The cycles fly on eagled wings: A hundred years have run their quest Since he who bought and sold with kings An empire added to the West: And all his regions rulers are Save her alone who mourns the Star. The wildness in a moment died; A garden bloomed and fruited full Across the plains and valleys wide At touch of hands invincible; But mute she stands where deserts were: The banner holds no Star for her! The race heaps high its conquered spoil; The braggart heirs of all men do Assemble where the Triumphs toil In marshaled columns for review; And she, the Starless, at your call Brings trophies that surpass them all! Are not her laurels rich and rare? Her apt attainments great with grace? You crown her here and everywhere Save where she pleads for power and place; The world amazed her praises rings: What think ye, Masters, of these things? She wonders wrought with wondrous hands: Her cities crowd the teeming plains, And church and school exalt the lands With all of mankind's greater gains;-- The last of all the waste, she brings The triumphs of her million kings! A million white and black and red Whose treble toils misunderstood Build happy homes and fondly wed The desert place with joyous good, And at your feet, uncrowned, unblest Kneel for the knighthood of their quest! Thralled in her chains, this fairest one Of all the realms that greatly found Rich largess on the barrens dun Pleads from her fetters, vassal-bound; And still the Star before her swings: What think ye, Masters, of these things? Oklahoma Sunshine Dreams. I. Day-dreams and play-dreams! From the rosy morn Till the ashy eventide and the stars new-born, Ever bringing life and heart aweary with their load Promises of hope and cheer while tramping down the road. II. Night dreams and bright dreams! In the house of sleep With their happy faces full and their gazes deep, World on world so beautiful there they brightly bring, Till the heart is happy in the songs they sing. III. Day-dreams and Night-dreams,--all the dreams you will,-- Beckon up the rocky slope and summon o'er the hill,-- Summon us to do and dare all the deeds of yore Till the battle ceases, and we strive no more! My Philosophy. I've made up my mind In spite of the cranks, 'Tis a pretty good world And we ought to give thanks; And whether it came From the God or the grime, The fellow that runs it Don't lose any time. I've made up my mind In spite of the tears. That the world clambers up With the roll of the years; And whether it gropes Or is led on and on, It will come by and by To the meadows of dawn.