THE SONG OF THE SONS.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXVI, Issue 1303, 26 September 1914, Page 4

THE SONG OF THE SONS.

One from the ends of the earth-

gifts at an open door — Treason has much, but we, Mother, thy sons have more ! From the whine of a dying man, from the snarl of a wolf-pack freed. Turn, tor the world is thine. Mother, be proud of thy seed ! Count, are we feeble or lew? Hear, is our speech so rude ? Look, are we poor in the land ? Judge, are we men of The Blood? Those that have stayed at thy knees, Mother, go' call them in— We that were bred overseas wait and would speak with our kin. Not in the dark do we fight—haggle and flout and gibe ; Selling our love tor a price, loaning our hearts for a bribe. Gifts have we only to-day—Love without promise or lee — Hear, for thy children speak from the uttermost parts of the sea. England’s Answer. Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban ; Little used to He down at the bidding of any man. Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the.bone that I bare ; Stark as your sous shall be—stern as your fathers were. • Deeper than speech our love, stronger than iife our tether, But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together.

My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by ; Sous, I have borne many sons, but my dugs are not dry. Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors, That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors— Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas, Ay, talk to your grey mother that bore you on her knees ! That ye may talk together, brother to brother’s face— Thus for the good of your peoples —thus tor the Pride of the Race. Also, we will make promise. So long as the blood endures, I shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my strength is yours ; In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all, That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall. Draw now the three-fold knot firm on the nine-told bands, And the Law that ye make shall be law alter the rule of your lands. This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle bloom, This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom. The Law that ye make shall be law, and I not press my will, Because ye are sons of The Blood and call me Mother still. Now must ye speak to your kinsmen, and they must speak to you, After the use of the English, in straight-flung words and few. Go to your work and be strong, halting not in your ways. Baulking the end half-won for an instant dole of praise. Stand to your work and be wisecertain of sword and pen, Who are neither children nor Gods, but men in a world of men ! —Rudvard Kipling.