Then all at once the hammers and the tongues
Grew still around me, and the multitudes—
The endless multitudes that ache in chains
That we may have our laughter at the wine—
Rose spectral and dark to pass before my face.
I saw the labor-ruined forms of men;
Faces of women worn by many tears;
Faces of little children old in youth.
I left the towers to crumble in the rains,
And waste upon the winds: my old-time friends
Flung out their fleering laughters after me.
I raised a low roof by a traveled road,
And softly turned to give myself to man—
To open wells along a trodden way,
To build a wall against the sliding sand,
To raise a light upon a dangerous coast;
When suddenly I found me in a Palace
With God for Guest!
There in a Palace, fairer than my dream, I dwell:
High company come and go through distant-sounding doors.
The House in the Jungle
BY ST. CLAIR BEALL
Author of “The Winning of Sarenne,” etc.
“WE are almost there now, sir; we have passed the last of the lighthouses.”
The speaker and another man were standing beside the cabin of a small steamer; they were clad in heavy oilskins, and were sheltering themselves from the fierce storm that was beating down.
“I don’t see how you can tell,” the other remarked, “or how you can see anything in this weather!”