William James Henderson (1855–1937)

LONE in the sunrise of primeval day,

More lovely than the virgin world around,

With fingers pressed on lips that made no sound,

She stood and gazed. Spread out before her lay

The future—and the clouds were rolled away.

The war of kings in empires still unfound,

The crash of cannon that should yet resound,

She heard, and saw the great world rock and sway.

Across the crimson sky above her head

There came a cry of children asking food;

A wail of women for the nation’s dead

Went upward to the stars. So pale she stood;

Then to some secret place in Eden fled,

And wept in presage of her motherhood.