THE EARTHQUAKE by Henry M. Hyde

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Jun 27, 1906

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 32, No. 25.

THE EARTHQUAKE.

By Henry M. Hyde

[Henry M. Hyde, in the Technical World.]

MAN scratches little runways in the dirt, And raises tiny mounds of stone and steel, To tease the microscopes of curious gods. Sends feeble ships to tempt the awful deep, Plucks one red feather from the lightning's wing, Then lifts himself in petty human pride And boasts his lordship over all the world.

'Till earth—his Mother Earth— Olympus shakes with laughter at the claim— Tired of these vermin that infest her skin, Stirs her vast bulk and in an instant's pause, Man and his work are leveled with the dust, In ruin absolute.

'Tis proved in Nature's plan How small, how poor, how mean a thing is man!

Out of the ruins crawls a frenzied wretch, Creeping on crutches from the death that flies, Pallid with terror, whining in brute fear, Hugging in impotence some tawdry toy, Blackened and bleeding wins a little height, There halts to view the chaos left behind— A lifetime's labor turned to smoke and waste.

Then, as he stands there comes a potent change— The god-like will, stronger than earthquake's shock, Lifts high his cowering head and takes command, While from his blood-shot eyes there looks a soul, Deathless, undaunted in the face of doom, Majestic in defeat.

Higher than nature's plan, How great, how strong, how proud a thing is man!