The Poetry Corner

Unredeemed

By Edward Dyson

I saw the Christ down from His cross, A tragic man lean-limbed and tall, But weighed with suffering and loss. His back was to a broken wall, And out upon the tameless world Was fixed His gaze His piercing eye Beheld the towns to ruin hurled, And saw the storm of death pass by. Two thousand years it was since first He offered to the race of men His sovran boon, As one accurst They nailed Him to the jibbet then, And while they mocked Him for their mirth He smiled, and from the hill of pain To all the hating tribes of earth Held forth His wondrous gift again. To-day the thorns were on His brow, His grief was deeper than before. From ravaged field and city now Arose the screams and reek of war. The black smoke parted. Through the rift God's sun fell on the b1oody lands. Christ wept, for still His priceless gift He held within His wounded hands. The Living Picture He rode along one splendid noon, When all the hills were lit with Spring, And through the bushland throbbed a croon Of every living, hopeful thing. Between his teeth a rose he bore As white as milk, and passing there He tossed it with a laugh. I wore It as it fell among my hair. No day a-drip with golden rain, No heat with drench of wattle scent Can touch the heart of me again But with that young, sweet wonder blent. We wed upon a gusty day, When baffled fury whipped the sea; And now I love the swift, wet play Of wind and rain besetting me. I took white roses in my hand, A white rose on my forehead shone, For we had come to understand White roses bloomed for us alone. When scarce a year had gone he sped To fight the wars. With eyes grown grim He kissed my lips, and whispering said: The world we must keep sweet for him! He wrote of war, the soldier's life. 'Tis hard, my dearest, but be brave. I did not make my love my wife To be the mother of a slave! My babe was born a boy. He had His father's eyes, his smile, his hair, And, oh, my soul was brimming glad It seemed his father's self was there! But now came one who bade me still In holy Heaven put my trust. They'd laid my love beneath the hill, And sealed his eyes with timeless dust. Against my breast the babe I drew, With strength from him to stay my fears. I fought my fight the long days through; He laughed and dabbled in my tears. From my poor heart, at which it fed With tiger teeth, I thrust despair, And faced a world with shadow spread And only echoes in the air. The winter waned. One eve I went, Led by a kindly hand to see In moving scenes the churches rent, The tumbled hill, the blasted lee. Of soldiers resting by the road, Who smoked and drowsed, a muddy rout, One sprang alert, and forward strode, With eager eyes to seek us out. His fingers held a rose. He threw The flower, and waved his cap. In me A frenzy of assurance grew, For, O dear God, 'twas he! 'twas he! I called aloud. Aloft my child I held, and nearer yet he came; And when he understood and smiled, My baby lisped his father's name. They say I fell like something dead, But when I woke to morning's glow My boy sat by me on the bed, And in his hand a rose of snow!