LETTERS TO THE EDITOR.

A SOLDIER'S POEM.

!To eel EDITOR OF SRI " SPECTATOR...) Sta,—I have received the enclosed cutting from a friend in New Zealand. "I out these lines," she says, "out of a Napier paper. They are com- pletely ColeniaL, The English would shock — [naming a well-known English writer]. I like them, expect you won't." Personally,

I find them so interesting that I send them to you hoping you may think them worth reprinting.—I am, Sir, &o.,

Chelsea Arta Club, Church Street, S.W. Wu. CasareroN Goan.

"FOUND ON THE DEAD BODY OE A SOLDIER.

What, one wonders, were the circumstances and the spiritual ex- periences under which these lines wore written ? Had he come through great. tribulations ? On what spot on Gallipoli was it written, and did the writer foresee his own swift end ? The lines appear in the Australtseian Intercollegian :—

Jewel, whose lot with DE was cast, Who saw it out from first to last; Patient and fearless, tender, true,

Carpenter, vagabond, felon, Jew—

Whose humorous eyes took in each phase Of full rich life this world displays ; Yet evermore kept full in view The far-off goal it leads us to ; Who, as your hour neared, did not fail—.

The World's fate trembling in the scale—

With your half-hearted band to dine, And speak across the broad and wine;

Then went out firm to face the end,

Alone, without a single friend ;

Who felt as your last words confessed—

Wrung from a proud unflinching breast By hours of dull, ignoble pain, 'Your whole life's fight was fought in vain; Would I could win and keep and feel That heart of love, that spirit of steel.

I would not to Thy bosom fly To shirk off till the storms go by ; If you are like the man you were You'd turn in scorn from such a prayer, Unless from some poor workhouse crone, Too toilworn to do aught but moan. Flog me and spur me, set me straight At some vile job I fear and hate ; Some sickening round of long endeavour, No light, no rest, no outlet ever ; All at a pace that must not slack, Tho' heart would burst and sinews crack; Fog in one's eyes, the brain aswim, A weight like lead in every limb

And a raw Ei that hurts like hell

Where the • ht breath once rose and fell.

Do you but keep me, hope or none, Cheery and staunch till all is done, And at the last gasp quick to lend One effort more to serve a friend.

And when, for so I sometimes dream,

I've swum the dark—the silent stream— So cold it takes the breath away— That parts the dead world from the day,

And see upon the further strand The lazy, listless angels stand ; And, with their frank and fearless eyes, The comrades whom I most did prize ; Then clear, unburdened, careless, cool, I'll saunter down from the grim pool And join my friends. Then you'll come by The Captain of our company, Call me out, look me up and down, And pass me thro' without a frown, With half a smile, but never a word; And so—I shall have met my Lord."