69. Ode to the Overseas Peoples

69. Ode to the Overseas Peoples

                                                  By JH Sayyar

1

O souls afar, where alien moons arise,

And stranger suns upon your labors burn,

Think on the hills where your childhood skies

Were pure with spring, and rivers made return

From snows of God, in crystal murmuring streams

Think on the hearths that warm your earliest dreams.

2

Ye wanderers, in lands of gold and gain,

Where every street with glittering promise flows,

Forget not fields where wheat and sugarcane

Bend low in prayer when homely south-wind blows;

For there, in shade of mango, fig, and palm,

Wait hearts for whom; your love is living balm.

3

O spare, thy silver, spare thy hoarded gold!

Let not thy mother’s hand grow thin with need,

Nor children’s eyes grow hollow, sad, and old,

While thou dost feast on plenty’s ripened seed;

For wealth is sweeter when its course returns,

And, shared with kin, like hallowed incense burns.

4

So send, ye exiled hearts, your faithful share,

That tears may dry, that smiles again may rise;

Thus shall the homeland breathe a softer air?

And bless your name beneath its kindly skies

Till in that soil your dust shall softly sleep,

And love, not want, the watch o’er all shall keep.