All wearied with the burdens of a place Grown barren, over-crowded and despoiled Of vital freshness by the weight of years. A sage ascended to the mountain tops To peer, as Moses once had done of old, Into the distance for a Promised Land: And there, his gaze toward the setting sun. Beheld the Spirit of the Occident, Bold, herculean, in its latent strength-- A youthful destiny that beckoned on To fields all vigorous with natal life. The years have passed; the sage has led a band Of virile, sturdy men into the West. And these have toiled and multiplied and stamped Upon the face of Nature wondrous things. Until, created from the virgin soil, Great industries arise as monuments To their endeavor; and a mighty host Now labors in a once-untrodden waste-- Quick-pulsed with life-blood, from a heart that throbs Its vibrant dominance throughout the world. Today, heroic in the sunset's glow, A figure looms, colossal and serene. In royal power of accomplishment, That claims the gaze of nations over sea And beckons, still, as in the years agone. The weary ones of earth to its domain-- That they may drink from undiluted founts An inspiration of new energy. LOUIS J. STELLMAN, in _Sunset Magazine, August_, 1903. DESERT LURE. The hills are gleaming brass, and bronze the peaks, The mesas are a brazen, molten sea, And e'en the heaven's blue infinity, Undimmed by kindly cloud through arid weeks, Seems polished turquoise. Like a sphinx she speaks, The scornful desert: "What would'st thou from me?" And in our hearts we answer her; all three Unlike, for each a different treasure seeks. One sought Adventure, and the desert gave; His restless heart found rest beneath her sands. One sought but gold. He dug his soul a grave; The desert's gift worked evil in his hands. One sought for beauty; him She made her slave. Turn back! No man her 'witched gift withstands. CHARLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM, in _Ainslee's, July_, 1907. APRIL 1.