| |
| OH a grand old time has the earth | |
| In the long long life she lives! | |
| From her huge mist-shrouded birth, | |
| When reeling from under | |
| She tore space asunder, | 5 |
| And feeling her way | |
| Through the dim first day | |
| Rose wheeling to run | |
| In the path of the sun— | |
| From then till forever, | 10 |
| Tiring not, pausing never, | |
| She labors and laughs and gives. | |
| |
| Plains and mountains | |
| She slowly makes, | |
| With mighty hand | 15 |
| Sifting the sand, | |
| Lifting the land | |
| Out of the soft wet clutch of the shouting sea. | |
| At lofty fountains | |
| Her thirst she slakes, | 20 |
| And over the hills | |
| Through the dancing rills | |
| Wide rivers she fills, | |
| That shine and sing and leap in their joy to be free. | |
| Cool greenness she needs | 25 |
| And rich odor of bloom; | |
| And longing, believing, | |
| Slowly conceiving, | |
| Her germ-woof weaving, | |
| She spawns little seeds | 30 |
| By the wombful, the worldful, | |
| And laughs as the pattern grows fair at her loom. | |
| |
| Proudly she trails | |
| Her flower-broidered dresses | |
| In the sight of the sun. | 35 |
| Loudly she hails | |
| Through her far-streaming tresses | |
| His coursers that run. | |
| For her heart, ever living, grows eager for life, | |
| Its delight and desire; | 40 |
| She feels the high praise of its passion and strife, | |
| Of its rapture and fire. | |
| There are wings and songs in her trees, | |
| There are gleaming fish in her seas; | |
| The brute beasts brave her | 45 |
| And gnaw her and crave her; | |
| And out of the heart of these | |
| She wrests a dream, a hope, | |
| An arrogant plan | |
| Of life that shall meet her, | 50 |
| Shall know and complete her, | |
| That through ages shall climb and grope, | |
| And at last be man. | |
| |
| Out of the bitter void she wins him— | |
| Out of the night; | 55 |
| With terror and wild hope begins him, | |
| And fierce delight. | |
| She beats him into caves, | |
| She starves and spurns him. | |
| Her hills and plains are graves— | 60 |
| Into dust she turns him. | |
| She teaches him war and wrath | |
| And waste and lust and greed, | |
| Then over his blood-red path | |
| She scatters her fruitful seed. | 65 |
| With bloom of a thousand flowers, | |
| With songs of the summer hours, | |
| With the love of the wind for the tree, | |
| With the dance of the sun on the sea, | |
| She lulls and quells him— | 70 |
| Oh soft her caress! | |
| And tenderly tells him | |
| Of happiness. | |
| Through her ages of years, | |
| Through his toil and his tears, | 75 |
| At her wayward pleasure | |
| She yields of her treasure | |
| A gleam—yea, a hope, | |
| Even a day of days, | |
| When the wide heavens ope | 80 |
| And he loves and prays; | |
| Then she laughs in wonder | |
| To see him rise | |
| Her leash from under | |
| And brave the skies! | 85 |
| |
| Oh a grand old time has the earth | |
| In the long long life she lives! | |
| A grand old time at her work sublime | |
| As she labors and laughs and gives! | |
| |
