When thinijs and men are dead. There is a land
That once was dedicate to Liberty :
A land that cast off kings and set slaves free.
But when it gathered wealth, and fame, and power.
And could have struck the blow that might have
saved Throughout the world the things for which men
died, The things for which long rows of graves were made, It would not strike.
It let its own go gurgling down to death. And did not smite.
Self-made, self-damned, self-governing.
It hammers now, and smelts ;
And ever, as it pounds, it sings,
This Tubal Cain — of Peace !
And golden dollars jingle in the song,
Beneath a sulphuring sky it dwells — at peace —
In riveless unity of self-content.
I'm growing old? I do not relish quite
The modern way, a Democratic Hell ?
I'm growing old ? I wonder if I sometimes wish
That God would come again !
— Franldiii II. Giddings. New York, December 5, 1915.
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