There are places where nothing would astonish you. No miracle but would seem possible, because a miracle has been. Such a place is Dalny. There are spots of our earth sanctified by the sublimest emotions possible to our human nature, above this mortal passing of days: such is Dalny! Such is Port Arthur!
At Waterloo, at the Plains of Marathon, on the battle fields where all our race rose in an hour to another epoch of its stupendous destiny, what can be said! What is not felt!
At the entrance of these streets you feel it is other ground, you tread softly for immortal valor is there before you. You have thoughts of pride; a pride that wells as a gushing stream, to your heart. Yea, here men were conquerors, not over a mortal foe, but over Death and Self. The deadly enemies of men!
When there has been said this word to fate, “you cannot rob me,” then all the hearts of men leap to that height and we are for a moment deified. O glory to the heroes of that hour.
Russians or Japanese! All were in that sublime sense conquerors! All shall be forever victors, enshrined in our memory, where we worship the undying splendor of the soul!
MOONLIGHT OVER MOUKDEN
Moon of harvests and of toil she slowly mounts the aged Chinese Sky,
A sky of fairness, alabaster, ivory, like an antique shrine
Of ancient lineage and proud, her charm mingled of the mellow mystery of joy and tears;
In glory young, though old in years.
Glories indeed have been, an emperor sleeps within a tomb
Forgotten with the sigh, men breathed in his domain,
Nature and life rebuilt from death to radiant dreams,
Who notes the Past, as tolls the silver chime new hours?
Night speaks and light still streams;
Around her future like her rays, is mystery,
But as days die, new days begin, of history far mightier:
Great light appears across Time’s pageant, lighting to grander victory;
Victory deathless as moonbeams, and Love builds temples through all glooms.
MANCHURIA
