1854 - Richardson, J. The First Christian Martyr of the New Zealand Church - CHAPTER II, p 15-22

We pause,
But time unintermitting onwards flows.
What hear we now? The demoniac yell
Of hostile tribes, exciting deeds of blood?
What see we? The madd'ning dance, fierce war's
Worse stimulus, inebriating draught?
Far other sounds break on the astonish'd ear,
Far other sight attracts the wand'ring eye.
A star has set far in the western world, 1
The magi's star here sheds its beams divine.
A holy man, by christian love constrain'd,
In christian armour clad, aloud proclaims
A Father's gushing tenderness towards
Poor, guilty, helpless man. A Saviour's love,
All love transcending, forms his lofty theme.
Enraptur'd with the thought, he speaks in tones
Attun'd in heaven of sympathy divine,
And of the Spirit's never-failing grace.
Millions have bow'd their haughty heads,
Deep in the dust, at such seraphic strains;
Fetters of more than adamantine cast
Have snapp'd, as steel, when gently touch'd by love.
The bigot's icy heart, which never felt
A human throb, nor ever utterance gave
To human sigh, affection's zero,
Hatred's deepest depths, has quickly thaw'd

Beneath the concentrated glance of love
From the coequal coeternal Three. --
'Tis not for man to preordain the time
Of man's redemption. The land to plough
Is his, the seed to sow and tend, and then
Expectant wait the increase from above.
Year after year rolls on. The man of blood
Disdains submission to the Prince of Peace.
A heav'n where love supremely reigns, where
War's alarms are never heard, within whose
Gates revenge no aliment can find,
Is but a heaven in name. --Ten autumns
Have unfruitfulpass'd, so man concludes.
The seed, 'tis true, no vegetative life
Evolves, but like the wheaten grain encas'd
In Egypt's mummy vaults, it only needs
The light, the moisture, and the genial warmth,
Kind Heav'n's gifts, to fructify and wave
Its golden harvests to the glowing sun.
Can we, uncertain tenants of a day,
Fathom the plans of an Eternal Mind?
Can we, whose feeble sense can scarcely grasp
The fleeting trifles of the passing hour,
Can we embrace Eternity's vast schemes?
Unravel all its dark complexities?
Originate the laws which matter guide?
And solve the metaphysics of the mind?
If these within our ken, then let us soar
And gaze on Deity, presumptuous gaze,

And, by the dazzling brightness of His beams,
Be headlong dash'd beyond the realms of light. --
------------------------------If to the heart
These tidings of great joy no kindred joy
Impart, they to the eager mind suggest
Ambitious thoughts of vast extended pow'r.
A chief, in war renown'd, in treachery
Without a peer, and, in the dark designs
Of ruthless cruelty, pre-eminently great,
With eagle eye discerns, at once adopts,
The proffer'd means to long deferr'd success.
E'Hongi is content to learn: to sit
At wisdom's feet, and her bright rays imbibe,
The luxury of war to disallow,
And follow in the gentle paths of peace.
With such a purpose, e'en though rolling waves
Tumultuous intervene, e'en though clouds
Of darkest hue portentous hang, the mind,
In firm resolve fast bound, defies them all,
And with fix'd gaze its deep laid schemes pursues.
Bidding adieu to all his heart holds dear,
Except ambition, to Britain's shores
He sails. Almost engulph'd by roaring gales
His thoughts unmov'd remain: his spirit chaf'd
By rude affront, and ribald jest, or stung
By threats of violence, which would at home
Have wak'd within his darkly brooding breast
A thousand echoes, no emotion shows.
The Thames displays in vain her countless fleets,

The city's matchless wonders pass in vain
Before his eyes; for him there is no charm
In glist'ning jewel nor in dazzling gold.
Coldly he views the wond'rous skill of art,
Impassive hears of science' lofty flights,
One thing alone arrests his thoughts, absorbs
His very soul; the implements of war.
With more than savage cunning he discerns
The peaceful tenor of the British mind,
And speaks of earnest hopes to reproduce,
In his own island home, a faint reprint
Of those ennobling scenes which here delight.
To aid in such a cause who can refuse?
Or who withhold when urg'd by such a plea?
With lavish hand the richest gifts are pour'd,
Not unaccompanied by voice of prayer.
His object gain'd, E'Hongi reembarks
And, bartering on Australasian ground,
Without remorse, without a passing pang,
The costly gifts which British zeal bestow'd,
He springs ashore, exulting in the thought
Of savage hosts in bloody strife supreme.
Annihilating time, he quick convenes
A general meeting of the neighbouring chiefs,
Recalls the past to mind; impassioned
Dwells on ills received, or fancied wrongs;
Each chief reminds of absent friends fast bound
In bonds, whose every link is studied wrong;
Hopeless, or worse, resign'd; or, if they hope,

'Tis in the thought of slow but sure revenge;
Recounts his dangers; tells, with quiv'ring voice
And agitated frame, of ceaseless griefs,
To gain their common end, in silence borne;
Exposes to their view war's deadly arms,
And frantically calls for blood: nor calls
In vain. One universal yell proclaims
Impatience of delay.
No need to trace their route, 'tis stamp'd by deeds
Of blood and desolation's dreary forms:
The smould'ring pah, the plunder'd field,
The bones of slaughter'd foes, each and all
Their tale of woe too plainly tell. --But why
That mournful wail? that sound of doubtful joy?
'Tis not the tone of triumph unalloyed.
Two chiefs of high renown have bit the dust.
E'Hongi's daughter mourns a husband slain:
His brother, too, has quench'd his soul in death;
And one of equal note, gorged to the full,
Like rav'nous bird of prey, with human flesh,
In agony expires. To pierce, a heart
Which nothing yet had pierc'd, from which each woe
Had fruitlessly recoil'd, the youthful widow,
Deaf to her infant's cry, and still more deaf
To reason's voice, by suicidal hands
A victim falls to custom's tyrant law. 2
Brooding o'er self-inflicted ills, E'Hongi
To bend disdains, and for revenge prepares.
A year is added to the past; but years

In ordinary minds could scarce condense
The venom which to his one year can yield;
Heading his sanguinary hosts he dyes
The tracks of blood with concentrated ire;
The lightning's path not more defin'd appears.
Avenging Heaven stays his mad career,
And aids, as ever aid it will, the hand
Uprais'd to rid, by honest means, the earth
Of those whose daily meal is human woe.
The fatal ball, by angel's hand impell'd,
Though visibly by man's, leaves but a wreck
Of hatred's fierce and dark embodiment.
The reed on which he lean'd has pierc'd his side.
With slow and measur'd tread he's homeward borne
Without parade, for freely flows his blood;
But niggard vengeance firmly holds her own.
He gloats on future raids, and only lives
To pour the vials of envenom'd wrath,
And slake the thirst of fierce malignity.
'Tis otherwise ordain'd. The fest'ring wound,
Ere many lustrums pass, decides his fate.
Death rends the veil which human passion wove;
Ambition flutt'ring grovels in the dust.
The filmy eye scarce sees the circling chiefs
Who breathlessly await his parting words:
He speaks not of revenge; but, to their care,
Commends the holy men who speak of peace. 3
What then the trophies gained in vengeful war?
The spoils obtain'd by deeds of darkest dye?

Naught but his fellow man, precarious prize.
How sweet to dwell remote from human strife
And scrutinize the ways of God with man;
To trace them to their end, and try each link
The chain of observation yields. All, all
Are wisdom's highest flights, in union close
With love divine, ineffable, supreme.
The wily savage trapp'd in his own snare.
The misdirected wealth of Britain's sons
Arrested, and by metamorphis strange
Turn'd into weapons of most deadly war;
And then, by alchymy divine, these arms
Produce and vivify the seeds of peace. --
----------------------Methinks I hear
The distant village chimes, exulting, ring
A friend's return from o'er the circling sea.
But what those cadences, of earth not born,
Which blend in such affecting harmony,
And to the mind ecstatic sounds convey?
They flow from angels' lips, spontaneous
Flow, while they, in melody sublime,
Announce to list'ning hosts the joyful fact,
All facts surpassing, that a soul is glean'd
From Satan's fields, a weak and wand'ring lamb
Restor'd and folded in the Saviour's arms.
If angels' hearts rejoice at such a sight,
And heaven rings with sweetest notes of praise,
How does hebear the sight, whose ceaseless pray'r
Has reach'd the throne of grace, and there receiv'd

Devotion's promis'd and most sure reward?
Does he with pride record his toil, his cares,
And speak of nights of watchfulness and pain?
Far other thoughts preoccupy his mind;
His head is bow'd, his voice the voice of praise,
While to the God of mercies he ascribes
This miracle of love. Hope sprung from faith,
And by experience prov'd, upholds
And cheers him in his lonesome track; --
A faith, the evidence of things unseen,
The substance realiz'd of things desir'd.
Though few the sheaves he gathers to his breast
In each succeeding year, still view'd by faith's
Illumin'd eye, prophetically view'd,
He sees the rip'ning fields, and, ardent, asks
Of Britain's sons to aid him in his work.
Nor asks in vain. They who never blanch'd
Before a foe, nor ever backward turn'd'
In ignominious flight before disease;
Nor quail'd before the fiercely blazing pile,
Nor recantation read in torture's
Troubled hour, no hesitation now evince;
Their hearts within them burn, as each to each
Recalls the past experience of the Church,
And views the seed, more plentifully sown,
In verdure mantling earth's dry russet face. --