Poems of Power | Page 5

amending,
There is wrong needs crushing out.?And we hear the groans and curses
Of the poor who starve and die,?While the men with swollen purses
In the place of hearts go by.
But in spite of all the trouble
That obscures the sun to-day,?Just remember it was double
In the ages passed away.?And those wrongs shall all be righted,
Good shall dominate the land,?For the darkness now is lighted
By the torch in Science's hand.
Forth from little motes in Chaos,
We have come to what we are;?And no evil force can stay us -
We shall mount from star to star,?We shall break each bond and fetter
That has bound us heretofore;?And the earth is surely better
Than it ever was before.
A MAN'S IDEAL
A lovely little keeper of the home,?Absorbed in menu books, yet erudite?When I need counsel; quick at repartee?And slow to anger. Modest as a flower,?Yet scintillant and radiant as a star.?Unmercenary in her mould of mind,?While opulent and dainty in her tastes.?A nature generous and free, albeit?The incarnation of economy.?She must be chaste as proud Diana was,?Yet warm as Venus. To all others cold?As some white glacier glittering in the sun;?To me as ardent as the sensuous rose?That yields its sweetness to the burrowing bee?All ignorant of evil in the world,?And innocent as any cloistered nun,?Yet wise as Phryne in the arts of love?When I come thirsting to her nectared lips.?Good as the best, and tempting as the worst,?A saint, a siren, and a paradox.
THE FIRE BRIGADE
Hark! high o'er the rattle and clamour and clatter
Of traffic-filled streets, do you hear that loud noise??And pushing and rushing to see what's the matter,
Like herds of wild cattle, go pell-mell the boys.
There's a fire in the city! the engines are coming!
The bold bells are clanging, "Make way in the street!"?The wheels of the hose-cart are spinning and humming
In time to the music of galloping feet.
Make way there! make way there! the horses are flying,
The sparks from their swift hoofs shoot higher and higher, The crowds are increasing--the gamins are crying:
"Hooray, boys!" "Hooray, boys!" "Come on to the fire!"
With clanging and banging and clatter and rattle
The long ladders follow the engine and hose.?The men are all ready to dash into battle;
But will they come out again? God only knows.
At windows and doorways crowd questioning faces;
There's something about it that quickens one's breath.?How proudly the brave fellows sit in their places -
And speed to the conflict that may be their death!
Still faster and faster and faster and faster
The grand horses thunder and leap on their way?The red foe is yonder, and may prove the master;
Turn out there, bold traffic--turn out there, I say!
For once the loud truckman knows oaths will not matter
And reins in his horses and yields to his fate.?The engines are coming! let pleasure-crowds scatter,
Let street car and truckman and mail waggon wait.
They speed like a comet--they pass in a minute;
The boys follow on like a tail to a kite;?The commonplace street has but traffic now in it -
The great fire engines have swept out of sight.
THE TIDES
Be careful what rubbish you toss in the tide.
On outgoing billows it drifts from your sight,?But back on the incoming waves it may ride
And land at your threshold again before night.?Be careful what rubbish you toss in the tide.
Be careful what follies you toss in life's sea.
On bright dancing billows they drift far away,?But back on the Nemesis tides they may be
Thrown down at your threshold an unwelcome day?Be careful what follies you toss in youth's sea.
WHEN THE REGIMENT CAME BACK
All the uniforms were blue, all the swords were bright and new,
When the regiment went marching down the street,?All the men were hale and strong as they proudly moved along,
Through the cheers that drowned the music of their feet. Oh the music of the feet keeping time to drums that beat,
Oh the splendour and the glitter of the sight,?As with swords and rifles new and in uniforms of blue
The regiment went marching to the fight!
When the regiment came back all the guns and swords were black
And the uniforms had faded out to gray,?And the faces of the men who marched through that street again
Seemed like faces of the dead who lose their way.?For the dead who lose their way cannot look more wan and gray.
Oh the sorrow and the pity of the sight,?Oh the weary lagging feet out of step with drums that beat,
As the regiment comes marching from the fight.
WOMAN TO MAN
Woman is man's enemy, rival, and competitor.--JOHN. J. INGALLS.
You do but jest, sir, and you jest not well,?How could the hand be enemy of the arm,?Or seed and sod be rivals! How could light?Feel jealousy of heat, plant of the leaf,?Or competition dwell 'twixt lip and smile??Are we not part and parcel of yourselves??Like strands in one great braid we entertwine?And make the perfect whole. You could not be,?Unless we gave you birth;