THE FURNACE
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At night I opened The furnace door: The warm glow brightened The cellar floor. The fire that sparkled Blue and red, Kept small toes cosy In their bed. As up the stair So late I stole, I said my prayer: Thank God for coal! |
THE CHURCH OF UNBENT KNEES
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As I went by the church to-day I heard the organ cry; And goodly folk were on their knees, But I went striding by. My minster hath a roof more vast: My aisles are oak trees high; My altar-cloth is on the hills, My organ is the sky. I see my rood upon the clouds, The winds, my chanted choir; My crystal windows, heaven-glazed, Are stained with sunset fire. The stars, the thunder, and the rain, White sands and purple seas— These are His pulpit and His pew, My God of Unbent Knees! |
THE NEW ALTMAN BUILDING
Madison Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street
(January, 1914)
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Fled is the glamour, fled the royal dream, Fled is the joy. They work no more by night Deep in that cave of dazzling amber light, In pools of darkness, under plumes of steam. Gone are the laughing drills that sting and hiss Deep in the ribs of the metropolis. Gone are the torches and the great red cranes That swung their arms with such resistless might; Gone are the flags and drums of that great fight, No more they swink with rocks and autumn rains; And only girders, rising tier on tier, Give hint of all the struggle that was here. We too, mad zealots of the hardest craft, Striving to build a word-house fair and tall, Have wept to see our dear erections fall; Have wept—then flung away our tools, and laughed. Fled is the dream, but working year by year We see our buildings rising, tier on tier. |