CULLYBACKEY ON THE MAINE
How oft we tried to sing the sweet story,
Begin in the mists of primeval glory,
With thy old name – Cullybackey.
As well might we try to recall the refrain
Of the flood’s first song as it ran down the Maine
Along its well-wooded valley.
Yet nature repeats herself time after time,
As man returns home from the far distant clime
To rest in his favourite arbours.
Yes, rivers still struggle to run on to-day,
And charm the new towns with their old tuneful lay
In cool and sequestered corners.
Today we are linking the old and the new,
And each borrows strength for the work that is due
In the old beautiful hollow;
To-morrow may bring the guerdon of labour,
New joy in our homes with peace as a favour,
Ho! Who will not date to do so?
The call is clear, “straight is the line of duty,”
The Maine shows how curved is the line of beauty,
Nature averts an obstruction,
The conquest of evil is man’s glorious strife,
And training in service the best school of life
For social work – Reconstruction.
J. Townsley, Cullybackey 14th October 1918
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