John Sandes Poems

Through the valleys, softly creeping
‘Mid the tree-tops, tempest-tossed,
see the cloud-forms seeking, peeping
...

Cometh a voice:—‘My children, hear;
From the crowded street and the close-packed mart
I call you back with my message clear,
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Ah, these old friends of ours! Sixty years back,
Bearded and booted, they followed the track,
Came like their Saxon forefathers of old,
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Lay my rifle here beside me, set my Bible on my breast,
   For a moment let the warning bugles cease;
As the century is closing I am going to my rest,
   Lord, lettest Thou Thy servant go in peace.
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Say not that they are dead who fell
By Anzac's storied Cove.
The better of them shall dwell
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From the Scheldt to the Niemen,
Hark, the music of the drums!
Not unthrilled the souls of freemen
When that instant message comes.
...