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ON THE DEPARTURE OF BISHOP SEL
WYN FOR NEW ZEALAND,
N England's shores the Tomatin unfurled
Her sails to waft her o'er one half the world : And with a troop of friends upon the strand, Of whom some wept, appeared a parting band Called hence for earth's remotest isles to steer, And shape in utmost Zealand their career. And raised above the multitude was one Towards whom all turned as towards a central sun; A youthful head erect in mitred state ; And with a dignity inviolate, Mixed with a look of sweet accord, he drew Such reverence as to age alone seemed due. For holiest thoughts were legible in his face, With quiet ornament of genuine grace. Even in that hour he wore a cheerful guise ; And on his lofty brow, and in his eyes, Lightened a soul of resolute emprise ; And whilst affectionate farewells he spoke,
“ He bore his great commission in his look."
Devoted spirit! we cannot choose but take
What hope was thine when dashed the rainbow
spray, A cheering emblem through the tedious day,
* Drydex, Character of a Good Parson, from Chaucer.
Over thy vessel's prow, and far away
And whilst the militant Church in open sight Of men arrays, her panoply for fight, Once and again with ringing warrior tones And with a mighty stirring of dry bones, And voices louder waxing, trumpet-pealed With no uncertain sound on God's own battle-field, Remarshalling the broken, scattered, lost, Confederation of her ancient host, Intent offending Christians to rebukeTowards Zealand she inclines with sweet inviting look.
And in thy sacred function a serene
Thus quickening with vitality intense, The germ of national pre-eminence, Watered by true religion, shall take root, And bear for unborn ages richest fruit. Then shall a fair ingenuous race explore The darkling mines of intellectual lore; And eager-hearted industry give birth To the respondent claims of social worth. The prairie and the fern-grown waste shall teem With culture, there the golden harvest gleam; And commerce from untold resources spring ; And vessels shoreward crowd “ on wheel or wing." And kindling to the genius of the clime, Shall polished arts succeed, and high-built rhyme From native imagery shall take its tone, And hallow mighty deeds of warriors done
In chivalrous feats of arms, not barbarous war ;
And measured by thine aim, that seeks the skies, Thereafter shall a temple-dome arise, Of vast proportions just, yet intricate, Of symmetry befitting Christian state; Elaborate with gold, with marble bright, From tessellated floor to fretted height; Where the discriminating eye shall trace Fresh combinations, and new forms of grace, Caught from the o'er-arching woodland colonnades, And pendent scenery of those savage glades, From Nature's own soft architecture won To live by native art transferred to stone. And in that temple shall glad crowds attend, And to the light revealed in reverence bend ; Whilst to reverberating vocal choirs, And breath of organ-pipes, the anthem lends its fires.
And though to see thy Zealand in her prime