Those ills 'tis easy to endure
That light upon and sting another—
That's Christian fortitude; but sure
There's somewhere an account of your
Least feeling toward a hapless brother.
Himself may show by deed and speech
Less racial sympathies than tribal,
But—well, this is no place to preach;
The sermon's mostly in the Bible.
We're false to trust and quick to spy
The fissure in a friendly armor,
Even Freedom can no more rely
Upon our promise not to harm her.
O Guardian of Continents,
My country! shall that evil dower,
The passion for preëminence.
Cry from thy seaward battlements
A soul already drunk with power?
1903.
FOR EXPULSION
They say, Brig. Roberts, you have seven wives,
And every one a beauty! As to that
I'm not informed; in the domestic hives
Of Utah, where I've sometimes hung my hat,
