The Earth is littered with broken creeds -
And alway the dark man's tent recedes,
And the white man pushes on.
For this is the law: BE IT GOOD OR ILL,
ALL THINGS MUST YIELD TO THE STRONGER WILL.

Wherever the white man's light is shed,
(Oh far has that light been thrown)
Though Nature has suffered and beauty bled,
Yet the goal of the race has been thrust ahead,
And the might of the race has grown.
For this is the law: BE IT CRUEL OR KIND,
THE UNIVERSE SWAYS TO THE POWER OF MIND.



A MOORISH MAID



Above her veil a shrouded Moorish maid
Showed melting eyes, as limpid as a lake;
A brow untouched by care; a band of jetty hair,
And nothing more. The all-concealing haik
Fell to her high arched instep. At her side
An old duenna walked; her withered face
Half covered only, since no lingering grace
Bespoke the beauty once her master's pride.

Above her veil, the Moorish maid beheld