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BLUR LAKR© 
 
 TO 
 
 QOLDEIN GJ^TEk& 
 
 BY 
 
 Saxe Churchill Stimson 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE TRENCH LAD", "THE LINCOLN CABIN' 
 and "THE FARM" 
 
 Published by the Author 
 
 MILWAUKEE 
 
 U. S. A. 
 
Copyright, 1921, by Saxe C. Stimson 
 
 All Rig-hts Reserved 
 
TO MY MOTHER 
 
 468G53 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Blue — blue, and still the blue marine, 
 
 All the world seem-s turned to liquid blue, 
 
 With a thousand whitecaps tossing on the scene 
 
 Where nature spreads her royal shades in richest hue. 
 
 And each changing hour brings features new 
 
 To him who looks upon the lakes, 
 
 The Great Lakes of panoramic view. 
 
 And a full draft of beauty one partakes, 
 
 And ecstacy of mind and soul awakes ! 
 
 They are a necklace of six jewels 
 Suspended o'er the ever-growing middle west, 
 Ontario is a turquoise, St. Clair an opal, and Superior 
 
 rules 
 A lordly garnishment o'er a nation's mighty breast. 
 Winter gales have blown and summer winds carest, 
 The four-deck steamer bears its load the -sights to see, 
 Gay vacationists set forth upon a golden quest. 
 Before the freshening breeze the yacht is running free, 
 And sailor folk are laughing in their glee ! 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Here is the City, where pleasure-seekers view the folly, 
 
 And tour the merchants' rich and glittering show, 
 
 Ride up and down, in motor car and clanging trolley, 
 
 Chicago's teeming millions rushing to and fro, 
 
 Her thronging shoppers, ever on the go 
 
 In quest of commerce, and dress parade; 
 
 Rich and poor, and high and low, 
 
 A world metropolis here have laid. 
 
 And a grand and mighty city, have they made. 
 
 Avenues and thoroughfares, all that gold 
 
 Could do for men here has been done, 
 
 From this tower one doth behold 
 
 The gorgeous city -sparkle in the sun. 
 
 Temples of Art ! Temples of Music ! Temples of 
 
 Religion ! 
 Palace homes the pork-trade won, 
 Mistress of the lakes, proud in her position. 
 And still those minarets that sparkle in the sun. 
 And still shall glisten, till time''s race is run. 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Illinois is the corn-belt of the world, on ranch and farm 
 
 Is reared the tas'sled stalks to fatten hog and steer, 
 
 Rich black soil, and never failing charm. 
 
 If one would seek a paradise they have it here! 
 
 And this is the growing season of the year. 
 
 Hay cocked up, and fields of waving grain, 
 
 Orchards of red apples, to every boy so dear. 
 
 And lazy cows, fly-fighting in the lane. 
 
 And still those waving fields, like ocean's watery main. 
 
 Flow on, thou mighty River, ever flowing ! 
 We stand on Mississippi's rock crowned bluff, 
 And view a hundred miles of fruited acres growing. 
 The silver river southward, ever winding towards the 
 
 gulf. 
 In these rich vales is food enough 
 To feed a nation, and to spare ; 
 Here thrifty men grow their fundamental stuff 
 Beyond the cities' blare, 
 They do their job, and for our plaudits little care. 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 LaSalle sailed these waters ; — gift of France 
 
 To a new world, he left his ease for the forest wild. 
 
 Knight of purest shield and fairest lance, 
 
 He hore God's name and word to the painted forest 
 
 child. 
 And no stain of cruel conquest has defiled 
 The page in history that he left ; 
 Courageous, bold, yet kind and mild. 
 His life unto mankind, a gift. 
 His priestly memory, in earth's dull skies, a shining 
 
 rift. 
 
 There is pleasure in the zest of travel. 
 
 There is diversion, in the passing scene. 
 
 The flying miles, so fresh and novel. 
 
 The range of hills and the wood between. 
 
 And now beyond, the silver lake is seen 
 
 And mid-day sun, and cloud, and sky ! 
 
 The landscape is a park-like green, 
 
 We sit in luxury and watch the world fly by. 
 
 And always something new to please and gratify. 
 
 10 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Corn — corn — more corn, and rye and wheat ! 
 Iowa's undulating fields, Nebraska's plain. 
 It takes a mighty crop to let the whole world eat. 
 And there the harvest-binder rattles out its loud re- 
 frain ; 
 And now we're crashing through a town again ! 
 And now the chef is serving lunch, 
 He brings some roasted fowls in, 
 And choicest fruit of Kansas in a bunch. 
 And weary travelers look, and laugh, and munch. 
 
 All the nation knows of Custer's lone last stand, 
 
 The yellow haired old chieftain fighting to the death, 
 
 His troopers pillaged by an Indian band. 
 
 And scorned surrender to the latest breath. 
 
 There on Little Big Horn place a wreath, 
 
 Forever may their deed remain ! 
 
 A glorious heritage they do bequeath, 
 
 Like Paul, for them to die was gain, 
 
 For the hero, never dies in vain! 
 
 11 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 We cross the dark Missouri on a giant trestle 
 
 That j,oin's two cities lying on our way, 
 
 Here again the crowds do rush and jostle, 
 
 We see the place at closing in of day. 
 
 Just why the people love a crowd 'tis hard to say, 
 
 When just beyond the town there's plenty room for 
 
 each. 
 It is man's foolish, ignominious way. 
 There's garden-farms, fresh air, and lands within their 
 
 reach. 
 Push out. Oh Man, and let sweet Nature beauties 
 
 teach ! 
 
 This is the unfenced domain of the ancient Indian, 
 The Redman, of forest, stream, and lake, 
 Comanche, Sioux, Dakota, roamed the region 
 The natural rulers of woodland, bush and break; 
 And a goodly living from the wilds did he take, 
 Speckled trout, gray goose, and whirring bird, 
 His spinning arrow persued the duck and drake, 
 With wary stealth he crept upon the wild deer herd, 
 And spoke the savage beast, with unknown answering 
 word. 
 
 12 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Is this the prairie, of old romantic -story? 
 Where famous cow-boys roped the charging steer ! 
 It is a region of departed glory 
 
 The tender pale- face camps and travels, without fear. 
 And this is the blooming season of the year 
 With many wild-flowers and plains of waving grass, 
 The bark of prairie-dog we hear. 
 And wild- fowls calling from the dense mora-ss, 
 And then we think of white-topped wagon trains, 
 winding westward towards the mountain pass. 
 
 Times ,of hardy pioneers, the Last West ! 
 
 There were no fences, all the earth was free. 
 
 It brings emotion to a manly breast. 
 
 They rode the plains, as sailors ride the sea ; 
 
 It was a vast expanse without the grove and tree 
 
 Of other regions, horse and rider king! 
 
 The cow-boy mourns, Oh bring them back to me 
 
 When the Indian's bow did sing. 
 
 And caught the sw,ooping bird upon the wing! 
 
 13 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 The Deadwood coach made Denver in six days, 
 
 A million buffalo thundered o'er the plain, 
 
 Pony express dashed through in relays. 
 
 And troops of noble wild-horse, with proud neck and 
 
 flowing mane. 
 Justly of their beauty vain ! 
 The hunter's dinner, the camp-fire smoke. 
 Bring, Oh bring them back again. 
 The taught lasso the mustang broke, 
 The Spirit of the West a message spoke : 
 
 Here shall rise an empire grandier than the last, 
 To rear up men, and men shall rule, 
 I see the masses triumphant at the last, 
 I see the rise of towns, and homes, and school ! 
 God save the world from foolish duel 
 That sets one class against another, 
 He is but a simple tool 
 Who withholds justice from his brother. 
 And give the folks of lowest rank as good a chance 
 as any other. 
 
 14 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 America ! gird up your strength and save the State ! 
 
 We're with you to the triumph's end, 
 
 The brave and true alone are great, 
 
 And down the ranks, a cheer to send. 
 
 For the people need a faithful friend 
 
 Their battle-fields to win ! 
 
 The world's at stake and you can lend 
 
 Your all to bring the better in. 
 
 And stand for ideals new, and not the dead has-been ! 
 
 Speeding towards the setting sun. 
 
 Riding, riding, 
 
 i'he day is done, the day is done. 
 
 And the sun is hiding, hiding, 
 
 And sounds of falling night, confiding. 
 
 Tomorrow mountains ! we shall see the mountains ! 
 
 Mountains with their peeks and domes, and leaping 
 
 fountains ! 
 Speeding towards the setting sun, — 
 And the day is done. 
 
 15 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 II 
 
 Morning awoke in the prairie, the sun a red ball 
 
 Rose from out that sea of pampas grass, 
 
 There was the early bird's twitter and call, 
 
 And then — all the west was a mighty ridge of dull 
 
 brown craggy mass: 
 It was the Rockies ! Peaks, domes, vast slopes, and 
 
 wild crevass ! 
 Filling the horizon fifty miles away. 
 All our dreams of grandeur it did surpass. 
 Peak on peak, dome on dome, in magnificent bold 
 
 array, 
 Cast up by nature's titanic birth-throe day ! 
 
 Colorado is the nation's treasury of gold and -silver, 
 and lead 
 
 F,or commerce, and rivals Switzerland with its tower- 
 ing peak, 
 
 It is the country's water-shed. 
 
 And curious tourists wander o'er those hills, and play 
 at hide-and-seek; 
 
 There is the sunny valley below, and above the snow- 
 clad summit, cold and bleak. 
 
 It is the precious metal state, 
 
 In its rare air, strong you grow, though weak ; 
 
 In few words its token to relate. 
 
 Princely state of gold and silver, rich and great. 
 
 16 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Oft* to the mountains, for fun and diversion ! 
 To stand on the heights with the world far below, 
 From summit to summit to ride the excursion, 
 The dash of the waters, as over they go ! 
 And the cataract's plunge as it thunders and roars so ! 
 To gaze in the depths and feel the wild fear, 
 To gather strange flowers just as they grow, 
 The avalanche yonder, the geyser near — 
 We longed for the mountains, and the mountains are 
 here! 
 
 The Garden of the Gods, is at Colorado Springs, 
 Nature's Hall of Sculpture, with its red and gold 
 And blue and bronze, that brings 
 Art lovers of all lands its treasures to behold. 
 The deft hand of Michael Angelo could not mold 
 With craft so consummate; there is the quarried block 
 And cathedral like formations, ages old, 
 It was water's gentle erosin, and not volcanic shock 
 That formed these templed pillars in the green-sward 
 of the meadow, all of gorgeous tinted rock ! 
 
 17 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 A peak is glistening forty miles away 
 
 And challenges our party to a bold a'scent, 
 
 With the unknown fear and dread that mountain 
 
 climbers know, 
 We journey to its base on high achievement bent, 
 And said, we'll stand upon the mighty dome, and noth- 
 ing shall prevent! 
 So up we went, o'er foot-hills and o'er valleys, 
 Up, up, an icy precipice a thousand feet or more, 
 We rest and gaze into the abyss, then wait till cour- 
 age rallies, 
 Up, up, o'er rocks and snow-fields, ever upwards as 
 
 before. 
 And stand at last upon the mighty dome, and look the 
 country o'er! 
 
 IS 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 A guide points far to the west and says 'tis Utah, 
 There where the foot-hills fade away like smoke, 
 It brings emotion of wonder and of awe. 
 And below, on that jagged cliff, once a guide-line 
 
 broke, 
 And let three men and a girl go slipping down, with 
 
 piteous cries that all the echoes woke. 
 It is a gloriou's day for a panorama ! The sky is fair 
 And every object clear as far as one can look, 
 To stand upon the tiptop peak, and breathe the bracing 
 
 air. 
 And watch the king of birds, the eagle, circling down- 
 wards to his lair! 
 
 It was morning on the mountain, before the sunrise, 
 Earth was hidden, and all was clouds below. 
 In each direction for miles and miles there lies 
 Hills and vales of misty banks, like piled-up drifted 
 
 snow. 
 It was like the making of creation, when lo ! 
 From out those banks the orb of day was lifted, 
 And transfused the scene to one of heavenly glow, 
 Through the mists the tints and shades were rifted, 
 Coming cross that sea of cloud banks, piled and 
 
 drifted ! 
 
 19 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 i\lone with the universe — and with God ! 
 
 It was Hke Transfigurations awesome hour, 
 
 Or vision of St. John; above the clod 
 
 And sordidness of earth, a gUmpse of Infinite power. 
 
 Showing the immensity of man'*s dower 
 
 Both here and hereafter. Apocalypse ! 
 
 The Spirit and the Bride say come. Our 
 
 Everlasting promise, the Sonship's 
 
 Universal invitation, oft retold by Prophet's lips. 
 
 On the descent the party rested in a mountain camp 
 
 And fished for lusty mountain trout. 
 
 And camped upon the ground without the dew and 
 
 damp 
 Of other regions ; how those gamy fish did leap and 
 
 lash about! 
 As they spun their reels and cast their flies, and hauled 
 
 them out ! 
 Cool dark woods, and a day for fish, 
 Salmon, pike, and rainbow-trout. 
 Here is where your man doth have his wish. 
 And camps around the fire at night, and cooks a savory 
 
 dish. 
 
 20 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Cripple Creek, Royal Gorge, and through the Pass ! 
 
 Some are gasping o'er the height of land, 
 
 And still those mountains ranged along in never end- 
 ing mass, 
 
 And rocks and boulders, reared like pillars, close at 
 hand. 
 
 Through the valley runs a dark-blue river, slipping 
 o'er the sand, 
 
 Vast slopes, spare woods, and fields of snow, 
 
 All just a's the guide-book planned. 
 
 We're creeping o'er the grade and running slow. 
 
 And yonder, on a hill, two spotted fawns and a staring 
 doe. 
 
 To the southwest lies the Grand Canyon of The 
 
 Colorado, 
 One of the master-wonders of the world ! 
 Travelers tell how other sights are but a shadow, 
 Towards its awesome brink our party now i's lured. 
 But a thousand miles of travel intervenes, to be en- 
 dured, 
 Cool nights, dry air, and railroad dust. 
 This is nature's sanitarium, where the sick are cured, 
 We'll reach our journey's end, we trust, 
 And meanwhile, view these rocks, faced up with 
 bronze and iron-rust. 
 
 21 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Still working westward we cross the Mormon state, 
 Where the course of empire once did tread, 
 And catch a gleam of Utah's shimmering lake. 
 And her templed city, on the western water-shed! 
 Thus far our journey, through a way has led 
 Of vales and orchards, watered-farms, and grove, 
 But now the desert, where everything -seems dead. 
 And growing verdure never throve, 
 And miners search and dig for treasure trove. 
 
 It is like a sea of sand, and burnt-up cinder, 
 
 With here and there a cactus, hardy plant 
 
 That many uses to this place doth render, 
 
 And fruits and vegetables of other lands supplant; 
 
 Here, 'neath the unshielded sun, both man and beast 
 
 doth pant. 
 For water, more than gold, is prized, 
 The leaf curls neath the heat-rays' slant. 
 Naught above but copper skies, 
 Naught below, but wilts and dies. 
 
 22 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Bring in the gushing water to this place 
 
 And you have an Eden vale ! 
 
 Transform nature's ugly face 
 
 And soon be marking lands and farms and homes, for 
 
 sale, 
 And then the wealth of Croesus counts its tale, 
 1 he cooling, healing, water flows, 
 Money Captains string their rail. 
 The pea and lily blows. 
 And lo — the desert blossoms as the rose ! 
 
 Arizona is a painter's paradise. 
 
 Such rich colorings, and pictures ready made, 
 
 Gray, and brown, and red and blue of skies. 
 
 And dainty scarlet tints that never fade; 
 
 And royal purple, such as Rembrandt never laid 
 
 Upon his canvas, and Sargent here 
 
 Might find a shade 
 
 Suited to every season of the year. 
 
 And create water-color art, without a peer ! 
 
 23 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Some people with enthusiasm 
 
 Call this the world's chief beauty spot, 
 
 Who can judge earth'*s cliff and chasm 
 
 And pick the choicest of the lot, 
 
 If beauty is splendor, and variety of color, then this 
 
 hot 
 And forbidding place must take a high rank, 
 What others think it matters not, 
 Drive on and view the gorgeous studded bank, 
 And unearthly skies, where the day's sun sank! 
 
 The Grand Canyon is a distorted dream of Nature, 
 
 A section of the world blown out, 
 
 We know it from the artist and the painter, 
 
 But cannot sense its vastness, as we walk about; 
 
 We are like the little child, who asked who digged the 
 
 dirt all out? 
 It is like looking at Jupiter, or Aladdin's Night-mare, 
 Men miles below halloo, but no one hears their shout. 
 There is such immensity of distance, both here and 
 
 everywhere. 
 Come promenade, and rest awhile, and breathe this 
 
 crisp southwestern air. 
 
 24 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 One now beholds earth's chiefest wonder- vi'sion ! 
 A chain of mountains ranging through a gulch, 
 Somewhere, below, the river runs in its deep incision, 
 And there are Cathedral Stairs, where nature lavished 
 
 much 
 Of all she had, and man, and the Infinite, touch. 
 The over-mastering panorama has incessant change. 
 Flushing and fading — mists advancing and vanishing; 
 
 such 
 Is the climax of the mountains and the plains ! 
 This granite, and lime-stone, and sand-stone range ! 
 
 Bright Angel Trail has another vision. 
 
 With its miles of yellow, walled-red, and gray, 
 
 Man's attempt at art it holds up in derision. 
 
 And through the mists we see the people, toiling up 
 
 the Corkscrew Way; 
 It is grandest in the morning, or towards the latter 
 
 end of day, 
 A symphony of color, Jacob's Ladder, and Hermit 
 
 Trail, 
 There the lonely Point sets out in bold array, 
 From the Lookout we see in last detail 
 This mighty Judgement-Gulch, and Epic-poem Vale! 
 
 25 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 It was moon-light on the canyon; — day 
 
 Torrid and unclouded, had exhausted its manifold 
 
 arts, and now the night 
 Ruled above the abyss, with its queens nocturnal sway, 
 And the boundless gorge was a wonder-dream, in the 
 
 misty purple light. 
 One peered for miles into the gloom, and thought of 
 
 goblen's might. 
 A crusader stood upon the brink ; one who had traveled 
 
 far 
 And looked on many a sight. 
 And he was thinking of the wild, free western life 
 
 ahead, with all that's good and bad upon a par, 
 And turning to the east, he spoke, as to his guiding 
 
 star. 
 ''There beyond the Rockies, just where the moon 
 
 above 
 Shines down a spangled wreath 
 Is the home I love. 
 
 And with that home I'll keep my faith ! 
 The newer manhood 
 Cleanest of the race, 
 Cleaves to the pure and good, 
 And looks the evil in the face." 
 
 26 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Five hundred miles of motor ride across Nevada, 
 
 And we're on the way, 
 
 It is a torrid land with scarce a shadow, 
 
 Maybe the soil is sandy, maybe clay. 
 
 Just when we'll reach our journey's end, we cannot 
 •say ; 
 
 Look ! there are the Sierras ! In a towering line they 
 stand. 
 
 We begin to mount them early in the day. 
 
 Up and up, and round and round, at the guide's com- 
 mand. 
 
 And like Moses, on a pinnacle, look into the promised 
 land. 
 
 27 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 m 
 
 California is a summer-land of fruit and flower, 
 A carnival of roses scents the air, 
 Figs and pomogranites sweet, and lemons sour, 
 And great groves of oranges everywhere; 
 The navel orange, king of fruits so rare, 
 Grows on these slopes in ripe perfection, 
 No other land can quite compare 
 With California, every man's selection 
 To come and bask in sunshine, and await his heavenly 
 election. 
 
 This is a sonnet to the Santa Clara prune, 
 
 Rich and wholesome, purple black and sweet. 
 
 It should in*spire a poet's loftiest tune 
 
 If he has a mellow dish to eat; 
 
 In winter clime no northern land can quite compete 
 
 With California — there is Pasadena by the sea 
 
 Where you bathe in January, and frolic in the heat. 
 
 And fish for tuny where the tide is running free, 
 
 And all the ocean coast laughs out in summer glee ! 
 
 28 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Yosemite, is a ten mile valley, 
 
 Tranquil and beautiful, as a Sharon vale, 
 
 Stupendous heights — where water leaps ! 
 
 One should camp and tour a week, to see its rich de- 
 tail, 
 
 And now we see the Bridal Veil 
 
 Rising where the cataract falls. 
 
 And one can almost smell the odors of a Cashmere 
 dale 
 
 And hear the Bird of Paradise calls, 
 
 Shut in by these towering, adamantine walls. 
 
 Here are the giant Red Wood trees, of all the earth 
 The oldest living growth, with a cathedral for a base 
 And their summit in the sky, and when Joseph was 
 
 sold in Egypt, they had their birth ! 
 And there is Mirror Lake, with a mountain in her face. 
 And there 'gainst the sky, one can trace 
 The monumental dome of El Capitan, 
 And Vernal Falls, of beauty and of grace ! 
 All on the creator's plan. 
 His thoughtful, universal, gift to man. 
 
 29 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Oh, the zest and stimulation of a change in climate! 
 
 Strange trees and shrubs, and every feature new, 
 
 The cool fresh air coming as a tonic, 
 
 Just step outdoors, and half the earth's in view ! 
 
 xA.nd the thrilling hour is Vv^hen the dew 
 
 Still is like a web upon the moss and grass, 
 
 C)h, then, half the world belongs to you, 
 
 Out m the sparkling dawn — climbing up the mountain 
 
 pass, 
 Snorting buck — ^■screaming bird — and leaping bass! 
 
 The next stage of journey lies through a vineyard 
 valley. 
 
 With a thousand acres or so, of luscious Sweet-Cataw- 
 bas 
 
 Hanging in heavy bunches, dripping juice; this hilly 
 
 And forbidding country once was useless, now a gold- 
 mine, thanks to irrigation's laws. 
 
 Still speeding o'er the mileage ! 
 
 In yon lonesome woods the hawk screams, and the 
 crow caws. 
 
 And then, we spend some days at Leland Stanford Col- 
 lege, 
 
 For happiness doth partake of both wisdom, and of 
 
 knowledge. 
 
 30 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 In these College buildings we see the architecture of 
 
 the Moor, 
 Brought from Spain, grace and solid beauty, at a 
 
 glance, 
 Here they make a scholar of the boor 
 If given half a chance, 
 
 And the student, his store of learning doth enhance. 
 The orator speaks with thrilling look and word, 
 The freshmen 'round the campus prance, 
 The sophomores advance. 
 The juniors read the classic lore of France, 
 The seniors embark on life, and tilt their intellectual 
 
 lance. 
 The music of the flute and violin are heard. 
 And the poet, 'neath the dust of ages, is interred! 
 
 On Mount Hamilton, one views the stars 
 
 Through a telescope, and worships their creator, Chri'st 
 
 the Lord, 
 The ascent is easy, riding up in cars. 
 And the stellar universe, gleams as a myriad horde ! 
 And we think of God and His infinite Word, 
 And the way He leads us, poets, painters, workers, all. 
 The mystic echoes of the night are heard, 
 And the avalanches fall. 
 And the mountaineer's shrill call ! 
 
 31 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 We crossed the water-gate of San Francisco — 
 Peninsular City ! — with the ocean all about, 
 We saw her towers rising on the sky like fresco, 
 And the sea-mists floating — floating, in and out. 
 And there is Nobs Hill ! old-time famous mount. 
 Where gold-miners built their palaces, and on the 
 
 beach is seal-rock, 
 At the Cliff-House, where you watch the seals, and 
 
 count 
 Pacific's breakers rolling in with bellowing shock! 
 For it is a region of pleasure-place in endless stock. 
 
 There was celebration in the town that night, 
 
 And strains of waving music came from many a hall. 
 
 The regal city shone bedecked and bright. 
 
 And pleasures-goddes's answered to her call ! 
 
 And some forgot that pride goeth before a fall, 
 
 A million lights gleamed from towers tall. 
 
 The soft moon shone down with purple haze. 
 
 And 'Frisco — reveled in the glory of old days ! 
 
 32 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 How music over-paints the world so fair, 
 
 And makes folks think that paradise ha's come, 
 
 The purring melodies on the midnight air, 
 
 Bright gleamed the lamps in many a festive home! 
 
 And on that fated night, the city brought forth some 
 
 Of her richest treasure, as at the Feast Belshazzar, 
 
 From north and south did people come, 
 
 And men forgot — and drank their fill of pleasure! 
 
 The city slept, and everywhere was peace. 
 
 Then came strange, unearthly, mutterings of sound, 
 
 And whirling, sickening movements, that never seemed 
 
 to cease. 
 And an awful tumultuous heaving of the ground ! 
 And horrid grinding roars, that did resound 
 Through the awful darkness, and people woke with 
 
 scream and cry ! 
 The proud palace fell a heapless mound. 
 The streets were filled, the shattered buildings lie! 
 And people knew not, whether they awoke to live, or 
 
 but to die! 
 
 33 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 Ah, and then there was many a heart-rending scene 
 Such as one does not Hke to look upon, 
 And people knew not what the night would bring, 
 And some were asking if the Judgment-hour had 
 
 come ; 
 And some prayed for day, and rising of the sun. 
 Then again those awful sounds, and lofty buildings 
 
 weave and nod ! 
 And when the cataclasm''s work was done 
 Men had lost their faith in things of stone and wood. 
 And recognized anew the claims of Man and God. 
 
 Then came the days of fire 
 
 And burned the stricken city o'er. 
 
 All yielding to the flame's desire, 
 
 Homes, hovels, and proud tower ! 
 
 Just to show the fiendish power. 
 
 They camped for days, on grass and -sod, 
 
 Making the best of fate's harsh dower, 
 
 A long hard way have people trod 
 
 To learn the over-ruling ministry of God. 
 
 34 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 The City rose again, grander than before, 
 
 And stands today resplendent, 
 
 To all the world she swings a stately door 
 
 Her commerce in ascendent! 
 
 For the greatnes-s and pride of her people, could not 
 
 be bent. 
 They lead a hemisphere, 
 
 And the best of art and science have they lent 
 To bring earth's broadest culture here. 
 And none can yet fortell the greatness of the coming 
 
 year! 
 
 Who does not love the ocean, 
 
 And on its shores would be, 
 
 The billows in commotion, 
 
 The ever-restless sea. 
 
 And breathe the ocean air, so fresh and free, 
 
 Boats bound for every clime ! 
 
 And all for you and me, 
 
 Bathing on the beach in summer-time! 
 
 The kind and cruel ocean, in storm sublime. 
 
 35 
 
BLUE LAKES TO GOLDEN GATES 
 
 The Golden Gates are the portal of the west, 
 With towering, sentinel rocks on either hand, 
 The low sun dips in the wave's crest. 
 The sun that's rising on some foreign strand. 
 And we think of the orient, and the distant land. 
 And the rays stream back, all beautiful and gold. 
 Where those towering rocky warders stand, 
 And ships steam out, leaving the safe home fold ! 
 And know not, what treasure, or what disaster, doth 
 the long journey hold. 
 
 And thus our metered tale is told. 
 
 What new empires, O Pacific ! shall rise upon thy 
 
 shore ! 
 Peaceful ocean — ever young though old. 
 What holds the future yet in store 
 As might, and mind of Man, doth more and more 
 Work out and up — Soul and Spirit, free! 
 What holds the future still in store. 
 And thus, our journey ends, beside the sounding sea, 
 As life itself shall -some day end, with Thee. 
 
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