IN HIS MIGHT 



Like spectral shapes, the tree-tops stand 

 Above the flood that's o'er the land: 

 To stem this tide that's o'er the land, 

 Men run around with hags of sand. 



I Stand on Memphis Bluff to-day. 



And watch the Mississippi sweep 

 Resistless on its sullen way — 



Majestic, silent, grim and deep. 

 An angry ruffled turbulence 



Its tumid bosom agitates. 

 With swirling volume thick and dense. 



The filchings from a dozen states. 



A thousand brooks their tribute bring, 



A hundred streams their contents pour 

 From Allegheny's mountain spring, 



And far Itasca's crystal store ; 

 Big Muddy's varied galaxy. 



From distant reaches of the Kaw, 

 From Cumberland and Tennessee, 



And murky creeks of Arkansas. 



"Bring on your fill," the Giant cries! 



"I'm Father of the Waters, and 

 I care not to what heights I rise ; 



I'll take what space my needs demand." 



And puny men embankments rear, 



This mighty monster's course to stake ; 

 And sit complacent, for a year. 



And then again the levees break. 



The countless Ages past and gone. 



The Present, with its busy hum, 

 Form moments only. Through the dawn 



Of countless centuries to come 

 You'll rise and fall, and never heed, — 



Your task is endless, — never done. 

 I'll venture, you'll be here in deed 



When weak Man's transient race is run. 



Like spectral shapes, the tree-tops stand 

 Above the flood that's o'er the land; 

 To stem this tide that's o'er the land. 

 Men run around with bags of sand. 



■ — A. Kkaetzer. 



—26— 



