To San Francisco

To San Francisco.
39.5

O guardian of the nation’s western gate!
Keeping your lookout on our destinies,
Where lles the mystic Orlent over seas,
The world beholds you torn and desolate;
O’erthrown as if through Nature’s deadly hate,
Destroyed, distraught, brought cowering to your knees;
Vanquished by forces that you could not selze,
Grapple, and conquer, to maintain your state:

While yet we weep for you we know full well
You’ll rise again there in your glorious West,
And, like the phoenix blazoned on your crest,
Will stand forth whole, e’en from the jaws of Hell;
True to your motto, peace long had your gold,
Now grimmest strife will find you iron-souled!
-B.A.