The California Birthday Book | Page 4

head
Uprearing from the
sand.
Through dull, gray dawn and blazing noon,
Like furnace fire the
quivering air,
Till darkness fell, and the young moon
Smiled forth
serene and fair.
A single star adown the sky
Shone like a jewel, clear and bright;

We heard the far coyote's cry
Pierce through the silent night.
Then morning--bathed in purple sheen;
Beyond--the grand, eternal
hills;
With sunny, emerald vales between,
Crossed by a thousand
rills.
Sweet groves, green pastures; buzz of bee
And scent of flower; a dash
of foam
On rugged cliffs; the blessed sea,
And then--the lights of
home!
MARY E. MANNIX.
JANUARY 18.
Around the Southern Californian home of the loving twain the roses are
in perpetual bloom. The vines are laden with clustered grapes, the
peach and the apricot trees bend under their loads of luscious fruit, the
milch cows yield their creamy milk, the honey-bees laying in their
stores of sweet spoil, the balmy air breathes fragrance, the drowsy hum
of life is the music of peace.
EDMUND MITCHELL,
in Only a Nigger.
JANUARY 19.

CALIFORNIA SONG.
DEDICATED TO GEORGE WHARTON JAMES.
Proud are we to own us thine,
Land of Song and Land of Story,
All
thy glory
Round our heart-hopes we entwine,
In our souls thy fame
enshrine,
California!
Dear to us thy mystic name,
Leal-land; Love-land; Land of Might,

We would write
On the walls of Years thy fame,
With thy love a
world inflame,
California!
Dear to us thy maiden grace,
Dear thy queenly Motherhood,
Fain
we would
Keep the sun-smiles on thy face,
Worthy live of thy
strong Race,
California!
Land of Beauty! Blossom-land!
Land of Heroes, Saints and Sages,

Let the Ages
Witness all thou canst command
From each loyal
heart and hand,
California!
S.A.S.H.
JANUARY 20.
I always appreciate things as I go along, for no knowing whether you'll
ever go the same way twice in this world.
ALBERTA LAWRENCE,
in The Travels of Phoebe Ann.
JANUARY 21.
MOUNT TAMALPAIS.
Home of the elements--where battling bands
Of clouds and winds the
rocks defy--
Mute yet great, old Tamalpais stands
Outlined against
the rosy sky.
His darkened form uprising there commands
The

country round, and every eye
From lesser hills he strangely seems to
draw
With lifted glance that speaks of wonder and of awe.
It is the
awe that makes us reverence show
To men of might who proudly
tower
Above their fellow-men; the glance that we bestow
On one
whose native force and power
Have lifted him above the race below--

The pigmy mortals of an hour--
We almost bend the knee and bow
the head
To the mighty force that marks his kingly tread.
MRS. PHILIP VERRILL MICHELS,
in Readings from the
California Poets.
JANUARY 22.
Broadly speaking, California is the only elective State. Its people are
not here because their mothers happened to be here at the time; not as
refugees; not as ne'er-do-wells, drifting to do no better; not even, in
bulk, as joining the scrimmage for more money. They have come by
deliberate choice, and a larger proportion of them, and more
single-heartedly, for home's sake than in any other as large migration
on record.
CHARLES F. LUMMIS,
in _The Right Hand of the Continent, Out
West,
August_, 1902.
JANUARY 23.
Is there any kind of climate,
Any scene for painter's eye,
The
Almighty hath not crowded
'Neath our California sky?
Is there any
fruit or flower,
Any gem or jewel old,
Any wonder of creation

This Garden doth not hold--
From the tiny midget blossom
To the
grand Sequoia high,
With its roots in God's own country
And its top
in God's own sky?
FRED EMERSON BROOKS,
in Old Abe and Other Poems.
JANUARY 24.

A MENDOCINO MEMORY.
I climbed the canyon to a river-head,
And looking backward saw a
splendor spread.
Miles beyond miles, of every kingly hue
And
trembling tint the looms of Arras knew--
A flowery pomp as of the
dying day,
A splendor where a god might take his way.

It was the brink of night and everywhere
Tall redwoods spread their
filmy tops in air;
Huge trunks, like shadows upon shadow cast,

Pillared the under twilight, vague and vast.

Lightly I broke green branches for a bed,
And gathered ferns, a pillow
for my head.
And what to this were kingly chambers worth--

Sleeping, an ant, upon the sheltering earth.
EDWIN MARKHAM,
in Lincoln and Other Poems.
JANUARY 25.
CALIFORNIA.
Queen of the Coast, she stands here emerald-crowned,
Waiting her
ships that sail in from the sea,
Fairer than all the western world to me,

Is this young Goddess whom the years have found
Ocean and land,
with riches rare and sweet.
Loyally bring their treasures to her feet;

In her brave arms she holds with proud content
The varied plenty of a
continent;
In her fair face, and in her dreaming eyes,
Shines the
bright promise of her destinies;
Winds kiss her cheek, and fret the
restless tides,
She in their truth with faith divine confides,
Watching
the course of empire's brilliant fate,
She looks serenely through the
Golden Gate.
ANNA MORRISON REED.

JANUARY 26.
Here was our first (and still largest) national romance, the first
wild-flower of mystery, the first fierce passion of an uncommonly
hard-fisted youth. To this day it persists the only glamour between the
covers of