Across my window glass
The moving shadows pass.
But swifter moves my unimpeded thought,
Speeding from spot to spot -
Out and afar -
High as the highest star.



SONG OF THE RAIL



Oh, an ugly thing is an iron rail,
Black, with its face to the dust.
But it carries a message where winged things fail;
It crosses the mountains, and catches the trail,
While the winds and the sea make sport of a sail;
Oh, a rail is a friend to trust.

The iron rail, with its face to the sod,
Is only a bar of ore;
Yet it speeds where never a foot has trod;
And the narrow path where it leads, grows broad;
And it speaks to the world in the voice of God,
That echoes from shore to shore.

Though the iron rail, on the earth down flung,
Seems kin to the loam and the soil,