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Edward Dyson - Unredeemed
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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.
Xxxx
 
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!
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