Classic Poem

I saw a picture in the night,
As wonder bent, I stood
Upon a cliff whose peerless height
O'ertopped an endless wood.

I saw where pioneers had gone—
A black man standing near;
A woman who had aged grown
In one night of despair.
“I cannot touch my darling now,”

The stricken mother said,
“But place your hand upon her brow,
And tell me if she's dead!”
The savage stretched a timorous hand,
And bent the baby near;

Then sprang, as if from blazing brand,
And yelled aloud in fear.
I saw a picture in the night:
The smoke-veiled sun blazed high,
The plains were parched, the roads were white,

And water tracks were dry.
Sore-footed men from o'er the plain
Blear-eyed from dust and heat,
Bore through the bush a boy in pain,
In whose pulse fever beat.

All though a sultry summer's night
Had they the litter borne;
'Twas life or death, and no respite
Had those brave bushmen known.
I saw a strong man, anguish-torn,
Beside a lone hut bed,
Whereon a woman, travail worn,
A weak good-bye had said.
“No help! No hope! he, choking, cried,
As gently on the bed,

He laid her down, his last year's bride—
With unborn baby—dead.
He wiped the foam from off her lips,
The sweat from off her brow.
And, kissing her cold finger tips,
Bent him to bear the blow.

And when I thought that skilled relief
Should have been there to save,
I wept the more in poignant grief
For such untimely grave.

But as upon the mountain I
In secret sorrow yearned,
Methought I heard a pensive sigh,
And in quick wonder turned.

And there I saw a lady fair,
With queenly gracious mien,
And bearing sweetly debonair,
But sad withal I ween.

“Who art?” I cried, with bated breath.

“Who art that comes to me?
Lady of Grace! I, gasping, said;
“Thou art—thou must be she.”

“I came to thee,” she sadly said,
“For I would have thee go
With gentle women, pity led,
To heal a nation's woe.”

Up, sister, up! The fields are white,
Cast out all foolish fear!
Gird ye, for see, the east is bright,
A glad new day is near.