THE PASSING CENTURY
Vain are words of praise or. scorning.
As the red lights cleave the sKy I
Tirr)e, th) 3 master, brings the morning.
Lifts the babe and passeth by.
'Though thje warm old earth is glowing
With) my great deeds grandly done,
Nobler harvests of my sowing
Wait the morrow's noonday sun-
"I inspired the souls that love me,
Fed the strong and nerved the brave;
Think ye now to gloat above rr)e ?
Think ye now to dig my grave ?"
THE SUNDAY (ALL.
"Who batb said the sands ore running
From my starless, final nigfyt;
That rt)y hand bath lost its cunning
And mine eye forgot its sight ?
"Not your bribes nor threats have won rr)e.
Weak and puny m n. Beware!
For the power of life is on me,
find its destiny laid bare.
"I tyave called and empires trembled,
Throned and throttled queens and KJ n gs;
Wrenched republics that dissembled
And spread wide the eagle's wings.
aye gathered frosts to battle
field tt)em, eager for the fray.
! have swept t^en) down lil^e cattle
And they dared not say me nay.
"Who hath said that I am dying,
Beoding to unveil the face
Of my new-born babe now lying
In the cradle of the race ?
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