How long shall we bow down to foreign gods
And worship them with lips, but not with heart?
We are ashamed to recognize our art,
We sneer and call our native writers clods.
But from the prairies of the grander West—
Free from the ancient gyves that bind and gall—
Are men and women rising to the call,
Intent on only what is new and best.
The East is dead and buried in the Past,
The West alone can do what work will last!