So in the world of men; when legions toil To feed a Monarch, and begem a crown, They build before high heaven a narrowing wall And the great purpose of Creation spoil. Not on, and upward, is the trend, but down; The Race can rise but with the rise of all. HOW THE WHITE ROSE CAME The roses all were pink and red, Before the Bumble Bee, A lover bold, with cloak of gold, Came singing merrily Along the sunlit ways that led From woodland, and from lea. He paused beside an opening rose, The garden’s pet and pride; She burst in flower that very hour, While wooing zephyrs sighed; No smile had she for one of those, And hope within them died. The ardent butterfly in vain On radiant wings drew near; The hapless moth in vain grew wroth— The fair rose leaned to hear The deep-voiced stranger’s low refrain That thrilled upon her ear. She gave her heart in love’s delight And let the whole world see; Alas! one day, away, away, Sped truant Bumble Bee; ’Twas then the red rose turned to white— So was the tale told me. I LOOK TO SCIENCE I look to Science for the cure of Crime; To patient righting of a thousand wrongs; To final healing of a thousand ills. Blind runner now, and cruel egotist It yet leads on to more than mortal sight, And the large knowledge that means humbleness, And tender love for all created things. I look to Science for the Coming Race Growing from seed selected; and from soil Love fertilised; and pruned by wisdom’s hand, Till out of mortal man spring demi-gods, Strong primal creatures with awakened souls And normal passions, governed by the will, Leaving a trail of glory where they tread. I look to Science for the growth of faith. That bold denier of accepted creeds— That mighty doubter of accepted truths— Shall yet reveal God’s secrets to the world, And prove the facts it seeks to overthrow. And a new name shall Science henceforth bear— The Great Religion of the Universe. APPRECIATION They prize not most the opulence of June Who from the year’s beginning to its close Dwell, where unfading verdure tireless grows, And where sweet summer’s harp is kept in tune. We must have listened to the winter’s rune, And felt impatient longings for the rose, Ere its full radiance on our vision glows, Or with its fragrant soul, we can commune. Not they most prize life’s blessings, and delights, Who walk in safe and sunny paths alway. But those, who, groping in the darkness, borrow Pale rays from hope, to lead them through the night, And in the long, long watches wait for day. He knows not joy who has not first known sorrow. THE AWAKENING I love the tropics, where sun and rain Go forth together, a joyous train, To hold up the green, gay side of the world, And to keep earth’s banners of bloom unfurled.