POETRY.
RACE-HATRED: A PROBLEM.'
IN the North, in the North, in the white and wintry North, Where the men they hated stayed, where the men they loved went forth, I was King, I was Lord; never Court so thronged as mine, Founded high above the snowdrift, 'neath the bent and blasted pine.
Yet a dray came when it crumbled ; so I vanished in my wrath From the North, from the North, from the white inconstant North.
In the South, in the South, in the red and war-torn South, I was King, I was Lord ; loud my praise in every mouth ; For the war-drums beat my glory, the big guns sang my fame From the kopje, from the veld, from the hecatombs of slain. Yet the hearts of men rang hollow, though my name was in their mouth, And my throne shakes like a shadow in the big inconstant South.
In the West, in the West, in the small tenacious West, I am King still, I am Lord ; there my throne is founded best, For the centuries approve me, I am fixed, encased, secure, While the hearts of men burn hotly, while the thoughts of wrong endure.
What is written? Will it fail me? Will it vanish like the rest ?
Or am I King for ever in the green tenacious West ? E. L.
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