The Earthquake

The Earthquake
(Herry M Hyde)
323

MAN scratches little runways in the dirt,
And raises tiny mounds of stone and steel,
To tease the microscopes of curious gods
Sends feeble ships to tempt the awful deep,
Plucks one red feather from the lightning’s wing
Then lifts himself in petty human pride
And boasts his lordship over all the world

‘Till earth-his Mother Earth-
Olympus shakes with laughter at the claim-
Tired of these vermin that julest her skin,
Stirs her vast bulk and in an instant’s pause
Man and his work are leveled with the dust,
In ruin absolute

‘Tis proved in Nature’s plan
How small, how poor, how mean a thing is man!

Out of the ruins crawls a frenzied wretch,
Creeping on crutches from the death that flies,
Pallid with terror, whining in brute fear,
Hugging in impotence some tawdry toy
Blackened and bleeding wins a little height,
There halts to view the chaos left behind-
A lifetime’s labor turned to smoke and waste

Then, as he stands there comes a potent change-
The god-like will, stronger than earthquake’s shock
Lifts high liis cowering head and takes command,
While from his blood-shot eyes there looks a soul
Deathless, undaunted in the face of doom,
Majestic in defeat
Higher thinn nature’s plan,
How great, how strong, how proud a thing is man!