68
THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.
Out of the North one paced With a stately step and slow,
As one whose going crushed The crispness of the snow.
“I bring my flour for the feast From the thousand mills you know,
The tasseled ears are torn From my serried ranks of corn.
Take them and eat
The loaves of the finest wheat.
Here are copper and lead and iron, Whose bands already environ The world, and lumber to frame The walls of the home,
The home that redeems the waste,
In whose keeping all life is placed.
With these and more I come;
Take ye these at their worth,
These, my gifts,” said the North.
And the people shouted, and said,
“Hail to the Queen of the Lakes,
From whom the nation takes Grateful, its daily bread!
Hail to the North! Once more—
To her million beds of ore!
To the lumber on her shore!
And the wheat she sendeth forth The whole world o’er!
Hail to the North!”
And one from the sunset came,
With steps as a panther’s free,
And dusky cheek aflame.
“I am the child of the Western wild, And bring my gifts to thee.
Red meat I give you here From the bison and the deer,
Herds on a thousand hills Where the sunset shines Are yours for the feast,” said the West. “But take with these my best Silver and gold from the mine;
And a strange new story to read Of an old world in the new,
Over canyon written, and mead,
Story the Aztecs knew.
Of the great new states to be The years shall write for me.
Oh, the old is good,” quoth she;
“But who shall call it the best?
Take the best of my gifts from me,” Said the mighty West.