Musings in Maoriland
Requiescat. — (August 1th, 1880.)
(August 1th, 1880.)
The city nestles by the bay,
Reposing in her Sabbath sleep;
The people dream of God, and pray,
For 'tis the Spirit's special day,
And peace lies over land and deep.
The hills are flushing, fresh and bright,
Beneath the sun of early spring,
The green turns yellow, pink, and white,
And through the ferns, with new delight,
The birds and brooklets gaily sing.
The silent, glassy sheet below
Shows every hill its face and form,
And ocean, with its skirts of snow,
Steals up the beach, and murmurs low
A dream-song of the sleeping storm.
Edina of the South! I stand,
Entranced by harmonies that melt
In euphony sublime and grand,
And watch the sweep of sea and land
That girds thee in a lovely belt.
And as I gaze o'er land and sea
My thoughts swell through the wide expanse;
I map a future out for thee,
Fair city, and thy great "To be"
Lives in a swift prophetic glance.
I see the stately vessels ride
At anchor on the placid sheet
Of land-locked waves; from far and wide
They bring across Pacific's tide
The wealth of nations to thy feet.
Enriched with all the pride of Art
I see thee in thy future dress;
I hear from mansion and from mart
The cheerful hum of progress start,
As onward still thy children press.
Again, I see thee in the hush
Of Sabbath calm, and hear the swell
Of Nature's psalms through tree and bush,
From tui, blackbird, finch and thrush,
And brooklet rippling down the dell.
Thy glory is not yet, but still
The seed of greatness here is sown;
Thy beauties all my senses fill
To rich repletion; on this hill
I feel a king upon his throne.
O, tranquil calm! exalting rest!
The storm in season due shall rave,
But yet 'tis wise to make the best
Of sunbeams while they last; we're blest
While peace keeps watch o'er passion's grave.
On days, like this, when buds have birth,
Our souls instinctively arise
From all the petty cares of earth,
And on the airy wings of mirth
Soar Godward through the sapphire skies.