Page:Poems·from·the·Port·Hills-Blanche·Edith·Baughan-1923.pdf/15

 To the Unstain’d Life of us all: yet strong with the self-same Power That calls green grass out of ashes, beauty from refuse vapour, And cleanness out of corruption, is a soul that turns from its sin. O son, my son, have you sinn’d? are you down? are you wreck’d and ruin’d? Up, then! Higher than ever! Out of the broken boyhood, Through the horror and struggle and darkness and devastation, Into the masterful manhood of a spirit risen through falling! Wide, wide the way opens, for one who has learn’d that freedom— O, better the world by your wreck, boy! Because you’re a sinner, save!”

With that, she arose and left him. Thick, at last, on her lashes Hung the bitter hot tears, and she stumbled over the tussock; But, ere she reach’d the house and went upon daily duties, Back was the light in her eyes, back her soul in the Height.

....But he stay’d still on the rock; and the plain was drown’d and the mountains, In the amethyst afternoon-haze, as the long bright hours pass’d o’er him