May our mountains ever be Freedom’s ramparts on the sea, Make us faithful unto Thee, God defend our free land! Guide her in the nations’ van, Preaching love and truth to man, Working out Thy glorious plan, God defend New Zealand! _Thomas Bracken._ BATHGATE CCXXXI OUR HERITAGE A perfect peaceful stillness reigns, Not e’en a passing playful breeze The sword-shaped flax-blades gently stirs: The vale and slopes of rising hills Are thickly clothed with yellow grass, Whereon the sun, late risen, throws His rays, to linger listlessly. Naught the expanse of yellow breaks, Save where a darker spot denotes Some straggling bush of thorny scrub; While from a gully down the glen, The foliage of the dull-leaved trees Rises to view; and the calm air From stillness for a moment waked By parakeets’ harsh chattering, Swift followed by a tui’s trill Of bell-like notes, is hushed again. The tiny orbs of glistening dew Still sparkle, gem-like, ’mid the grass; While morning mist, their Mother moist, Reluctant loiters on the hill, Whence presently she’ll pass to merge In the soft depths of the blue heav’ns. This fertile Isle to us is given Fresh from its Maker’s hand; for here No records of the vanished past Tell of the time when might was right, And self-denial weakness was; But all is peaceful, pure, and fair. Our heritage is hope. We’ll rear A Nation worthy of the land; And when in age we linger late, Upon the heights above life’s vale, Before we, like the mist, shall merge In depths of God’s eternity, We’ll see, perchance, our influence Left dew-like, working for the good Of those whose day but dawns below. _Alexander Bathgate._ MONTGOMERY CCXXXII TO ONE IN ENGLAND I send to you Songs of a Southern Isle, Isle like a flower In warm seas low lying: Songs to beguile Some wearisome hour, When Time’s tired of flying. Songs which were sung To a rapt listener lying, In sweet lazy hours, Where wild-birds’ nests swing, And winds come a-sighing In Nature’s own bowers. Songs which trees sing, By summer winds swayed Into rhythmical sound; Sweet soul-bells sung Through the Ngaio’s green shade, Unto one on the ground. Songs from an Island Just waking from sleeping In history’s morning; Songs from a land Where night shadows creep When your day is dawning. * * * * * O songs, go your way, Over seas, over lands, Though friendless sometimes, Fear not, comes a day When the world will clasp hands With my wandering rhymes. _Eleanor Elizabeth Montgomery._ CCXXXIII A VOICE FROM NEW ZEALAND _Cooee!_ I send my voice Far North to you, Rose of the water’s choice, Dear England true! Guardian angels three-- Faith, Hope, and Charity-- Welcome the strong sons free Born unto you.