God dreamed a man;
Then, having firmly shut
Life like a precious metal in his fist
Withdrew, His labour done. Thus did begin
Our various divinity and sin.
For some to ploughshares did the metal twist,
And others--dreaming empires--straightway cut
Crowns for their aching foreheads. Others beat
Long nails and heavy hammers for the feet
Of their forgotten Lord. (Who dares to boast
That he is guiltless?) Others coined it: most
Did with it--simply nothing. (Here again
Who cries his innocence?) Yet doth remain
Metal unmarred, to each man more or less,
Whereof to fashion perfect loveliness.
For me, I do but bear within my hand
(For sake of Him our Lord, now long forsaken)
A simple bugle such as may awaken
With one high morning note a drowsing man:
That wheresoe'er within my motherland
That sound may come, 'twill echo far and wide
Like pipes of battle calling up a clan,
Trumpeting men through beauty to God's side.
_T. P. Cameron Wilson_
"Tony" P. Cameron Wilson was born in South Devon in 1889 and was
educated at Exeter and Oxford. He wrote one novel besides several
articles under the pseudonym _Tipuca_, a euphonic combination of the
first three initials of his name.
When the war broke out he was a teacher in a school at Hindhead,
Surrey; and, after many months of gruelling conflict, he was given a
captaincy. He was killed in action by a machine-gun bullet March 23,
1918, at the age of 29.