surely, at a time like this, all charity has not grown cold, nor are the wells of pity dried ! This Anzac Day brings an appeal to you— an appeal that should stir your souls to their very depths. You listen and take no heed. The voice of your son is calling to you, and the voice of your brother and of your friend. It is your own flesh, your own blood that calls as deep calleth unto deep. Has the. mother forgotten her son, and we the companion of our youth? Surely not yet —not yet Therefore let your voices rise ever in constant, earnest prayer for the souls of your dead, that ‘ the Lord may be mindful of his servants who have gone before us with the sign of faith, and slumber in the sleep of Peace!’ “And while you remember the dead, forget not yet the living— boys who are fighting in France and Palestine— for they, too, are your own kith and kin, and the hour of their peril is ever near; pray God to have them, too, in safekeeping, to guard them from all harm, and bring them back again to their own homeland. “My brethren, on this, the third anniversary of the landing of New Zealand troops on Gallipoli peninsula, we salute —brave men and true of our own race. May the fame of their gallant deeds never fade from the minds of men ; may their names be held in benediction, and their memories cherished from generation unto generation ; and may their souls and the souls of all the faithful find peace and rest with God. Amen!”