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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 10, Issue 3 (June 1, 1935)

The Burning Bush

The Burning Bush.

‘Tis Autumn time, the glory glows,
In colour day by day,
Oh, turn aside and glimpse again,
This miracle display.
The Prophet saw the burning bush
Shine with a fire Divine,
So now the burnished colours thrill
This wondering heart of mine.

The mystery of the burning bush,
‘Twill not consumed be,
And in the passing, we do well
To turn aside and see
The radiance of beauty—
A wealth of golden mine:
For year by year, it comes again,
A miracle sublime.

The fire-lights of Autumn,
All burn with tinted flame,
The yellow leaves turn into gold,
And colours without name.
The vivid crimson sparkles here,
The brilliant lights out-shine
The ruby red, the opal rare,
Or glittering gem as fine.

The iridescent sunset,
And the flush of Autumn leaves!
See, the grandeur of the beauty
Blends with golden harvest sheaves.
Can Earth reflect a glory
Of a Heaven so far away?
‘Tis mirrored in the burning bush,
This perfect Autumn day.

Yes, the flashing carmine colours,
Mingled with the sunbeams' gold,
Reflect a lovely brilliance
Of a glory never told.
So the bush becomes a temple—
Nature's own most glorious shrine.
Hushed, I step aside and worship,
With this humbled heart of mine.