Now when I woke, the air was rife with that sweet, rhythmic din Which tells the world that Christ has come to save mankind from sin. And through the open door of church and temple passed a throng, To worship Him with bended knee, with sermon, and with song. But over all I heard the cry of hunted, mangled things; Those creatures which are part of God, though they have hoofs and wings. I saw in mill, and mine, and shop, the little slaves of greed; I heard the strife of race with race, all sprung from one God-seed. And then I bowed my head in shame, and in contrition cried— ‘Lo, after nineteen hundred years, Christ still is Crucified.’ THE TRIP TO MARS Oh! by and by we shall hear the cry, ‘This is the way to Mars.’ Come take a trip, on the morning Ship; It sails by the Isle of Stars. ‘A glorious view of planets new We promise by night and day. Past dying suns our good ship runs, And we pause at the Milky Way.’ I am almost sure we will take that tour Together, my dear, my dear. For, ever have we, by land and sea, Gone journeying far and near. Out over the deep—o’er mountain steep, We have travelled mile on mile; And to sail away to the Martian Bay, Oh! that were a trip worth while. Our ship will race through seas of space Up into the Realms of Light, Till the whirling ball of the earth grows small, And is utterly lost to sight. Through the nebulous spawn where planets are born, We shall pass with sails well furled, And with eager eyes we will scan the skies, For the sights of a new-made world. From the derelict barque of a sun gone dark, Adrift on our fair ship’s path, A beacon star shall guide us afar, And far from the comet’s wrath. Oh! many a start of pulse and heart We have felt at the sights of land. But what would we do if the dream came true, And we sighted the Martian strand? So, if some day you come and say, They are sailing to Mars, I hear. I want you to know I am ready to go,— All ready, my dear, my dear. FICTION AND FACT In books I read, how men have lived and died, With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden. While she for whom they long in secret sighed, Went on her way, nor guessed this flame unbidden. In real life, I never chanced to see The woman who was loved, and did not know it, And observation proves this fact to me: No man can love a woman and not show it. PROGRESS There is no progress in the world of bees, However wise and wonderful they are. Their wisdom makes not increase. Lies the bar, To wider goals, in that tense strife to please A Sovereign Ruler? Forth from flowers to trees Their little quest is; not from star to star. This is not growth; the mighty avatar Comes not to do his work with such as these.