The Song of the Boom Logs 



UP on the lift of the wind-blown swell, 

 Where the currents swing and surge, 

 Ever in sound of the harbor bell, 

 Where the waters lifting merge. 

 Hand and hand and end to end, 

 With the river's current out we bend. 

 Through clear sunlight or choking fogs, 

 Our brother's keeper we; 

 Boom logs. 



Far in the hills on the backward trail, 

 W 7 here the rocks lift to the sky; 

 Deep in their clefts our roots impaled 

 Where the river fountains lie. 

 Strong and sturdy, straight stood we, 

 And laughed at the winds in mockery. 

 Our master came in the morning gloom, 

 We do his word, 



Logs of the boom. 



Our sullen brethren fling curses deep, 

 As they lie here in their rage, 

 Jostling in their fitful sleep, 

 As they crowd our strength to gauge. 

 Our master, Man, with chains of steel, 

 Bids us hold well, that they may feel 

 The teeth of "steam and his biting dogs. 

 A task of Judas ours, 



Boom logs. C. A. LAFLIN. 



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