The Golden City

The Golden City
244
I

Stricken she lies at her Western gate,
Bleeding and bruised and desolate
Queen of the beckoning West, now charred
To a blackened heap and a smoulder- ing shard
Where the waves of the peaceful Pa- cific heave,
Smiling she stood but yester-eve
Welding together, in golden clasp,
East and West in a friendly grasp
Studding the sheen of the shimmering
Beas With flitting and white-winged argo sies
Standing where ocean her fair feet spent,
Gazed she afar to the Orient
On! little she dreamed of the doom that fe l,
Of the sickening shock and the recking hell!
Stunned and bruised and the sport of Fate,
O, widowed Queen of the Golden Gate!

II

Speed, Speed O East, in helpful quest
Of thy stricken sister that bows ir the West
O North! O South! aloud she calls
From fiery names and funeral palls,
Draining her chalice of rue ani myrrh:
Speed, speed to her side and comfort her!
Give to the wea’th of your plenished stores
To the smitten who stand at your Western doors
Far fiing the cry from every home, “O stricken sister, we come, we come!”

III

Standing again at thine ocean’s marge
I see through the mists a city large,
And stately and fair in the suu’s bright sheen!
Thou risest again, O Westerr Queen!
For the dauntless daring and sunlit skies
Have brought thee ten thousand argo- sies!
Rich laden with spoil of the mystic East,
Thou spread’st thy board for the na-tion’s feast
And she who yester was desolate,
And scarred and stunned at her Gol- den Gate,
Now towers her pinnacles, spires and halls
And builds up again her imperial walls
Fairer than ever thou sittest, O Queen
With broidered garment, brave and serene!
For sea and Sierra, and valleys be- tween
Empurpled with grape, and meadow green,
Pour into thy lap their bounteous store,
And crown thy brow as they did of yore!
On the arm of thy God let thy future lean;
Arise in thy might from thy dust, O Queen!
-BWR Taylor