THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 LA PORTE IN JUNE 
 
 BY 
 
 CLARA J. ARMSTRONG 
 
 CHICAGO 
 R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY
 
 -RS 
 
 TO THE PEOPLE OF LA POKTE, 
 AMONGST WHOM I HAVK LIVED CONTENTEDLY 
 
 ALL MY LIFE, 
 
 THIS LITTLK BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY 
 DEDICATED. 
 
 762902
 
 Many years have elapsed since the first poem 
 herein was written, and materially La Porte has 
 changed. She has extended her boundaries in every 
 direction, and has become more populous. The "one 
 long street" for trade has now several branches, 
 and room ha; been made at different points for various 
 thriving industries. But the spirit of peace still 
 nestles in the shade of her streets and long avenues, 
 and she still retains that quiet, restful atmosphere 
 which makes her distinctively a City of Sweet Homes.
 
 LA PORTE IN JUNE 
 
 A city lapped on a fruitful plain, 
 
 Bright clover meadows and fields of grain 
 
 Wave around it, and send their sweets 
 
 To the cottage doors in the quiet streets. 
 
 There are miles of heavenly blue on high, 
 
 And miles of the richest emerald dye, 
 
 Spread on the teeming earth below. 
 
 Far as the dazzled sight can go, 
 
 Save to the north, where the green line breaks 
 
 For the crystal flash of lovely lakes ; 
 
 A jewel chain on the prairie s breast, 
 
 That shines and trembles in bright unrest ; 
 
 7
 
 As the happy earth swings day and night 
 Out of the shadow into the light, 
 Sings, as it swings to a joyful tune, 
 Into the golden light of June. 
 
 June, in the beautiful bowerv town 
 Where the level streets stretch smoothly down 
 Through lines of maple and oak and pine, 
 Garnished by many a graceful vine. 
 There is one long street for traffic and trade 
 All the others for peace and shade ; 
 And nestlike homes, row after row, 
 With walls of garnet and brown and snow. 
 Veiled by the shadows of trees and bowers 
 Of evergreen shrubs and fragrant flowers ; 
 From lowly cottage to lofty hall 
 Leafage and bloom adorn them all. 
 Where in the wide West will you meet 
 Such sylvan charms in a city street 
 Such wealth of blossoms and grand old trees ; 
 Such mingled music of birds and breeze ? 
 Surely the human life must be 
 Better for such sweet company. 
 Behold the fountains sparkling fair, 
 Cooling the languid summer air 
 With gentle showers of dewy spray, 
 Rising and falling the livelong day ; 
 8
 
 Rising and falling in silvery drips 
 Soft as the kisses from baby lips. 
 The eglantine at the window-sill 
 Shakes to the caged canary s trill 
 
 And the children pause in their evening play 
 
 To hear the oriole s wilder lay 
 
 Float down from the top of a tall oak tree 
 
 Glad as a free bird s song can be. 
 
 Here is a cool and calm retreat 
 
 For the weary soul and the wandering feet ; 
 
 No sweet homes on earth more sweet.
 
 Come in the quiet afternoon 
 
 And set your spirit s har^ in tune 
 
 With Nature s joyous pulse that plays 
 
 In all her thousand mystic ways ; 
 
 And garner up while June is here 
 
 Souls full of summer for the year. 
 
 Take from the lily s golden heart 
 
 Unto thine own a spotless part. 
 
 Take from the rose her fragrant breath, 
 
 And cherish it for life and death. 
 
 Of health and joy, a generous share, r 
 
 Take from the bounteous, blessed air ; 
 
 Then freely give as the earth gives sheaves, 
 
 And prairie grasses, and forest leaves 
 
 When winter storms around you roll 
 
 Give forth the summer of the soul. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The lakes are still as lakes of glass, 
 The shadowy clouds above them pass ; 
 The earth and heaven almost seem 
 Like the figures in a mixed dream, 
 Reflected in the wave below; 
 Which is the real you hardly know 
 Upon the pictured glassy tide ? 
 Behold that fairy steamer ride, 
 Like a graceful bird upon the wing, 
 Or a little maiden in a swing ;
 
 She floats so light, she glides so free, 
 Over the fairy land-locked sea. 
 Her colors fly out far and gay, 
 She wears a festal fine array, 
 
 And bears her merry crew along 
 With many a laugh and many a song, 
 To seek some haven of repose 
 From all their little cares and woes. 
 
 And may they find it winter s gloom 
 Treads close upon the summer s bloom ;
 
 And care, when it abides too long, 
 Will sear the heart however strong. 
 Soon may they find it ere the day 
 Has fled forever, on its way 
 To stand afar on Time s dim shore 
 With ghosts of those lost long before ; 
 Which slipped away ere yet we knew 
 That days in June are all too few. 
 
 11
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE SPIRE 
 
 JULY, 1884 
 
 How long the cedar and the pine 
 In nature s patient hand must wait 
 Before they reach their full estate 
 
 As perfect columns in her shrine. 
 
 But man, with a magician s power, 
 
 Seizes what all the years have wrought, 
 And shapes it to his deepest thought 
 
 In the brief circle of his hour. 
 13
 
 From my high window in the west 
 I watched the building of the spire, 
 As dark against the sunset s fire 
 
 It towered above the grove s green erest. 
 
 I heard the ringing hammers play 
 
 In hands unfaltering, strong, and true, 
 While firmly up toward the blue 
 
 The builders mounted day by day. 
 
 When suddenly complete and fair 
 In the tall pinnacle s strong hold 
 The golden ball and cross of gold 
 
 Rose, shining in the summer air. 
 
 Will it not vanish like a dream, 
 
 Or pass with sunset s crimson cloud, 
 Or with the morning s misty shroud 
 
 Melt in Aurora s earliest beam ? 
 
 Ah, no ; firm as the oak it stands ; 
 
 The sun shall greet it many a year ; 
 
 And one by one will disappear 
 The builders with the busy hands. 
 
 Yet still above the grove s green crest 
 The "Kyrkan s" lofty spire will rise 
 To meet the gaze of other eyes 
 
 From my high window in the west.
 
 When the tired traveler from afar 
 
 Beholds the spire whose shadow falls 
 Beside his own dear cottage walls 
 
 Under the blessed evening star, 
 
 That slender signal in the sky, 
 Straight as the needle to the pole 
 Marks the bright magnets of his soul, 
 
 The home on earth the Home on high.
 
 THE OLD BOOK 
 
 My treasured book, my poet s soul, 
 
 Since first I marked vou for my own 
 The years have called a lengthy roll, 
 
 And worn and gray we both have grown. 
 Your tarnished gold, my failing eyes, 
 
 Bear witness to the hand of time. 
 I feel it with a sad surprise 
 
 We have outlived our youthful prime. 
 
 But what are surface siains to you, 
 
 Who speak from every faded page 
 The thought forever young and true, 
 
 The visions all untouched by age ? 
 Between these covers worn and old 
 
 A wondrous realm of beauty lies ; 
 Where Life and Love and Death unfold 
 
 To music from the upper skies. 
 
 Sir Galahad and sweet Elaine, 
 
 And the " fair women" of the " Dream, 
 King Arthur and his courtly train, 
 
 Bright spirits all to me they seem 
 16
 
 Here first I met them ; here first fell 
 The deep-toned "voices " on my ear, 
 
 And that grand dirge whose solemn knell 
 Thrilled round the world from Hallam s bier. 
 
 When dark and dreary was the day, 
 
 And sullen clouds did overbend 
 Beyond "the hills and far away," 
 
 I slipped with this dear poet friend. 
 I lingered oft in " Lotus Land," 
 
 And oft in Arden s lonely isle, 
 Or, when the Princess waved her hand, 
 
 Breathed her enchanted air awhile. 
 
 I heard the "horns of Elfland blow"; 
 
 I heard a sweet song s dying fall, 
 And saw beyond the sunset s glow 
 
 The " splendor on the castle wall." 
 In her still bower beside the stream 
 
 I found the " Lady of Shalott" 
 On earth and sky beheld " The Gleam," 
 
 And sordid cares were all forgot. 
 
 Oh, Poet of the magic power, 
 
 Who sat upon the mountain height 
 
 Chanting your dreams from hour to hour, 
 While the world listened with delight 
 17
 
 You sway our souls unto your law 
 Of melody and beauty wrought, 
 
 And up to clearer levels draw 
 
 The turbid stream of common thought ! 
 
 18
 
 THE JUBILEE YEAR 1876 
 
 The storm-clouds are brooding aloft in the 
 
 air, 
 And the clarion blast whistles loud at the 
 
 door, 
 While the shadow of fear and the phantom of 
 
 care 
 
 Enter in where they never had entered 
 before. 
 
 Oh, Jubilee Year ! the first notes of thy song 
 Are minor-keyed melodies, sad to the 
 
 soul, 
 For the strong men have given their strength 
 
 to the wrong, 
 
 And dishonored their names on the National 
 Scroll. 
 
 The working-man sits with his idle arms 
 
 crossed 
 
 By the want-stricken hearth, with a sigh in 
 his breast, 
 
 19
 
 For the Spring is at hand, but the Winter was 
 
 lost ; 
 He had rest, but no comfort nor joy in his 
 
 rest. 
 
 Oh, Jubilee Year ! ere thy blossoms have come 
 And March winds are tempered by perfumes 
 
 of May. 
 Hear the laborer s prayer ; let the busy earth 
 
 hum 
 
 To the grand hymn of Industry, day after 
 day ! 
 
 The Century roundeth to fullness ; the flower, 
 Whose beauty the whole world is longing 
 
 to see, 
 Should look on a people, the wealth of whose 
 
 power 
 
 Is in freedom to learn what it means to be 
 free. 
 
 Free to live, free to love, and work as men 
 
 should, 
 
 As true brothers and friends in the work 
 shop of God. 
 To work wisely for self, and the great common 
 
 good, 
 
 For the eyes of the nations who watch from 
 abroad.
 
 Oh, Jubilee Year ! the first notes of thy song 
 Are minor-keyed melodies sad to the soul. 
 Oh, grant us the last chords triumphant and 
 
 strong ! 
 
 Give us honest men s names on the National 
 Scroll.
 
 CARVED ON A STONE 
 
 There was a light, which shone from tender 
 
 eyes, 
 
 A melody that rang from tuneful lips ; 
 They vanished like a star that trembling 
 
 slips 
 Out of the autumn skies. 
 
 And gently here, beneath this marble stone, 
 Life s broken harp was gathered to the rest 
 Which nature giveth to the empty breast ; 
 
 The chrysalis outgrown. 
 
 We thought she seemed like a fair rose in June, 
 She wore such royal colors in her face ; 
 A lovely flower who made a fragrant place, 
 
 And dropped her leaves too soon. 
 
 But in the garden where she used to grow 
 There lingers yet, and will forevermore, 
 A something sweet which was not there 
 before, 
 
 Though roses always blow.
 
 And evermore the echo of a song 
 
 "Remember me" sighs near the garden 
 
 walls, 
 As with a strain of music swells and falls 
 
 A young voice clear and strong. 
 
 She liveth still, not to the grosser sense ; 
 
 We dwell so far below the spirit spheres ; 
 
 But love will keep through all the changing 
 
 years 
 Love s finer elements. 
 
 And sometimes in a pause of life s unrest 
 Some holy hush of twilight and repose, 
 The shadows wav ring break and then 
 disclose 
 
 A bright face heaven-blest. 
 
 No word is spoken soul to soul is known 
 And soul to soul diviner meanings teach 
 Than ever clothed themselves in mortal 
 speech 
 
 To be carved on a stone.
 
 THE FASHIONS FOR MAY 
 
 Madame Nature is making the yearly display 
 Of her latest designs in her old winning 
 
 way. 
 Her soft emerald veil floating out on the 
 
 breeze 
 Has been caught on the heads of the skeleton 
 
 trees 
 All her colors are blended with consummate 
 
 skill, 
 And her draperies trail o er the plain and the 
 
 hill 
 
 With the generous sweep of a prodigal queen ; 
 Grass-fringed and leaf-broidered in velvety 
 
 green. 
 
 What sweet flowers she wears ? What a mu 
 sical throng 
 Make the gay bowers ring with its burden of 
 
 song ! 
 And I thought as I listened I heard a bird 
 
 say, 
 " O to bloom and be fair is the fashion for 
 
 May !"
 
 The dear Madame changes her modes with 
 
 good reason ; 
 Her styles always suit with the times and the 
 
 season ; 
 
 There is never a blossom or a bud out of place, 
 And her patterns are marvels of beauty and 
 
 grace. 
 There are creeping pulsations in leaflet and 
 
 root, 
 And the plan of the flower foreshadows the 
 
 fruit. 
 There is work to be done ; there is growth to 
 
 attain 
 From the slender young blade to the harvest 
 
 of grain ! 
 
 The woods must be trimmed and the roses 
 
 unfolded, 
 The treasures of Autumn be painted and 
 
 molded ! 
 And no sound of the hammer or saw shall be 
 
 heard, 
 For the planet rolls on to the song of the 
 
 bird, 
 And silently draws from the depths of her 
 
 bosom 
 
 The iron-limbed oak and the delicate blossom ; 
 2 5
 
 And no man has learned how she works on 
 
 the vine, 
 To bring out through its fibers her fountain of 
 
 wine. 
 
 She giveth her nurslings their uses and graces, 
 And calleth from clouds and the far-distant 
 
 spaces 
 
 The raindrops and secret electrical power 
 Which throbs in the heart of the rock and the 
 
 flower ; 
 
 And to life s full fruition she leadeth the way 
 When adorning herself in the fashions for May. 
 
 Come, O daughters of Eve, let us read and be 
 
 wise 
 In the great Book whose pages unfold to the 
 
 skies ! 
 
 For the fashions of May are the letters of light, 
 In which the Great Author of all loves to write ; 
 And " Life s manifestations," the text seems 
 
 to say, 
 
 Are all good though in homely or lovely array; 
 But your souls seek for beauty, as bright waters 
 
 run 
 
 To the sea ; as a flower lifts its face to the sun ; 
 You would float on the tide with a favoring 
 
 breeze, 
 
 26
 
 Or, like butterflies, bask in the sun at your ease ; 
 
 Forgetting how ceaseless and strong the en 
 deavor 
 
 Which Nature puts forth in the flower and 
 river, 
 
 And always and ever the magical charm 
 
 Which the frosts cannot blight, nor the heat 
 ever harm ; 
 
 Lies in spiritual growth, and the fashion of 
 Truth, 
 
 Which outlive the gay fashions of beauty and 
 youth : 
 
 Put your hands to some labor of love, and 
 forget 
 
 That your brow has been sad and your eye 
 lashes wet ; 
 
 For the idle white ringers, so fair to the view, 
 
 Would be better for having some good work 
 to do, 
 
 Still move on and move upward, grow grace 
 fully old, 
 
 And grow wiser and sweeter as years are 
 unrolled ; 
 
 And though time swiftly glides, and your youth 
 fades away, 
 
 You will wear in the spirit the fashion for May.
 
 THE ROSE LOVER 
 
 Place no marble o er his head, 
 But a red rose-tree instead ! 
 Let white roses pale and sweet 
 Drop their blossoms round his feet ! 
 Oft he went with willing hand, 
 Planting flowers about the land ; 
 Sowing in the desert spot 
 Heart sease and forget-me-not ; 
 Leaving in his fragrant trail 
 Fairy lilies of the vale ; 
 But he ever loved the rose 
 More than any flower that grows. 
 Though the years were full of care, 
 Patiently he bore his share ; 
 While the rose sprang from the soil 
 He had courage for his toil. 
 Now the pilgrimage is done, 
 And the blessed goal is won, 
 Let the cover of his bed 
 With his favorite flower be spread. 
 
 28
 
 SHADOW 
 
 The heart of the earth beats low to-night 
 Under her vestments of icy white ; 
 There is no music of pulse or breath, 
 The trance of winter is deep as death. 
 There is no music, but winds make moan, 
 And wander the dreary plains alone 
 Sighing like mourners, who sigh and weep 
 By the grave-beds, where their lost loves sleep. 
 The stars have hidden their golden eyes, 
 In the cloudy veil that shrouds the skies, 
 And trails on the frozen waste below, 
 Its sable shadow across the snow. 
 Earth seems like a rudderless bark at sea, 
 To drift in the deep immensity, 
 To sink and to swoon from life and light, 
 Into the regions of Death and Night.
 
 LIGHT 
 
 The planet keeps to her airy track, 
 In the star-gemmed ring of the Zodiac ; 
 Through blackest midnight, and gulfs of gloom 
 Where wild winds shriek like the voice of 
 
 doom 
 
 She rolls securely, and firm and fast, 
 Wheels into the sunward path at last. 
 Her life is constant the Southlands glow 
 With verdure, beyond the lines of snow. 
 Though pale and cold to our Northern view, 
 She weareth a girdle of rainbow hue 
 Which under the deathless sun lies curled, 
 And broadens yearly around the world. 
 Ten thousand winters have failed to blight 
 Or quench the warmth of its living light ; 
 And never yet have the summers failed, 
 At the farthest point where ships have sailed, 
 To thrill, though with ever so light a hand, 
 The frozen life of the frozen land ; 
 To drop some blossom, however small, 
 By the Arctic sea and Alpine wall. 
 3
 
 THE IRON WORKERS 
 
 Send a piercing iron note 
 
 From the engine s brazen throat ! 
 
 Loose the belt and stop the wheel ; 
 
 Drop the tools of brass and steel ; 
 
 Shut the workshop, turn the key 
 
 Leave the still machinery. 
 
 Let its giant shadows fall, 
 
 Weird and silent on the wall, 
 
 Black against the moonbeams white ; 
 
 Till another workday s light. 
 
 Now for quiet, now for rest, 
 These of all things seem the best. 
 As a miser grasps his gold, 
 Do the iron forces hold 
 Firm resistance to our might, 
 In the long and stubborn fight ; 
 Every muscle strained and tense 
 Must make vigilant defense ; 
 
 Till our senses swim and reel, 
 Like the swift revolving wheel ; 
 31
 
 Till our pulses throb and beat 
 
 Like the engine s in the heat ; 
 
 And to our own souls we seem 
 
 Men of iron, fire and steam. 
 
 So are earth s crude riches wrought ; 
 
 Into forms of human thought ; 
 
 Trade improves and commerce thrives, 
 
 While we battle for our lives. 
 
 Now for quiet, now for rest, 
 These of all things seem the best, 
 For tired limbs and wearv brain, 
 Sleep will charm away the pain. 
 We may have a restful dream, 
 Of wild wood and gliding stream 
 From some breezy mountain side, 
 Drink of heaven s inflowing tide , 
 From afar may catch the gleam 
 Of joys known only in a dream ; 
 For our higher natures crave, 
 From the cradle to the grave, 
 Something more twixt Life and Death, 
 Than the daily Bread and Breath. 
 
 Let earth a charmed silence keep 
 While we restful dream and sleep 
 Sleep and dream of that blest age. 
 Long foretold by seer and sage, 
 32
 
 When the working-man shall be 
 Heir of a nobler destiny, 
 Than for aye to delve and toil 
 In the grimy smoke and soil 
 With the burdens of the day 
 For the hireling s scanty pay, 
 With a starving, untaught soul 
 Chafing at the stern control 
 Of necessities that bind 
 Hand and foot and struggling mind, 
 Making all the rough ways straight, 
 That the world may ride in state, 
 While he walks with aching feet 
 Humbly to the grave s retreat. 
 
 That bright age shall find him still 
 Ready at the forge and mill, 
 With appliances of art 
 Which shall do the giant s part ; 
 And with Science at his side, 
 He will still direct and guide 
 All the elements of power 
 To the uses of the hour. 
 Still beneath the smiling skies 
 Mighty cities shall arise 
 Banished deserts shall disclose 
 Gardens blooming like the rose 
 33
 
 Still his deeds of noble worth 
 Shall bless and beautify the earth. 
 But for him more leisure hours, 
 Less of iron, more of flowers ; 
 His life s music then shall be 
 Played upon a softer key. 
 
 He will sit at Wisdom s feet, 
 Learn to keep her counsel sweet. 
 He will find through visions high 
 Better ways to live and die 
 Deepest problems solve anew 
 When the prophecies come true. 
 
 34
 
 THE WHEELMAN 
 
 When the summer day is dewy and sweet 
 When the summer sun is but two hours 
 high, 
 
 I can see from my cushioned window-seat 
 A tall young man on his wheel go by. 
 
 As swift as a swallow he flashes past ; 
 
 And onward, onward, forever on, 
 Must his watchword be, as he flies so fast 
 
 Toward the rim of the distant horizon. 
 
 When the smoky breath of the restless town 
 Mingles aloft with the breath of heaven, 
 
 He spins each morn o er the long green down, 
 And back with the birds to their nests at 
 even. 
 
 He rides and he glides, and he treads the air, 
 As if " Boundless Spaces " were all his 
 
 own, 
 
 And he sits, well poised in his saddle there, 
 As a king might sit on his gilded throne. 
 35
 
 Oh, the joy of motion so fine and free, 
 Of the swift pursuit of some prize afar, 
 
 Of sailing the buoyant, measureless sea 
 Of air, by the touch of the handle-bar ! 
 
 Oh, the winged words of old Homer s song, 
 And the winged chargers that trod the sky ! 
 
 How the ancient tales to my mem ry throng 
 When the tall, young man on his wheel 
 goes by !
 
 HER SMILE 
 
 My Dorothy Dimple, as old Time flies 
 
 He may dim the light of your brown, bright 
 
 eyes, 
 
 He may fade the tints of your silken hair, 
 And wrinkle the cheek with the dimples fair, 
 And all that this robber of youth might do 
 I would not dare even to whisper you ! 
 
 But Dorothy Dimple, never you mind, 
 He may bring you gifts of another kind, 
 For he is not truly a thief, you know, 
 But giving and taking, he makes one grow. 
 
 37
 
 If you treat him kindly, and use him well, 
 You will fall but softly under his spell ; 
 And light will his touch be upon your brow, 
 If you smile in his face as you re smiling now.
 
 TRUE FREEDOM 
 
 If the laboring man would be 
 
 Independent, strong, and free, 
 
 First, with all the foes within, 
 
 He the warfare must begin. 
 
 With envious low desires, 
 
 And with passion s baleful fires 
 
 With the " weed " that numbs the brain, 
 
 And the " cup " that leaves a stain 
 
 On the lip, and on the life, 
 
 Let him wage a noble strife ! 
 
 Victory will make him bold, 
 
 And his enemies of old 
 
 Those who have oppressed him long 
 
 Ignorance and Want and Wrong- - 
 
 In his strengthened arm shall feel 
 
 Something keener far than steel ! 
 
 39
 
 THE MILLINER GIRL 
 
 You are sitting and stitching to-day 
 
 Midst a flutter of ribbons and lace, 
 Giving all the new bonnets for May 
 
 Your own touch of the milliner s grace. 
 From the window you see the blue sky, 
 
 And the clouds floating there in the sun, 
 And your bosom is stirred with a sigh, 
 
 And a wish that the trimming was done. 
 But roses and ribbons are all in a whirl, 
 
 And the ladies are waiting, my milliner girl. 
 
 O the maidens with black eyes and blue, 
 
 And the matrons with dark locks and fair ; 
 They are watching and waiting for you, 
 
 And the hats they are longing to wear ; 
 And tis little they heed how you sigh, 
 
 Or how weary your fingers may be, 
 Each will say in her turn : " O do try 
 
 To make something becoming to me." 
 For coil and for braid and for soft flowing curl 
 
 Form a suitable setting, my milliner girl. 
 4 o
 
 For these trifles that seem light as air 
 
 Still are symbols of joy or of woe, 
 As they rest on the damsel s bright hair, 
 
 Or the grandmother s light crown of snow; 
 For who would be garnished and gay 
 
 When her heart and her fortunes are sad, 
 Or who, when the clouds pass away, 
 
 Does not show by her hat she is glad. 
 Then a wreath for the bride, a plume and a 
 pearl ; 
 
 But crape for the mourner, my milliner girl. 
 
 And, dear milliner girl, as you sew, 
 
 Take your stitches with womanly art, 
 And, while shaping the loop and the bow, 
 
 May this thought bring a balm to your heart : 
 That the world needs you there in your place ; 
 
 Needs the work which you only can do 
 That the lilies have not so much grace 
 
 As a maiden whose service is true- 
 In office or kitchen or there in the whirl 
 
 Of your ribbons and roses, dear milliner girl. 
 
 41.
 
 THE DEMAND FOR TRUTH 
 
 Thus were we taught that in Eden s bower 
 The serpent poisoned the fairest flower, 
 And planted the seed of a deathless sin 
 Which stealthily grew all hearts within ; 
 And the ill he wrought had power to sever 
 Man from the face of his God forever. 
 The nations mourned the great disaster, 
 And strove to appease the avenging master ; 
 But the wrath of God o er his thwarted plan, 
 Still darkly followed his creature man, 
 In the raging seas, in the lightning s stroke 
 Which over the mountain in fury broke ; 
 In the earthquake s shock, in the fiery rain 
 That the red volcano threw over the plain ; 
 In the pestilent breath of a marshy fen, 
 And the jarring wars of the souls of men, 
 In every thorn on the earth s green sod 
 Was read a sign of the wrath of God. 
 
 Hut mixed withtheillswhichtheserpentbrought 
 There were grains of wisdom and gems of 
 thought ; 
 
 42
 
 And the ages, bitter and slow and sweet, 
 Have ripened the harvest about our feet. 
 We face the future, and yet look back 
 Over the Old World s devious track ; 
 And searching the heart of the mighty past, 
 May ponder its lessons sad and vast. 
 We read by a glorious Light, whose ray 
 Has melted the wrath of the Lord away 
 That shines on the Laws of the Universe, 
 All working in order, without the curse ; 
 And the struggling races of men, who climbed 
 As the plants climb sunward, and yet more 
 
 blind 
 
 Than the vine who knoweth its vital needs 
 In their ignorant fear of kings and creeds, 
 But climbing and falling with laboring moan, 
 As slow as the continents, man has grown 
 Through woes unnumbered, through blood and 
 
 tears, 
 From his childish faith and his slavish fears. 
 
 But climbing and falling and rising still 
 To a clearer brain, and a firmer will, 
 To a higher plane to a keener sight, 
 To a larger heart and a soul of might, 
 That has flung the shackles of fear away, 
 And is boldly asking for truth to-day. 
 43
 
 For truth alone, though the heavens fall, 
 For man and for woman the truth for all. 
 Though his cherished faith be swept away 
 Like the withered leaves of yesterday 
 And though hope s fair structures be over 
 thrown, 
 
 He asks for truth, and the truth alone. 
 Then proffer not stones for bread, O ye 
 Who sit on the thrones of authority ! 
 Nor jingle a counterfeit coin in view 
 Of a questioning world and call it true ! 
 Lest the keen-eyed scorners of your deceit 
 Should rise and hurl you beneath their feet. 
 
 44
 
 PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY 
 AND SONS COMPANY AT THE 
 LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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