THE PLOW

What power is this that stands behind the steel?—

A homely implement of blade and wheel —

Neglected by the margin of the way,

And flashing back the blaze of dying day;

Or dragging slow across the yellow field

In silent prophecy of lavish yield,

It marks the pace of innocence and toil,

And taps the boundless treasure of the soil.

Before you came the red man rode the plain.

Untitled lord of Nature's great domain;

The shaggy herds, knee deep in mellow grass;

The lazy summer hours were wont to pass;

The wild goose nested by the water side;

The red deer roamed upon the prairie wide;

The black bear trod the woods in solemn might;

The lynx stole through the bushes in the night.

No sound of toil was heard in all the land;

No joyous laugh of voice or sharp command,

No cloud of smoke from iron funnels thrown

Was through the autumn hazes gently blown;

No edge of steel tore up the virgin sod;

No church its shining finger turned to God;

No tradesman labored over bench and tool;

No children chattered on their way to school.

But all the land lay desolate and bare,

Its wealth of plain its forest riches rare

Unguessed by those who saw it through their tears,

And Nature — miser of a thousand years —

Was adding still to her immense reserve

That shall supply the world with brawn and nerve:

But all lay silent, useless, and unused,

And useless‘ twas because it was unused.

You came. Straightway the silent plain

Grew mellow with the glow of golden grain;

The axes in the solitary wood

Rang out where stately oak and maple stood;

The land became alive with busy din,

And as the many settled, more came in;

The world looked on in wonder and dismay —

The building of a nation in a day!

By lake and river, rock and barren waste,

A peaceful army toiled in eager haste;

Ten thousand workers sweating in the sun

Pressed on the task so recently begun;

Their outworks every day were forced ahead —

And every day they gave their toll of dead —

Until at length the double lines of steel

Received the steaming steed and whirling wheel!

Where yesterday the lazy bison lay

A city glitters in the sun to-day;

His paths are turned to streets of wood and stone,

And thousands tread the way he trod alone;

The mighty hum of industry and trade

Fills all the place where once he held parade,

And far away the unheard river's play

Makes joyous night still brighter than the day!

Upon the plains a thousand towns arise,

And quickly each to be a city tries;

The sound of trade is heard on every hand

And sturdy men rise to possess the land;

Awhile they lingered, thinking it a dream,

But now they flow in a resistless stream

That seems to fill the prairie far and near,

Yet in its vastness soon they disappear.

Where once the silent red man spurned the ground

A land of peace and plenty now is found,

A land by Nature destined to be great,

Where every man is lord of his estate;

Where men may dwell together in accord,

And honest toil receive its due reward;

Where loyal friends and happy homes are made,

And culture follows hard the feet of trade.

This you have made it. Is it vain to hope

The sons of such a land will climb and grope

Along the undiscovered ways of life,

And neither seek nor be found shunning strife,

But ever, beckoned by a high ideal,

Press onward, upward, till they make it real;

With feet sure planted on their native sod,

And will and aspirations linked with God?