REFLECTION. Rome, Florence. Venice-noble, fair and quaint, I see the fields, I see the autumn hand Of God upon the maples! Answer Him WILLIAM DOUW LIGHTHALL. "O World-God, give me Wealth!" the Egyptian cried. His prayer was granted. High as heaven behold Palace and Pyramid; the brimming tide Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold. Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet, World-circling traffic roared through mart and street, His priests were gods, his spice-balmed kings enshrined Set death at naught in rock-ribbed charnels deep. Seek Pharaoh's race to-day, and ye shall find Rust and the moth, silence and dusty sleep. "O World-God, give me Beauty!" cried the Greek. His prayer was granted. All the earth be came Plastic and vocal to his sense; each peak, Each grove, each stream, quick with Promethean flame, Peopled the world with imaged grace and light. The lyre was his, and his the breathing might Of the immortal marble, his the play Of diamond-pointed thought and golden tongue. Go seek the sunshine race. Ye find to-day A broken column and a lute unstrung. |