SUNDAY MORNING IN THE KING COUNTRY.

King Country Chronicle, Volume II, Issue 83, 22 May 1908, Page 3

SUNDAY MORNING IN THE KING COUNTRY.

(By " The Hangatiki Poet.") It is Sunday morning in the King Country—cool, joyous, and beautiful. Let us climb yonder hill, and feast our eyes upon the wondrous landscape around, that untamed nature o'er our willing hearts may cast its spell, and be to us as preacher and as church. We reach the topmost peak, and nestle down among the fern. The air is wondrously fresh, and the sky is clear and blue. The gentle fanning breeze plays with the trees, and-wafts the scent of flowers up to us. There are no church bells to tell us 'tis the Sabbath morn; but far below us, from a rugged rata top, peals out the tui's morning hymn. Where, O ye people of the town, have ye such bells as this ! Can you, with all your loud metallic chimes, produce a note so sweet? The punga,'whose broad top springs from a shady dell almost to my feet, spreads out its fairy fronds, and basks beneath the warm sun. i The tall, straight rewa rewa sends up its naked trunk, and from its top the broken-voiced kingfisher, inspired bv the universal joy, gives forth its grating song. From further down the valley, in the kahikatea tops, comes a rich chorus of many birds, all striving to give forth the gladness in their hearts. All is peace. Not one discordant sound disturbs the tranquil air; yet every living thing doth seem to promulgate its overflowing joy. The aged trees, in their impassive way, appear to shake their leaves, and murmur on in unison with the rest, as a devout apostle, with voice subdued, repeats the sacred prayer. . Far to j the south, and cradled by surrounding j hills, an infant township lies, and here ■ and there, from out the forest dark, a rugged mats of limestone rears its head, and turns its white face up to heaven. And while we gaze a hawk swoops past, and wheeling round and round, dives down at last among the jagged rocks, doubtless to perpetrate some gruesome tragedy. Besides our-

selves no human creatures are in sight, and a deep feeling of the omnipotence of the Creator finds place within our hearts. We, too, have caught the wonderful joy of living, and like the untamed creatures of the woods must raise our voices in a morning hymn. Let us depart! and wish no more for other sanctuaries than this—the great blue vault of heaven, and the verdant earth beneath.' What more can subjects need who dwell within the wild dominions of their King, and while they feel the loving goodness of his works, raise up their voices in a song of praise?