Selected Poetry

New Zealand Tablet, 17 April 1924, Page 51

Selected Poetry

Hymns of St. Ephrem, the Syrian, in Honour of the Blessed Virgin 1. Now let holy Mary praise Her Son, Who, in pity for a world undone, Deigned, without mortal sire’s embrace, to come, Offspring Divine of spotless Virgin’s womb. 0 wondrous Miracle! The Mother bears The Son of God, Who Man’s frail nature shares. 2: • r On this great Feast" let Mary’s voice be heard: • “Let none presume to ask too curious word Anent my Son, too curious scrutinise; No mind can fathom the abyss, though wise. All questioning is futile, vain to ask, The wisest are unequal to the task.” 3. Let Thy most holy Mother lift Her voice, And praise Thee, Lord, with all that here rejoice, For that it was Thy love which drew Thee here To dwell in Virgin womb, and then appear. Blessed he Thou, 0 Hidden God, Who thus Didst deign so wondrously to visit us. 4. Let Mary scorn the tongues of those on earth. Who seek to gauge the mystery of Thy Birth : The fools, nor hold of more repute The learned, who with Thee would fain dispute; And them convert that doubt (because in sooth She knew not man, yet hare Thee) to the Truth. —Translated by F. G. M. V Our Saviour Is there grief like to His, Ye that pass by the way? Who descends from bliss Loving ransom to pay? For He came in the cold, In the midnight unseen, With the wind on the wold When the winter was keen. His whole life to the poor— None was poorer—He gave, For he toiled but to cure And He prayed but to save. But we thwarted His aim,, And His love we withstood; We cast scorn on His Name, We cried out for His blood. And we wrecked all our will, For. we doomed Him to die; On the criminals’ hill Ho was gibbeted high; Where He died*, wan and white, In the night of eclipse, All atone in the night ' With a moan on His lins.

Who had come down from bliss v Loving ransom to pay. Is there grief like to His, Ye that pass by the way? — M. Edgar, in English Messenger. \ *? I’ve Worked for a Silver Shilling I’ve worked for a silver shilling! I’ve slaved for a. friend; And ever the, work was willing, ThoujJi much to mend. Yet of the years’ achieving Little I find Worth pride, or hope, or grieving, Or calling to mind. But love and laughing youth And a rain-washed spring : These were truth, And a memorable thing. —Charles W. Kennedy, in Scribner’ Magazine. ? “ Clonard ” By lost Clonard the river meads still hold Forgotten dreams, white memories pure as dew, Of fragrant days when scholars wandered through The marshy grass, and hearts had not grown old; Beneath her purple hills a saint once told A starry tale, a story strange and new Brought fom the dawn-lands —and all Eire drew Around his moat to hear the words of gold. There stands no cross, or tower, or ancient wall Mellow with simple peace men used to know, And from the fields no courtly town has sprung: Only along green hanks the blackbirds call, Just as they did a thousand years ago In morning meadows when the world was young. —J. F. V Woodrow Wilson Death found him as ho faced his foes, Clear eyed and unafraid. Courageously his spirit goes Into the mortal shade. He laid him down like a banner torn In battle, like a rapier worn To the hilt in tho fight for Freeman born — Calmly and undismayed. Death found him ready. Courage shone In midst of agony. With hq(p*d unbowed his goal was won With kn’fghtly dignity. Mayhap the pomp of Paris streamed Across his visionbut there gleamed More glorious visions that he dreamed — As he faced the end alone. i *Mn■* » , s « ■ The, path of glory ends; -the bier Awaits his last repose. His race is run, his record clear— How clear the Lord God knows. He’d have no mourning*, wild regret, ' s He stood apart from the —and yet A tower has fallen, a star has ; set, .Though the light from the,star still glows. , — Nelson Robins, in the Baltimore Daily Post.