Bahá’í World/Volume 10/Verse

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[Page 803]

II

VERSE

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UNLESS THESE TEARS

WILLIAM KENNETH CHRISTIAN

INTRODUCTION

Sometimes the hand of God is terrible, And sometimes good. But always it is shaping unto a destined end, With Mind beyond our keen imaginings, This mass of fluid, magic stuff We call humanity.

And now the day of fear has come; The great terror stalks the earth. Men skulk in shrub and bush And cast their eyes to heaven And watch with tight-held breath The moving shuttles in the blue And the evil that striketh by night smites at your doors; The flame of your culture licks at your cities, Blasting your dreams and your genius, Blighting the toddling child and the withered crone, And the earth cries out in its anguish, Yearning to cast its great burden.

The orators orate, they rant, they roar; They puff their cheeks and bellow into microphones And point accusing finger at their fellow- men. Each is guiltless and omnipotent; His stand is righteous, others wrong. The air is full of charge and countercharge And words blight the car And stun the eye As destruction weaves its pattern o'er the And deepen men's confusion; earth.

The women bear their babies in the subways, Huddle with their brood in caves, Paw through the wreckage of a house To find memento of a wedding Of an early married day,

And through the interlocking days and nights Men work bedeviled by a passion Born when plane first dived And killed a child And sent a woman screaming down a rubble- studded street Of a parent lost in time-in place-in feel- And left a man white-lipped and shaking, ing, Of a childhood book, of a play-fellow, Of some proud, safe moment.

Men are at bayonet drill; The factories hum; The camps flourish; Men march and countermarch; The motors roar; Assembly lines are speeded up; Ships plow the deep in convoy brood; The women knit and wind up long gauze rolls. For the destruction that wasteth by noon- day is on you,

Staring at a void as black and deep As ever poet painted hell.

How sweet the earth before this quake had come! How beautiful the flowers in valley and on mountainside! How numerous the works of genius! The quiet of cathedral nave, the clean sweep and rise of gothic stone and rib meeting in the dimness overhead, light streaming through the multi-colored glass. [Page 806]The quaint old cities, little shops with tinkling bell above the door. bookstalls by the river, boats on the canals, slow-turning windmills on a still, still day, beer gardens and gay music, narrow cobbled streets with houses leaning overhead.

The cities of the warm sun, glory of Naples from volcano’s top, silver and blue of the grotto, crumbling coliseum, frescoes and mosaic and smooth marble, silent gondolas and voice of song across the water.

The ships in the great harbors of the world, boats on the mighty rivers— Yangtze and the Nile, Platte and Mississippi, The cargoes on these ships, silks and teas, machines and metals, hemp and wool and rice, the stuff of homes and life. The work done on these cargoes, plans of engineers, rivets and plates of steel, great engines and churning wheels, produce of the farm and forest, the factory and the deep, the work of many hands and backs, and legs and hearts and brains, all climes and colors, all nations and all creeds.

Your snorting monsters have defied the snows and rains; They’ve driven ’cross the plains and laid the mountains low; You glanced upon vast cities and they shook with fear; You spoke, and millions fled the words you uttered; The walls of homes split, The streets cracked, and the bowels of the city were laid open; All this all this at your command.

The slut of the market place shouts in her glee; The puny little men, the potbellied men, The whining simp, the puling coward, The men with warped and sunless souls, They shout for you, They shriek, They pledge allegiance. Come out on the balcony and show yourself To these the willing ones.

Stand on a crag in Norway, Ply o’er the tulipped lowlands, Gaze from the top of Eiffel Tower, Stand defiantly upon Olympus, home of faded gods. You are the god of the beast-man. In all ages have you lived, in every clime. But god that you are, conqueror though you be, You bear no name, You have no titles, no abode, no issue; You are the bitter frenzy of a passing dream, The conjured shape of men’s debauchery; You were not of woman born, But sprang from hatred’s dragon teeth.

And when the crowds acclaim you, When they shout in frenzied worship, It is not you they cry for, It is not you that they exalt, It is themselves! Their hatred they have deified, You’re only symbol of it; You’re the cruelty of little boys torturing a rabbit in the woods. The evil things that men have dreamed, The things of earth and nature’s blindness,

Now let the pompous music play With a pace that’s stately, slow! Now let the drums be muffled As they roll in solemn beat! Hang out the crepe, dark symbol of men’s mourning! Let all the flags at half-mast be! For a world lies dead before us Prostrate in the ruin at our feet.

Hail you mighty men of arms, all hail! Rider of the whirlwind, hail! Blazing comet of a world’s night, all hail! [Page 807]

VERSE

The blisters on the ignorant soul, The festering sores of organs not in unity, The pus of ill health, and the tainted blood; Of these you are the symbol.

To these for years have men paid homage, Bringing for the sacrifice The fruits of harvest and the product of the mill. The men of slender body, blue eyed and golden haired, Pledged their fealty even unto death, And maidens gave their virgin worth With joy and due humility.

How fallen are the mighty in these days! The kings scurrying like rats for a friendly hole. Where are their ermine and their gilded thrones? Where the lush whores and the fawning mendicants? The rich dandies with bewildered eyes, Fear stabbing at their withered hearts? The great men of finance in flight Clutching at their bags of gold? The cosmopolitans who roamed the earth, With no allegiance to country, people, or to God? The men of letters from their nice retreats? These planets jarred from snug, accustomed orbits Are sent crashing through the awesome space.

Destiny is in the saddle Riding down the wind of time. The hooves of his charger bite deep in the earth. He crosses the boundaries, mountains and seas. He strikes at the cities, even the hamlets, Scorching the earth and dark’ning the sky. No spot is sacred, too remote; No people free from punishment. He stops but in the market place To reign his charger in And look upon the gods That men have set up there.

Three gods he sees. The objects of men’s worship and their sacrifice: The god of nation—proud, disdainful holding in hairy hand a bloody sword; The god of race—a leering beast, blind of eye, covered with red, running sores; The god of godlessness—deity of self and all men’s evil, sanctioner of the dungeon and the poisoned cup.

The scholar and the man of wealth, The businessman and artisan— All labored for the gods which they had made.

And in the market place when Destiny has stopped, He’s laughed a hard and mocking laugh And raised aloft a mighty arm To crush in shapeless clay the little deities. In every hamlet, every city, every land, He’s left behind a murky gloom That’s settled o’er the people like a heavy shroud.

Destiny is in the saddle Riding down the wind of time, And the voice of God roars with him, Roaring through the dark’ning air, Challenging the puny men Who have turned their backs on Him, Challenging the evil men Who promote their dark designs, Pronouncing doom upon the nations, And the worshippers of earth-made gods.

Destiny is in the saddle And he bears avenging sword.

Men have sat in pleasant philosophic mood, In teacup attitude, in cloistered self-assurance, And intoned pedantically, "Yea, we are God! In every one of us some shining bit of Essence is. Divine we are. One with the Maker. He in us. We create with God. Without us He is nothing."

You stupid little men! Stir up the atoms in your old bald heads! In what military god is Essence true? [Page 808]Does God decree the flame of hatred in the hearts? By what subtle reason do you come at this? What fragment of Divinity in power politics, in gangs of hired henchmen, in economic war, in frockcoat prostitution of the people's faith, in intellectual disdain of lower classes, in ownership of tenement, in exclusive set and little favored circle, in the sly doctors of abortion, in the selfish pillars of the local good?

As bats do love the darkness, So men love themselves; They love each sinew, bone and tendon, each nerve cell and each drop of blood; And they fight to make the world safe for themselves, not others; They plot and scheme and organize to make the world reflect themselves, their bones, their sinews, and their own bad blood.

And when the time of war and crisis comes, They do not blame themselves, They blame some other man, Some man who does the same thing that they do.

O can't you see, you paltry little men, That you are each a drop in one great sea, That you are each a leaf upon a great green tree, That you are only twigs and branches of that tree? What right has drop to rule the ocean's surge? What right has drop to cleave the seas, disdaining half as being of an impure kind? What right has leaf to shake his fellow from the branch? What right has twig to warp the natural growing of the tree? You little drop-did you create the ocean's surging tides? You little leaf-did you put color in your self? And twig upon that tree-please tell me how you made yourself, In what plunderer, what blighter of a nation's soul? For I would know the secret of your arro- gant and god-like right.

The rhythms of the world do not depend on man. The typhoon does not ask the tree before uprooting it. The first man was not asked if he desired creation. God does not inquire: "Little man, will you have it thus, or so?"

But men project their will into the universe And hope to shape it. And when the universe rejects disdainfully Their vaunted hope and arrogance, They cavil at the God who made them, And so mercifully has laid them bare; They fly at neighbors' throats And sink beneath the level of the wolf, And fear is rampant in the streets, Terror stands grinning at the windowpane, Destruction is pronounced in solemn tones From radio and pulpit, Men sicken in their stomachs and women cry, Children tremble and old ones wish a speedy passing; For this must be whenever men create gods in the image of themselves.

A world is passing. Let it pass And do not weep or mourn. Shed not a tear for things destroyed. If you must weep, Weep then for men and not for monuments.

The past is being blotted out, The world of man and worship of the self; The world of man's desire And all the conflicts that arise When human will is made The measure of all worth.

This, all this is gone, Cleansed by a mighty wind That's rocked the planet in a frenzied gale.

And now that monuments are gone, Men can lift their eyes Above the valley floor [Page 809]To the clear blue of heaven, Symbolic of the unknown God Within Whose Mind, past fathoming, This planetary speck was given shape, Infused with meaning, And set upon its course.

Take a map up in your hand. What do you see? Plains and valleys clearly marked, Peaks and rivers, lakes and swamps, Cities, villages and towns, Naval bases, points of strategy, Latitude and longitude, Torrid zone and temperate, arctic too, Boundaries and capitals,

The schoolboy with his books and a heart of pure romance, half formed smile upon his lips at the instance of the teeming pictures in his brain. These are the things upon the map If you read its signs aright. Human beings are the treasures of the earth; They alone can glimpse the one reality And show it forth In simple ways and great. Let the statues fall into the dust, Let the stupid slogans ring Until their falsity is manifest; Human life has destiny Different colors here and there upon the Which no glittering force can thwart; continents. Yes, but is this all? Can't you also see upon the map The living heart of all humanity On this planetary scroll?

The busy city streets with the blaring traffic horns, the officer with whistle and an upraised hand, the jostling throngs at noontide and the emptiness at night, screaming ambulance and small delivery truck. The stray farm on the grassy plain, with windmill standing guardian and knot of trees to shade it from the sun, the flowers nursed in garden and in window box, the gay chintz and the bright carpet, the picture on the calendar of waterfall in magic land. The small flat in the city, the lunch box on the table, the crumpled evening paper by the easy chair, the soft light in a bedroom where a baby lies. The factory with the dull brick walls, noise surging through the dusty air, the turning wheels and endless belts, and the constant, constant clang of pistons full of power.

The eyes that saw a continent spanned by steel rails, The eyes that looked to heaven and saw rockets in the blue. What apathy upon your souls, old men? Has the world grown too rapidly, Gigantic, Too confusing, Full of rush and noise and constant prattle? Are the eyes dimmed? Are the ears dull? The ears that caught the snap of twig on forest trail, The cars that heard in wilderness the song of millions freed. Are the feet weary? The feet that crossed the prairie, searched out mines in desert waste, The feet that rested by the camp-fires under sparkling, crackling stars. Are the arms grown weak? The arms that cleared the forest and hewed the cabin logs, The arms that held the plow and threshed the golden wheat. [Page 810]

Is the heart faint?

Is the heart faint? The heart that saw but triumph in the momentary plight, The heart that beat so steady when disaster shed its gloom. Is nothing left to do? Has life run its course and now the night? I say we have but started on the road, Our feet have merely touched the pungent soil, Our hands have fashioned but the crudest things, Our brains not started yet to think, Our hearts have known but adolescent pang; The false dawn only have we known, And all the glories that we fondly think upon Are but a prelude to the greater dreams, Are only curtain to the vaster deeds, The mighty triumph of a race That has but started to achieve its destiny.

Think back, old men, and you can see The stormy tortuous way that man has trod. You huddled once in damp and musty cave; Your hair was matted, full of lice and dirt; Your eyes had gleam that was companion to the beasts; You hunted for a hairy raiment And a coverlet at night; You talked in grunts And knew no gentleness nor honor; Your offspring scrambled for the meat you brought; You taught them only how to shoot the bow, to skin the animals they killed, and how to war upon their fellow-men; And when you weakened you were cast aside, And others went to hunt and shared the womenfolk. Low-browed savage that you were, Stinking dweller in a cave, In fear of light'ning and the flood, Peopling the forests and the streams with demons You allayed by charm and sacrifice, You did not stop at level of the beast; You grew beyond the early monkey grunts. There was an urge that would not let you be; It fired all your atoms, stirred your blood; You learned to speak, You saw the value of the fire, You made a clumsy wheel, You fashioned clay utensils, And with crude design you painted Record of your life, your hopes and fears. You grew from family into tribe, From tribe to village and to city-state, And from the city-state emerged the nation; And now you face the dire necessity Of consummating all your upward striving By establishing, for yourselves and your posterity, An Order for the World!

From the cradle where the race began You pushed across the mountains and the seas, In wave succeeding wave you peopled all the earth; The sun blackened your skin, The arid places bronzed your bodies, The frosty lands have bleached your countenance; But sure and steady was the force That marked your slow ascent. Some men grumbled, many died, Others tried to plant their feet Across the path of destiny. They shouted loud into the willing ears, "This is the end. This our place. We are emergent now, victorious. This is our destiny in full. Let us enjoy it. Nothing more can come." Poor criers of a world's false dawn! The upward surge of humankind ascendant Has trampled you and all your kind, Has laid your glory and your gain In dusty books on history shelf.

We are the men who slew the fairest of our kind To please a grinning, stone-faced god our fathers carved. We are the men who thrilled to tom-tom beat And listened in the heavy jungle night for the distant thudding sound that changed us into throbbing savages. [Page 811]

VERSE

We are the men who once drew magic circles And knelt low before the scented flame. We are the men who once ducked women in a pond And tried the witches in a solemn court.

We are the men who spoke in pompous pageantry, Perpetuating pagan rite, adulterating truths for lust of power.

We are the men who walked our righteous way With minds turned backward to the sentimental glow that covers all the triteness and shortcomings of the past.

And still the Hope arises— It cannot be crushed.

We are the men who talked of promised lands But dared not change the old accustomed way.

We are the men who heard the Prophets speak, Then slew Them, for They glorified us not.

The past we fondly looked upon, The rites we used as camouflage for thought, The magic words that slipped so glibly from the tongue, Have now betrayed us.

The changing rhythm of the spheres Has brought at last the time When we must learn the greater measure of a man, When we must substitute the fact For ideologies that feed upon Our past mistakes and littleness.

Although we are the men of pagan time Who burned books, hunted witches, feared advance of truth, We have within us latent loyalty To our common God-creator And to universal right.

We bear a common oneness in our blood, Denying color line and social caste.

We owe a common debt to all the Prophets, Fearless Men, Who saw the glorious vistas man could reach, Who inspired the saint, the poet and the painter, Who put a kindliness in hearts of unknown lesser men.

The flaming winds of sorrow with their piercing blasts, The gripping fears which shatter all the idols in the heart, These cleanse, These purge, These purify, And make the molten steel of faith Which God pours, living red, Into the mold of His ordained desire.

Again the Voice resounds— It will be heard. It will be heard. The Voice of God cries out.

The atoms in our bodies, The stones proclaim it. The motes in shafts of sunlight, The drops in all the seas of all the world— The universe proclaims the birth of justice.

O Whitman, fling me your pen! For here is a song that must be sung, For here is a cause that needs a champion, For here is a glory that has dawned!

O precious world! O planet filled with signs of God, Studded with beauty, Whirling through space propelled by breath of heaven!

O human ones! You of tenderness and cunning mixed, You of bodies built in perfect symmetry, You of minds so capable, Yet strangely, strongly fettered, You of souls denied, of souls sleeping Because you are enamoured of a lesser dream Suited best for weaklings and for crones—

Hark you, to my song! Hark to my song, my song and your song also! O Whitman, fling me your pen, I beg! O Holy One of Heaven, infect my blood [Page 812]And let a glorious madness seize my brain That all my atoms, all my limbs and powers May thrill in rapture to this coming birth!

After these tears Will come the calm again; After this drought, the healing rain. This hate must run its course, Disease must have its day, Long may be the night and cold, The wind may lash with fury As to shake the stoutest heart; We may see great trees uprooted And mighty rivers cut new channels On the surface of the globe. Let it be and welcome. This is the greatest moment in man's history;

Unless these tears be shed, the heart is hard; The sickness must be burned from body politic. The fever and the nightmare. The twinge and stab of pain, The sucked-in breath of anguish, The burning forehead and the quaking of the limbs Are sign that unseen universal forces Have rallied for the healing of the nations And of man.

The small of vision and constricted heart Are smitten- Money-grubbers and begetters of ill-fame, The weak and whining, the timid ones, The near of sight and the lovers of antiquity, The men and women who believe the universe Is centered in one continent, in one country, in one state, in one city, town or village, in one race, one church, one clique; These shall suffer illness Like the tortures of the damned. These shall be shocked, affronted, dumbfounded, amazed, stirred, shaken, By the sweeping force of humankind Emerging from its chrysalis, By disaster's cleansing fire, As the foibles and the follies of the past Are burned away.

Pity then the blind of heart Until these tears have passed. Patient be with little men Till their puberty is done, And the pangs of adolescent surge, The frustrations of a world divided, Have been welded into peace and justice, With humanity at last mature.

Unless the sky rains fire, the mind unthinking Pursues its rutted, uncreative way; Unless foundations crumble, Men will not stir to build a world Befitting their true destiny.

This is the nightmare of the soul, The bitter bed of pain on which we toss, Seeing the past in mockery flit in chaotic. stream. This is the deepest point of valley floor, The dark, foreboding walls of granite hem us in, But forward through the gloom, the chaos, and the night, We walk with steady feet.

Nor war, nor pestilence, Nor pen, nor sword, nor loss of family or friend, Nor ravage of the beast that dwells so deep within us each, Can stay the forward movement Through the blackness of the night.

Though the car be dulled to sound, There's a singing in the soul: Though the mind too stunned to think, We can grasp unconsciously What the heart begins to sense As we move through unknown paths. The rhythm of the world is changed. The savage man is doomed. On the anvil of our God, Creator of the universe and man, We are being forged and shaped For the birth of fitter race, A race of men who will make the earth Habitation for the human man, [Page 813]

VERSE

Who shall proclaim through continents and seas, The oneness of all humankind, The unity of all mankind at last mature.

We shall forge a planetary scheme To unite the nations of the globe, Disdaining differences Of sex, and race, and region;

We shall scrap the silly creeds Which have kept us far apart; We shall speak one universal tongue; We shall know the highest, fairest human loyalty, The loyalty of man to God, And love of human being for his kind.

The earth is pregnant, And she bears a burden great. We of the new race-the lovers of all men- We are the burden living through travail.

So let the night be dark, The feet will never falter; Let the din increase, The mind will grow more clear; As the pain grows sharper, The heart will beat with a steady, steady throb, feeling the rapture of the hand of God, sensing the glory of the world to be, that is nearer than our breath or our pulsing veins, feeling the stature of the race so great, of the mind so keen and the vision clear, that is decreed by God as our destiny- now in the world's rebirth.

NIGHT

BEATRICE IRWIN

You are the Great Initiate of Light That we, in folly, darkness call. You take us and tired day, within your arms Like children weary of their play And you enfold our littleness with love, Love that is peace, and poetry and power!

For in your hands you hold the singing stars, The light of all those distant worlds Grows visible a love in your deep eyes And you have knowledge of their inner flame, That immortality that floods the heavens With happiness, with song, with Light!

Ah, we within your arms asleep Can only rest and dimly dream Of that vast peace and love in space... That with the sign of silence-you impart.

Then tell Me: Do the children know the Father and confess Him, or do they contradict Him as the people contradicted Him before?" BAHÁ’Í SCRIPTURES.

"THEN TELL ME"

ELSIE PATTERSON CRANMER

We wandered in perpetual night Without a star, without a moon, The Sun from which men drew their light Was hid in clouds themselves had wrought. The earth was dumb and still and stark. Oh, star, for which the wise men sought. Was there not once a promise made That He would come when night was dark? Are we betrayed, are we betrayed?

In other lands and other skies Lived Eastern Christs, as well-beloved As our own Christ, the Jewish Lord. Their light gave knowledge to the wise They, too, had strange symbolic birth And lived and died and rose again. And left with men their holy Word.

Praise be to God that He has left His fingerprints on all the earth! Yet still our brothers weep, bereft "The gold has gone from that gold story We, too, have lost the heavens' glory."

I have a secret I must tell For it bursts my breast with its bursting bell, When night was blackest and most men slept The promise given was kept, was kept.

He shook the earth with His thunderous tread And stirred the living and moved the dead, Who rose from their self-wrapped winding sheet, At the thud of His sounding shattering Feet.

Though the whole earth shivered, scarce one knew why Scarce any knew when the Lord went by. Oh, stars that fell in the black, black night And lightless moon-now rich with light, [Page 814]Oh, darkened Sun, now brightly gold- The story of the Lord is told. Shout His New Name both wide and far Bahá’u’lláh, Bahá’u’lláh.

THE CARNIVAL IS OVER

SILVIA MARGOLIS

Behold! the carnival is over! The revelling and feasting's done! The vineyards burned, the fleshpots empty, The Age is wasted like a sun! Beneath the gaunt and gaping roofs Its multi-colored gauds of lust Like bits of stained confetti, lie Dispersed and scattered in the dust! The empty couches, jeweled thrones, The palaces and perilous dreams- All, all have been laid waste forever Beneath the Day's uprooted beams! The captains of command are vanquished, Dust are the hands of tyranny; And kings and princes flee and vanish Like chaff before the Lord's decree! Ye poor and needy of all nations, Ye tricked and taunted of the earth, See ye not your suff'rance is accomplished, Another Era comes to birth? Behold! beyond the ruthless carnage, Beyond the spoil and the rage, Your blood has stormed the gates of Heaven And brings to birth the Promised Age!

DREAMERS WE WANT

SILVIA MARGOLIS

Dreamers we want, dreamers with soaring desire! Dreamers we want, dreamers with breasts afire- Who halt not for logic and wait not on reason, But burst thru all trammels of time and season, Take loathing, if need be, take censure, take scorn, Yet dream for the dreary and dare for the lorn!

Dreamers we want, dreamers with dreams for our time! Dreamers we want, dreamers with daring sublime! Who stand where the bars of the world interpose And legions are ready to slay and oppose- Take rancor, if need be, take malice, take slight But plead on for Justice and strive on for Right!

Dreamers we want, dreamers, defiers of bars! Dreamers we want, dreamers, outsoarers of stars! Who bend not for glory and bow not for gain, But break thru all ranges and reaches a-main- Take burning, take branding, take blame evermore But lead forth the nations from bondage of war!

BAHÁ’U’LLÁH

PHILIP AMALFI MARANGELLA

Thou Who hast known a prison's lost repose Yet given me the fragrance of Thy rose; Thou Who hast shown me Wisdom's sunlit way And brought to birth a new Millennial Day; My heart shall ever of Thy fragrance sing, And fill the future with remembering. In vain I probe the vast, infinite grace Which fashioned me to seek God's placeless place. Transcendant Orb of Beauty, Love and Power, What can man say in this stupendous hour? This is Thy Day! The Báb revealed Thy story: Thou art the Mirror of God's Greatest Glory!

GOD’S NEW DAY

EDWINNA POWELL CLIFFORD

No longer alone on a storm-tossed crest Need stand a soul, of peace bereft. God's voice, that spoke through the Prophets of yore, From Sinai's plain or Jordan's shore, From India's isles, or Arabia's sands, Hath spoken today its loving commands, [Page 815]

VERSE

And the heart that is plowed and narrowed by pain Can still find peace and live again. "Come," the voice of Bahá’u’lláh cries, "Come, all ye that are men, arise! Come, ye humble; come, ye poor, Enter at last the open door. With the word of power I now proclaim The Oneness of God, His Truth the same; His children, one vast family, all, Who never in vain on Him shall call. "This Truth of God, His flaming light, Shall scatter superstition's might This Word of God, the Spirit's Sword, Shall conquer all hearts in the name of the Lord. His holy Prophets, a glorious band, Revealed to us.now, united stand, And the shining hosts of the faithful throng Sing all together the Triumph Song: "The Kingdom of God on Earth shall stand, And His Spirit reign o'er every land; United, all men shall bow the knee, And, with clearer vision, His Glory see. Oh, great is the message Bahá’u’lláh brings, Harken ye learned, bow down ye kings, The dark clouds of night shall soon pass away, Arise, greet the dawn of God's New Day!"

REMEMBRANZA Y FE

ADRIANA DE GÓMEZ REYES

Un pequeño recinto nos congrega al recuerdo de un grato aniversario, y el espíritu ansioso de dilemas, se despliega en esplendido festin.

Rumor de risas por doquier se escucha, lazos candentes de amistad se cruzan en abrazos de afecto y bienvenida, que conmueven muy hondo el corazón.

Se desgranan eólicas palabras, se entonan sentencias evangélicas, evocando en mirífica cadencia profesias pletóricas de amor.

Revive el espíritu un crepúsculo en que el Padre hablara a los humanos en lenguaje de estrellas y de luces anunciando: Fraterna redención.

Y en medio de estos cantos immortales, en medio a la embriaguez de estos perfumes a la dulce inquietud de las ideas, y la azul placidez de esta mansión; aspirando el aroma de estas flores, sintiendo la cadencia de sus vuelos que ascienden el alcance de una cumbre, pasa mi alma, como pasa el viento. . . .

ANSWER, WORLD!

ANGELA MORGAN

Hail, men of the future! The world's real patriots ye; Above the dead I hear your tread that sets the people free! And I hear the fife, and I hear the drum, I hear the shouting wherever you come, And I see the glory in your face Who march to save the race! Justice shall be your weapon and Truth the bomb you hurl, Flag of united nations the banner you unfurl. Hail, men of the present-do I hear your answering cry? "Here am I! Here am I!"