AS children playing in the sand
Are loth to leave the mounds they make,
Yet onward o’er the level strand
The billows with white foaming break,
Till with a swirl they lick the pile,
Then back retreat and seem to smile,
So that the infants homeward go
In sympathetic ears their woe
To pour; thus were we loth to leave
The land wherein our sires were bred,
To cross the seas our lives to weave,
And groaning wished that we were dead,
Hating the need that made us grieve,
To train for daily bread.
Now lovely grew the ugly things,
And urchins all had angel wings,
And smoke and gloom was misty light,
For we were travelling into night;
Ah, we were sad, and we did paint
The very things we oft were led
To scoff at and to make complaint
Of, all in colours rich and red.
And though we yearned to cling the soil
On-rolling Time dictated toil.
Till came The time, the fateful hour
When there were only minutes left
Before we quit our native shore
And our fond parents were bereft.
The dawn came up to dim our light,
For we sailed into boding night.
But lo, night passed, light once more came,
And out upon a stranger earth
The sun came forth, he was the same;
Now in our hearts new hope had birth.
Old Father Time kept marching on
Until the months and weeks had gone;
The night of misery did seem
Like a departed fearsome dream.
Fled all our fears, dissolved in Time,
And finished, as is now my Rime.
19. 11. 1927