"BESIDE THE GOLDEN GATE."
By Robert McIntyre
[Robert McIntyre, in Los Angeles Times.] THAT fateful day the sea did take
His silver trumpet up to wake
The Mistress of the Keys,
His beauteous bride, who sleeping lay
Beside the door that guards the bay,
Amid her argosies.
And blew one long, sweet-cadence call
Far echoing from Sierra's wall:
"O Favorite of Fate!
The April dawn is in the skies,
The world hath need of thee; arise!
Beside the Golden Gate." She rose; a song upon her lips,
And looked upon the lordly ships
Which round her lay at rest,
Which brought o'er many a thousand miles,
From far-off continents and isles,
The wealth of east and west;
And this she sang: "I take my toll;
All roads that run, all waves that roll,
Their tribute, soon or late,
Shall bring to heap around my knees
The store from all the lands and seas
Beside the Golden Gate." Stalwart she stood, in splendid bloom,
When on her fell the stroke of doom;
Her song unfinished died.
She saw her strong foundations rent,
An earthquake, like blind Samson bent
The pillars of her pride.
Her tallest turrets rocked and reeled,
Her staggering belfries clamorous pealed,
While flames in fiendish hate
Flogged thousands with their fiery scourge,
Chanting the burning city's dirge,
Beside the Golden Gate. But far above that fierce uproar,
From every clime, from every shore,
Rang out one clarion cry:
"Spike all the switches, spin the wheels,
Speed all the steamers, steer the keels,
Lest San Francisco die."
Loaded with friendly help, they flew
O'er tracks of steel, o'er tides of blue,
From every town and State.
She heard, and raised her bleeding head,
"Thank God for human love," she said,
Beside the Golden Gate.