Poems of Power | Page 5

the day and
hour advances when in fright you'll flee before it.
Yes, I hear the people calling, through the night time and the day time,


Wretched toilers in life's autumn, weary young ones in life's May
time -
They are crying, they are calling for their share of work and
pleasure;
You are heaping high your coffers while you give them
scanty measure, -
You have stolen God's wide acres, just to glut your
swollen purses - Oh! restore them to His children ere their pleading
turns to curses.
THE WORLD GROWS BETTER
Oh! the earth is full of sinning
And of trouble and of woe,
But the devil makes an inning
Every time we say it's so.
And the way to set him scowling,
And to put him back a pace,
Is to stop this stupid growling,
And to look things in the face.
If you glance at history's pages,
In all lands and eras known,
You will find the buried ages
Far more wicked than our own.
As you scan each word and letter.
You will realise it more,
That the world to-day is better
Than it ever was before.
There is much that needs amending
In the present time, no doubt;
There is right that needs 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