JAMES MACANDREW.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume V, Issue 1496, 2 March 1887, Page 3

JAMES MACANDREW.

, Why should our songa be sad? He needed t reat ; He was afield among the pioneora Who watched at daybreak on the mountain's crest The golden dawning of a nations years, He was the foremost 'mqng the sturdy band Who breasted dangers m the early days To found new homes ; his was the head that plann'd The euper-struoture upon whioh we gaze. Behold the noble city towering high Above the silver mirror fnmed m green I How, chang'd the prospeot now Bince first bis eye Glanced hopefully around the silent scene. The virgin forests, wrapt m deep repose, Lay on the bosoms of the ancient hills, Adown whose sides the sun-enfranchised " snowß Boll'd into liquid song m founts and rills. The fertile plains and valleys were asleep, No ploughshare yet had stirr'd the quiet . Bod; Efoth hugg'd her secret treasures hidden deep; The noon-day rays had kiss'd no kindling clod. Whenloame the pilgrims to the promised land, With hearts prepared to dare and hands to " do, They needed but a ruler to command, . And found m him a leader staunch and • true.

Here was a land with Nature's gifts endow'd, "-, A new Canaan needing sturdy men ; n The trunk that now lies still, rose stroog 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 ; H s were the thoughts that ever onward fly With lightning speed, to make a people great.

Eft beokon'd Commerce with her steam and sails,

And to our lovely bay fleet followed fleet; He summoned 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 roain'd the hills, and turning dp the soil, The ploughman told his joy m songs of mirth.

He saw the primal seed-time m the land, He watch'd the first green corn that drass'd the plain ; He saw the sickle m the reaper's hand That gather'd m the first ripe sheaves of grain.

Wby should our song be sad ? Tears are for those Who live m 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 worked 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. Thomas Bbaoken*