Devotional.

We of the breed who, stricken low, doth rise
To fight again, tho’ fainting, sick with pain;
Do thank thee, Lord, that tho’ the body dies
The soul doth live to take the greater gain.
Forgive us, Lord, if we who should be meek
Are swollen in our pride for small things done.
Keep us in humbled ways; teach us to speak
In accents low for dread of what my come.
For mercies great and joys that all doth find,
For shining sun and beneficient rain,
For tossing seas beneath the laughing wind;
For these, Thy gifts, we thank Thee, Lord, again.
Yet as we bow our heads within Thy gate,
Make it not hard lest we should loose the cord.
Grant us to keep Thy Law inviolate
Till death. Have mercy on Thy People, Lord.

“Great things thro’ the greatest hazards are achieved, And then they shine.”
(Rly. Publicity photos.)
The New Napier.—Views of the town, the harbour and Marine Parade.

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“I was always a lover of soft-winged things.“—Victor Hugo.
(Photos, courtesy A. F. Blackett.)
The famous Gannet Rookery at Cape Kidnappers, Napier, New Zealand.

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