A BUSH SECTION
Little, feeble, ignorant, destitute:—
Wondering, questioning, conscious, alive!
A Mind that moves ’mid the motionless matter:
’Mid the logs, a developing Soul:
From the battle-field bones of a ruin’d epoch,
Life, the Unruin’d, freshly upspringing,
Life, Re-creator of life!
Yea, spark of Life!
Begotten, begetter, of changes:
Yea, morn of Man,
Creature design’d to create:
Offspring of elements all, appointed their captain and ruler:
Here dawning, here sent
To this, thy disconsolate kingdom—
What change, O Changer! wilt thou devise and decree?
Hail to thy god-ship, O Thor! Good luck to the Arm with the Hammer!
Good luck to that little right arm!
Green Bush to the Moa, Burnt Bush to the resolute Settler!
In strenuous years ahead,
Wilt thou wield the axe of the Fire?
Wilt thou harness the horse of the Wind?
Shall not the Sun with his strong hands serve thee, and the tender hands of the Rain?
Daytime and Night spring in turn to thy battle,
Time and Decay run in yoke to thy plough,
And Earth, from the sleep of her sorrow
Waked at thy will, with an eager delight rise, re-quicken’d, and heartily help thee?
—Till the charr’d logs vanish away;
Till the wounds of the land are whole:
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