April 22, 1889-1905.
It is sixteen years since the race for homes,—it is sixteen years today
Since we on that April morning lined up for the mighty race;
And after the strenuous toiling and the griefs that have gone away,
The fields are glad with their beauty and the land is a dream of grace.
We raced for homes in the desert ways, and we won them fair and square;
We built so well as the swift years fled that life was a laughing thing;
And the joys that come as the crowns of life, the joys that are sweet and fair,
Build close their nests by the brooding eaves where the rose-vines climb and cling.
We knew when we entered the strange, new land there were labors of might to do;
We knew that Want with his deadly sword stood guard at the desert gate,
But far to the swarded prairies and valleys that no one knew,
We spurred our steeds on the holy quest for the stars of a mighty state!
The Drouth came out of the sere south-west and the corn died low in a day;
The copper sun looked out of a sky that burned with a molten fire;
While Hope sank deep in the bravest heart, and over the barren way
The dumb feet trailed in the steps of Want and dead was the old desire.
And Famine came with her sunken eyes from the dust of the parching fields
And tapped the door with her bony hands and her fingers gaunt and thin;
Ah, Hearts grow faint at the hunger-cry and the arm of the master yields
When all the world is a heap of dust that its creatures wriggle in!
But Plenty heard of our want and woe, and gave with a lavish hand,
And Love loaned ever her cruise of oil that never of fullness fails;
The God of the rains heard all our cries and He watered the thirsty land
And sent us a patch of turnips instead of a flock of quails!