Malcolm Hemphrey
But rise to sink, and each black flake
Clings as a lambent stain upon
The young year's blossoms as they wake
And then is gone.
Yet wait! some day a greater gale
Of Hope and Faith shall drive all doubt
And sharp despair beyond the pale—
Shall drive without
The soul's infinite sorrow and
Vast shadows of a red, red year,
And undefiled, superbly grand,
Holy and dear
Again the asphodel shall grace
The world's lone, ravaged wilderness;
And Youth, in roaming through that place
Of quietness,
Shall rest beside the peaceful graves
Where wild bees hover in the grass,
Which every warm and soft breeze waves;
And ere he pass
Shall kneel and lift a hymn of praise
For those who fought, without a fear
Or doubting heart to tear, to raise
God's good New Year!
East Africa, January, 1917.
67
