Читать книгу Carols of Canada, Etc., Etc - E. S. MacLeod - Страница 9

Table of Contents

I.

Bright beauty of northern winter!

The sun, with its tenderest glow, Gilded the haze of the housetops,

Warm-tinted earth's mantle of snow.

Flashed forth the crystalline branches,

Bedazzling of jewelry rare; Rich set in radiance of splendor,

Choice pearlets of nature's own wear.

Dark night with its gloom had faded,

Fair morning its halo unfurled; Yet stirred not the solemn silence

With the hum of a waking world.

Unheard was the sound of labor,

Mute—hushed was the voice of the street; Only the tread of passers by,

Who stayed not their hastening feet.

Only half whispers, curt replies

To eager questions, doubtful given; For hearts were awed with sudden fear,

For dearest ties of earth were riven.

Soft cloudlets afloat on the blue,

Pure wreaths of the shimmering snow, Re-uttered in language sublime,

The breathings of unwonted woe.

Alas, for the dreaming of life!

Though heard not the roll of the drum, Nor witnessed the ensign of war,

A merciless tyrant had come.

Strife is no strife ill-divided

When man fighteth frail brother-man; But war is a warfare unequal

When giant force leadeth one van.

What marvel that mortals shrank back,

That science e'en held bated breath;— Over the lights of our dwellings

There hovered the angel of death.

The flags which drooped from the windows,

And waved in the winterly sun, Signalled fierce battle was raging,

But told not of victory won.

They were no flags of our nation,

No tri-colored red, white and blue; Heralds of hope, or of freedom,

Beamed not in their pale, saffron hue.

II.

Inside the new oped lazar-house,

Where sick and dying, plague-struck, lay, Skill sought to baffle foul disease,

Yet still the dismal blight made way.

Sore lack of helpful, nursing hands

Was keenly felt within those walls; Since selfish dread had closed the soul

To lucre's bribe, or mercy's calls.

Had closed the soul of all save those

Whose life is but to do His will; Who fear not Afric's burning sands,

Nor Javan swamp, nor Iceland chill.

Three Sisters, vowed to charity,

Out of the well trained city band; Skilled nurses[Note] they, and fit prepared, Came forward as with life in hand.

When, shame to tell, their proffered aid

Was scouted; reason urgeth why? Search not dim aisles of bigotry,

Sift thou thy soul for just reply.

Oh, narrow bounded prejudice!

Hedged round of a Christian name, Thou low, dim burning altar light!

Unlit of celestial flame.

Right royal blood in honor's cause,

Red stains the patriot battle field; Thou slay'st thy myriads for naught,

God in the conscience may not yield.

Thou! blind and selfish prejudice;

Vile, murky source of endless strife; Know that a world reviving faith

Doth blossom into fruitful life.

III.

Still raged the dreaded pestilence,

And still the quiet stars of night Beamed down upon the obsequies

Of those who perished in the fight.

'Mid comfort of our peaceful homes,

We heard the rattle of the car Which bore the vanquished from the scene

Of bloodless, but relentless war.

For them no sacred bell was tolled,

Nor rose the chant of plaintive psalm; Yet through deep mists shone guiding light

From cruel cross, to blissful palm.

Within the City Hospital,

With satchel in her willing hand, She waited, as a soldier waits,

Intent to hear his lord's command.

She knew that fickle human aid

When sought at risks is sought in vain; That in no human breast exists

Will to encounter death or pain.

"And can'st thou think to go?" I said,

"When all thy purposes of good Were balked by callous ignorance,

Close-linked with base ingratitude."

She looked me calmly in the face;

A shade, which noted sad surprise Stole o'er her placid countenance,

And spake from out her gentle eyes.

Her answer echoes down the years,

Illumes the hall in which she sat, Breaks through all cant of class or creed:—

"Those sick must not suffer for that.."

IV.

Just then a messenger was hailed;

To God and to their mission true, Firm-souled, went out to meet the plague

She and devoted sisters two.

Emblazoned in archives of light

Those titles no worldling may hold; Whilst their star, in our nether sky,

Shines forth in a circlet of gold.

With practised eye, and tender hand,

With quiet mien, and noiseless tread, They grappled with the dire disease,

Or soothed the sufferer's dying bed.

They listed, with a patient mind,

The longings of the exiled one; Or treasured, for a mother's ear,

The last faint accents of her son.

Yea! all along that tardy night,

Black with the bitterness of woe, They toiled in unison with those

Whose skill[Note] and courage foiled the foe.

Fame proudly vaunts her hero dead;

Ambition's tools, in glory's van; Thrice worthy he of lasting wreath,

Who lives for God, and dies for man.

Ah me! for the silent martyr

Whose tireless feet so surely trod The pathway leading on and up

Towards the city of our God.

The poison draught entered her blood;

In brightness of Spring's early day Sister St. Thomas bowed her head,

And passed from her labors for aye.

I know that 'yond the swelling surge,

She reached that tideless, tranquil shore, Where faith finds anchor nigh its source,

And storms of time are heard no more.

I know that robed in spotless white,

Her pure soul on Mount Zion stands; And yet I see her as she sat

With satchel in her willing hands.

Ho, peerless crown! Ho, fadeless palm!

Bright land where ransomed spirits be! True love to God with love to man,

Ensures a blessed eternity.