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Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Jan 16, 1912

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 39, No. 3.

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Pu-Yi

By N. D. Anderson

By N. D. Anderson
[Suggested by a picture of the baby emperor of China]
Little fellow, shred of life, Born into a world of strife, Didst thou hear the coming storm? Art thou sheltered from its harm? Hated by a host unseen That thy soul hath come between, Wilt thou grow to stand alone Ere it make thy blood atone? For thy fathers left thee heir To an empire of despair; Willed thee progress' wakening arts In six hundred million hearts. Tender years may shelter thee, Last, lone twig upon the tree, When the trunk comes crashing down, Shivering throne and prince and crown. But thy dynasty is past; Thou wert doomed to be the last Of the shadowy, evil thing From whose branches errors wing; Whose gnarled heart is rotted through, And whose leaves no more renew. Shall six hundred million souls Bow down to a babe that rolls? For thou art but infant frail, More nor less than such as wail On the ragged mother's breast— Saving they are more caressed.