POETRY.
THE CHILDREN OF THE BLOOD.
Is this the North Wind sweeping down to snap the storm- bent pine, Or the South Wind whirling spindrift from Fuego to the Line No! East or West, fling out your best against the sea cliff sheer ; Far clearer than your storm-wind is the call that greets 'us here.
Where'er the Three Cross Banner waves you hear the summons roll, From mountain crest to river bed, from Tropic to the Pole. It floats out o'er the lonely veldt, across the prairie grass ; It strikes the busy merchant's ear where hurrying thousands pass ; Then crashing o'er the granite peak, it bids the hillman come ; The stockman gathers from the plain, the dalesman from his home.
Men hear it in the workshop as it echoes down the street, It stirs the ready hand to arm, the loyal heart to beat, It peals out o'er the desert waste, it thunders o'er the flood, The Free Land's call to Free Men, to the Children of the Blood.
Where'er that brave old Banner flaunts our Triple Cross on high,
Where'er the Lion's cribs are reared, rings out the stern reply,-
" We bear thy voice, Great Mother, and we answer to thy call, The offspring of thy mighty loins, spread o'er the seagirt ball.
We stand with thee in union,—Lord God, be Thou our guide, Wield Thou the Sword of Justice, but this link let none divide !
We bring our lives, a free gift, for the land all freemen love, For liberty and equal law, our charter from above."
And as, when dark clouds low'red of old, our Fathers grimly stood, So now, before the Nations, stand the Children of the Blood.
C. M.
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