 | The Poems of Mackenzie Bell |  |
28
JOHN CLIFFORD: God's Soldier.
Born of the people, with a scorn of wrong
Bequeathed from Puritans—persistent, strong,
Eager to serve God's folk, while more and more
In this our London, vast, and grim, and hoar,
You skilled yourself in academic lore.
Noble and selfless was each thought; each aim
Pure as a snow-flake, pure as is the flame
From Truth's undying torch that burns to show
Ever an upward path, through weal, through woe.
Bequeathed from Puritans—persistent, strong,
Eager to serve God's folk, while more and more
In this our London, vast, and grim, and hoar,
You skilled yourself in academic lore.
Noble and selfless was each thought; each aim
Pure as a snow-flake, pure as is the flame
From Truth's undying torch that burns to show
Ever an upward path, through weal, through woe.
Often you walked through many a London street—
Saw many a man who paused with way-worn feet—
And saw the wrinkled furrows on his brow
Proclaim that he was well-nigh agèd now—
And this, before stern Time, with ruthless sway,
Touching, had turned his sunny locks to grey.
You saw how trembling was his nerveless hand,
His fingers scarcely under due command;
You saw how devious was his tottering tread,
How bent, though not with weight of years, his head;
You saw how his whole face, his gait, his air
Showed sad, though all too common, signs of care.
Saw many a man who paused with way-worn feet—
And saw the wrinkled furrows on his brow
Proclaim that he was well-nigh agèd now—
And this, before stern Time, with ruthless sway,
Touching, had turned his sunny locks to grey.
You saw how trembling was his nerveless hand,
His fingers scarcely under due command;
You saw how devious was his tottering tread,
How bent, though not with weight of years, his head;
You saw how his whole face, his gait, his air
Showed sad, though all too common, signs of care.
29
Often you walked through many a London street—
Saw many a girl who paused with way-worn feet,
And dreamt of her a happy rose-lipped child
In some far country home where dear ones smiled.
Haply you saw her shaping daisy-chains
While little sisters help, and for their pains,
Receiving, on the sward, as payment meet,
The pretty chaplet from her, when complete.
And as you gazed upon her saddened face,
Where sin, or want, or sorrow you could trace;
Alas, alas, how mournful in their birth,
Rose dimly, thoughts of these dead days of mirth.
Dreams such as these, amid the sounds that jar
Our civic music, made you what you are—
The matchless leader who, by pen or word,
Against unnumbered odds at last has stirred
Our civic Conscience to take up her task
Towards her sons and daughters, and to ask
For those who toil, more light, more joy, more air,
And homes more clean and spacious everywhere.
Saw many a girl who paused with way-worn feet,
And dreamt of her a happy rose-lipped child
In some far country home where dear ones smiled.
Haply you saw her shaping daisy-chains
While little sisters help, and for their pains,
Receiving, on the sward, as payment meet,
The pretty chaplet from her, when complete.
And as you gazed upon her saddened face,
Where sin, or want, or sorrow you could trace;
Alas, alas, how mournful in their birth,
Rose dimly, thoughts of these dead days of mirth.
Dreams such as these, amid the sounds that jar
Our civic music, made you what you are—
The matchless leader who, by pen or word,
Against unnumbered odds at last has stirred
Our civic Conscience to take up her task
Towards her sons and daughters, and to ask
For those who toil, more light, more joy, more air,
And homes more clean and spacious everywhere.
'Tis only when a lake is calm and clear
It well reflects the landscape that is near,
And thus men's quiet deeds from day to day
With best fidelity their minds display;
So when you pass among us, with your look
Or hand-shake kindly, or your shrewd rebuke,
Or when we see you in some homely hour
Of talk, we feel the secret of your power.
It well reflects the landscape that is near,
And thus men's quiet deeds from day to day
With best fidelity their minds display;
So when you pass among us, with your look
Or hand-shake kindly, or your shrewd rebuke,
Or when we see you in some homely hour
Of talk, we feel the secret of your power.
30
Great orator in gesture, voice, and word,
Whose lofty eloquence none hear unstirred,
You roused our people to take earnest heed
Unto their children's teaching: there was need.
Passing for fifty years “from strength to strength”
Your power for good increases, till at length
On every problem that confronts the State,
On all the things which make our nation great,
To you we look for counsel, for we share
Your heritage of hope, of faith, of prayer.
True ever is the music of your life,
Your soul safe anchored, though near shoals of strife.
Wise thought on such as you uplifts the heart;
Now lie your years before us, like a chart,
Thereon is shown a way whereby each one,
Though sore the toil, and scorching be Life's sun,
Elated, shall receive God's glad “Well done.”
Whose lofty eloquence none hear unstirred,
You roused our people to take earnest heed
Unto their children's teaching: there was need.
Passing for fifty years “from strength to strength”
Your power for good increases, till at length
On every problem that confronts the State,
On all the things which make our nation great,
To you we look for counsel, for we share
Your heritage of hope, of faith, of prayer.
True ever is the music of your life,
Your soul safe anchored, though near shoals of strife.
Wise thought on such as you uplifts the heart;
Now lie your years before us, like a chart,
Thereon is shown a way whereby each one,
Though sore the toil, and scorching be Life's sun,
Elated, shall receive God's glad “Well done.”
Forward you move with that eternal youth
They only know, who drink from wells of Truth,
Your warmth enkindles many an arctic soul
To more and more self-conquest, more control.
God's soldier, 'tis your calling still to fight,
Till dawns, with Heav'n's own peace, Heav'n's own calm light.
They only know, who drink from wells of Truth,
Your warmth enkindles many an arctic soul
To more and more self-conquest, more control.
God's soldier, 'tis your calling still to fight,
Till dawns, with Heav'n's own peace, Heav'n's own calm light.
| The Poems of Mackenzie Bell | |