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Show SAN FRANCISCO. Serene, indifferent of fate Thou sitteth at the "Western gate. Upon thy height, so lately won Still slant the banners of the sun; Thou seest the white seas strike their tents, O warden of two continents! And, scornful of the peace that flies Thy angry wings and sullen skies, Thou drainest all things, small or great, To thee beside the Western gate. 0 lion's whelp, that hidest fast In jungle growth of spire and mast! 1 know thy cunning and thy greed Thy hard high lust and wilful deed, And all thy glory loves to tell Of specious gifts material. Dry down O fleecy fog, and hide Her skeptic sneor and all her pride! Wrap her, O fog, in gown and hood Of her Franciscan brotherhood. Hide me her faults, her sins and blame; With thy gray mantle cloak her shame! So shall she, cowled, sit and pray Till morning bears her sins away. Then rise, O fleecy fog, and raise The glory of her coming days; Be as the cloud that flecks the seas Above her smoky argosies; When forms familiar shall give place To stranger speech and newer face; When all her throes and anxious fears Lie hushed in the repose of years. Whoa art shall raise and culture lift The sensual joys and meaner thrift; And all fulfilled the vision we Who watch and wait shall never see; "Who in the morning of her race, Toiled fair or meanly in our place; But, yielding to the common lot, . Lie unrecorded and forgot. Bret Harte. LThc Grand Canon of Arizona R iched via SantalFe Railroad. |