Giant-Slave

I journeyed in the valley of despair

Where stalked the spectre of the yet-to-be.

While terror bade my faith and courage flee

I waited for the atom's deadly flare.

I visioned a chaotic dying earth

Wearing the sackcloth in its misery.

Then came a flashing from Eternity

And eagle-pinioned hope achieved rebirth

I saw a giant slave with gentleness

Working our farms and mines; whose touch will bring

Freedom from toil and pain ... and give the stars

To man, his master, by his power to bless,

The strength of Atlas in his whispering.

I walk with faith beyond fear's prison-bars.

Midwest Chaparral

Third in Citrine Contest

Leave Me This Last Shred of Hope

Let us leave the answer

For the historian to record

We who have not prophet-eyes

To read the future

Cry with a terrible wailing

The senselessness of the last warring struggle.

Backward in history

Like-wailings were heard,

Yet time built a monument to freedom

On the graves of its martyrs--

The cross of Calvary

Transposed a song of death

Into a timeless symphony of life.

So may the fields of crosses

Blossom into the beauty

Of freedom for all men.

Leave me this last shred of home

For my son was killed in Korea.

Fashion a Star

Sorrow and tears
Shadow the years--
Lift your eyes far.

Dark is the height
Mocking your sight--
Fashion a star.

Yours Was the Saving Hand

(To May C. Jensen)

No star illumined. I was drugged with fear,
And stood by the perilous chasm of despair.
Yours was the hand that reached to draw me back.
Yours was the patient voice that, like a prayer,
Intoned my soul to peace. You wove for me
A shining lei of faith, then gently led
Me from the darkened valley, step by step,
Into the light of hope. Each word you said,
Each blessed, healing word became a star--
The music of your voice still calls afar.

Hope

At the gate of dawn
In her mended robe she stands
To wait the sunrise.

New Athenaeum