Selections from Bracken's Poems

New Zealand Tablet, Volume L, Issue 17, 3 May 1923, Page 28

Selections from Bracken's Poems

Not Understood Not understood. We move along asunder, Our paths grow wider as the seasons creep Along the years; we marvel and we wonder - Why life is life? and then we fall asleep, Not understood. Not understood. We gather false impressions, . And hug them closer as the years go by, .Till virtues often seem to us transgressions; , And thus men rise and fall, and live and die, Not understood. . Not understood. Poor souls with stunted vision Oft measure giants by their narrow gauge; The poisoned shafts of falsehood and derision Are oft impelled ’gainst those who mould the age, Not understood. Not understood. The secret springs of action, Which lie beneath the surface and the show, Are disregarded; with self-satisfaction ■ We judge our neighbors, and they often go, , Not understood. Not understood. How trifles often change us! The thoughtless sentence or the fancied slight Destroy long years of friendship and estrange us, And on our souls there falls a freezing blight; Not understood. Not understood. How many breasts are aching For lack of sympathy! Ah ! day by day, , ow many cheerless, lonely hearts are breaking! How many noble spirits pass away Not understood. Oh, God! that men would see a little clearer, Or judge loss harshly where they cannot see; Oh, God! that men would draw a little nearer To one another, they’d be nearer Thee, Not understood. And understood. Annihilation It is not true! Great Sire, it cannot be ■ That this bright ray of life we call the soul This quenchless flame of immortality, , Emblazoned on Thy grand eternal scroll Was kindled in its mortal lamp by Thee, To find within the grave its final goal. Oh, bastard creed, conceived in vilest womb Of meanest earth, how poor thou makest man ; A living atom, fattening for the tomb, And struggling to its jaws as best he can, Heir unto nothing but chaotic gloom, The puppet of a dark, designless plan. Cold, dismal science, hatched within a clod, And nursed for blank futurity, in vain Thy teachers, with their substitute for God, Proclaim that wrong shall change to right again. Why then are we the tillers of the sod? Why do we sow if others reap the grain? How shall the. good to come repay the dead, If mind or soul embodied, really dies To live no more? The suff’ring millions fled, With all their sorrows and with all their cries For justice, find no solace in the bed Of dreamless death, from which they may not rise. Were death the climax, then ’twere better fate To browse the peaceful hills, a careless beast, Or nestle with some tuneful feathered mate In some green glade, nor look past Nature’s feast For happiness, nor dream of future state, t Than be their king— greatest, yet the least.

Shall all oue dreamings of a brighter day— Shall all our longings for a purer light— Shall all our aspirations end in clay? Shall all our hopes be plunged in endless night, And shall the soul be blind for ever? Nay! Death cannot veil its strong celestial light. Annihilation! philosophic lie! Thou canst not rob us of our rightful claim To share our Father’s mansion ulp on high; God is a Spirit, and from Him we came, His breath is in us, it can never die; Emancipation is death’s better name. The Bird and the Idol A simple lark—this is a fable new — That perched each morn upon a golden ray, Up where the lashes of the eye of day Sweep all night’s lesser jewels out of view; Beheld a lovely idol’s shrine, and flew Down earthwards, to that form of painted clay, And warbled there his sweetest, purest lay, Thinking his song might it with life imbue. He sang to it God’s Royal Anthem Love; At Eden’s windows he had caught the strain— His lay the soulless image could not move His melodies were warbled all in vain; He turned away and tried to soar above, But never reached his morning perch again. V Morning Above Dunedin God’s golden limner of our planet’s days, O’er summer’s surface spreads his morning sheen, And on the trees a hundred tints of green Are shimm’ring in the dazzle of his rays; Beneath the boughs each breeze-stirr’d shadow plays, And side by side gnarl’d forest ancients lean Their tassell’d heads together. Through the scene A lonely mountain creeklet sings and strays. Melodious trills from feather’d exiles’ throats Pure warblings of the Old Land and the New, Which silence all the tui’s simpler notes Blend in a flood of euphony, that through The groves and bowers of dust’ring foliage floats To chase the lark’s sweet echoes in the blue. *7 Bush Children Eyes of hazel and of blue, Raven locks and golden tresses, Lips of rosy-tinted hue Pouting for the fond caresses, Laughter filling hearts with joy, As the merry moments whirl, Father loves his manly boy, Mother dotes upon her girl. Gambolling across the glade, Sporting through the tea-tree mazes, Resting ’neath the wattle’s shade, When the summer’s red sun blazes; Fondling the dear pet lamb, Patting Bob, the sleek old coley, Teasing Bill, the aged ram, Driving Redman, Sam, and Poley, Seeking for the ’possum’s nest, In the wrinkled box-tree hollow; Breaking in upon his rest, “Let him run, and Pinch will follow.” Hunting for the hidden sweets Where the wild bush-bees are humming; Listening for the cheerful bleats When the shepherd home is coming, “Willie, give the lads a call, We must have a game at cricket Jack and you can stop the ball, I will stand to guard the wicket.” Play your games, you merry crew, Now’s the time for recreation, By-and-by there’s work to do, You have yet to build a nation.