February 3rd, 1931.

There was no thought of sorrow in town that Summer day;
Tall ships were in the port, and a cruiser in the Bay;
The folk were gay and brightly clad, and each fond gossip greets
Her happy friends, and all was blithe in shops and crowded streets.
The bells had called to worship within the sacred fane—
(“O, spare us, tender Jesu, and give surcease of pain”).
All in their mood were tranquil and the day serene and bright,
When sudden as a thunderclap doom came with fearful might.
In travail and in labour, the tortured terrain shakes
Upheaving force lifts wood and stone, and, as a giant, breaks
The mighty beams. The soaring spires are rocked and buildings fall,
And swift, devouring flame leaps high beyond the smoking pall.
We tread a path of sadness, ‘mid groans of those in pain—
(“O, rampant Death, what reaping thy scythe is to obtain!“).
Numbing, the rending shocks recur; yet, at the onset main,
O splendid deeds! O tender ruth! What love and courage reign!
And, on the sad to-morrow, a town of bleak despair,
A stark, black wreck with rocking walls and ruin everywhere
Save in the hearts of those who strove and dared dread Fate to take
From them their Heritage of Hope, which nothing could abate.