Then I looked up at Nye,
And he gazed upon me;
And he rose with a sigh,

And said, "Can this be?

We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor,"

And he went for that heathen Chinee.

In the scene that ensued

I did not take a hand, But the floor it was strewed

Like the leaves on the strand

With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding, In the game "he did not understand."

In his sleeves, which were long,
He had twenty-four packs,-

Which was coming it strong,

Yet I state but the facts;

And we found on his nails, which were taper, What is frequent in tapers,—that's wax.

Which is why I remark,

And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark,

And for tricks that are vain,

The heathen Chinee is peculiar,

Which the same I am free to maintain.

FORCE

EDWARD ROWLAND SILL

THE stars know a secret

They do not tell;

And morn brings a message
Hidden well.

There's a blush on the apple,
A tint on the wing,
And the bright wind whistles,
And the pulses sting.

Perish dark memories!
There's light ahead;

This world's for the living,

Not for the dead.

In the shining city,

On the loud pave, The life-tide is running, Like a leaping wave.

How the stream quickens,
As noon draws near!
No room for loiterers,
No time for fear.

Out on the farm lands
Earth smiles as well;
Gold-crusted grainfields,
With sweet, warm smell;

Whir of the reaper,

Like a giant bee; Like a Titan cricket, Thrilling with glee.

On mart and meadow,
Pavement or plain;

On azure mountain,
Or azure main,-

Heaven bends in blessing;
Lost is but won;

Goes the good rain-cloud,
Comes the good sun:

Only babes whimper,

And sick men wail,

And faint hearts and feeble hearts, And weaklings fail.

Down the great currents
Let the boat swing;
There was never winter

But brought the spring.

LIFE

EDWARD R. SILL

"

FORENOON and afternoon and night,-Forenoon,
And afternoon, and night,-Forenoon, and—what!
The empty song repeats itself. No more?
Yea, that is Life: make this forenoon sublime,
This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer,
And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won.

"WHEN WITH THEIR COUNTRY'S ANGER" RICHARD WATSON GILDER

WHEN with their country's anger
They flame into the fight-
On sea, in treacherous forest,
To strike with main and might,—

He shows the gentlest mercy
Who rains the deadliest blows;
Then quick war's hell is ended,
And home the hero goes.

What stays the noblest memory
For all his years to keep?
Not of the foemen slaughtered,
But rescued from the deep!

Rescued with peerless daring!

O, none shall forget that sight,
When the unaimed cannon thundered
In the ghastly after-fight.

And, now, in the breast of the hero
There blooms a strange, new flower,
A blood-red, fragrant blossom

Sown in the battle-hour.

'Tis not the Love of Comrades,—
That flower forever blows,-
But the brave man's Love of Courage,
The Love of Comrade-Foes.

For since the beginning of battles
On the land and on the wave,
Heroes have answered to heroes,

The brave have honored the brave.

THE DAY AND THE WORK

EDWIN MARKHAM

*

To each man is given a day and his work for the day; And once, and no more, he is given to travel this way. And woe if he flies from the task, whatever the odds; For the task is appointed to him on the scroll of the gods.

* Revised, 1919. Copyright, 1919, by Edwin Markham.