SELECTED VERSE

Waikato Times, Volume 127, Issue 21248, 19 October 1940, Page 11 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE

THE WOUNDS WHICH ARE

MOST DEEP The wounds which ache most deep Are not by flesh revealed: Nor soothed by sun and sleep; Nor by the hands are healed: Hurts which are never signed By blood or breaking bone: Bruises upon the mind Enduring and unknown. —William Soutar THE NAZI LEADER They prayed for one to guide and lead, He came at last unheralded To give his people in their need Work, peace and bread. He warmed them at the fires of hate, He fed them on imagined wrong, He made the race inviolate, Feared, safe and strong. Evil with good he reconciled, They for his blessings sacrificed Daughters and sons, the unborn child, The creed of Christ. He showed earth’s kingdoms spread below, He scaled the height; they headlong fell The soul’s the body’s death to know And war’s unutterable hell. —“Saggitarius,” in The New Statesman and Nation. “BE FEARLESS” We now of all our Allies stand bereft And yet we have one Ally left, Be fearless, He it is on Whom we now rely. Hasten, Oh God, and make reply. Trampled lie all agreements in the dust, Therefore, so much the more we must Be faithful to the cause of right, For this, Oh God, with hand and heart we fight. When hearts seem fearful, gossip not nor mope, Fan to a flame the living spark of hope. Be self-forgetful, soothe the troubled heart. For country, God, and honour play your part. .. —Florence Campbell Willett.

FALLING FLOWERS

From the high pavilions the guests have all gone; In the small gardens dishevelled blossoms drop to the ground Scattered unevenly they lie across the crooked paths, Far in the distance they dance in the setting sun. They raise sad thoughts, but I dare not brush them away. I strain my eyes after them, but they are determined to go. My heart (like theirs) yearns for the spring (which is about to die) And I am left with a garment moistened with tears. —Li Shang-Yin, Translated by Soame Fenyns. HANDS The sensitive hands are busy with what they found. They are lifted forever, aware of hills and plants. They are the rulers who stoop to plow the ground, Calloused or tender, drawn by their circumrj.ance. The sun or moonlight flushes on hands that tried To chain the rivers and find the spark a route. With every endeavour, slow or trained with pride, They set each pulse to work in a long pursuit. Love with its hands desires to be fulfilled. The sprawling city is built by the fingers’ press. With the blades of war or peace, they have been skilled; The hurtling ships respond to their quick caress. They fasten on pages, and bring their dreams to birth. They scribble songs . . . they cover eyes that weep. Look on your hands and you will see the earth That has risen to work before the night and sleep. (Daniel Smythe.)