TRUMPETS.

New Zealand Tablet, 18 August 1921, Page 35

TRUMPETS.

I heard the trumpets of the morning blowing A clarion call behind the purple hills. I saw the banners of the morning glowing, And as the sound of rain with whispers fills A quiet house, the tramp of marching feet Filled the calm air. The hosts of day draw near; I saw the gleam and glint of many a spear.

Those legions in their shining panoply Marched o’er the mountains; martial music sang, Insistent, ringing. There was naught to see But blaze of dazzling colors. Echoes rang, As they passed proudly to the beat of drums, And joy ecstatic, full of sound and light, Thrilled to the glory of the blue noon’s height.

So with a shout they marched until the wide Red sunset held nor peace nor weariness. Untiring and resistless as the tide, The host passed on to music clear, no less Prepared for song and triumph than at dawn. Splendid and clamorous, in bright array, They reached the verge and took the shining way That leads to lands beyond the Western skies.

Mine ears were ringing with the wealth of sound From golden trumpets blowing, and mine eyes Were blind with glory. To the utmost bound Of the horizon splendor throbbed and thrilled And glowed; and, while the fiery clamor shrilled, They passed beyond the Western slope. Then came To ears bewildered, from the stilly night, A peace as sweet as a beloved name; After the kingly splendor, pale moonlight Soft soothed my dazzled eyes. The trumpets died In the great distance, and I heard the far Faint silver singing of a tranquil star. -Geace Ethel Martyr, in the Sydney Bulletin.