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Nation Making, a story of New Zealand

The Song of the Remnant

The Song of the Remnant.

The old tree stands withered and dead,
Its branches are broken, its life is gone.
The war gods of old are silent and still,
Tu's scarlet belt and the sharp-pointed spear
Lie in the dust, in the dust.
The shout of the warrior is heard no more,
The dance and the song have departed.
We look at the graves of the warriors,
But the foot of the White face is there.
Our ancestors silently sleep,
The day breaks. Why do we weep?
Though the sun shines on Pirongia's peak
We are in sadness, in shadow and gloom.
Hark! The cry of the night bird
Dies away on the morn.
It is the call of the dead.
It calls. It calls. We die.
The day is breaking. We live.
We die.