A VOICE FROM THE DESERT 



[Lines written on the forest destruction in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, by a resident 

 of the arid southwest after spending a summer in the Granite State.] 



Wandering tribes now roam 



The hills of Lebanon, 

 Knowing not house nor home ; 



Gone the great cedars, gone 

 That temple built of them 

 Once in Jerusalem ! 



Once our forefathers heard, 



Under their sacred oak, 

 Some strangely muttered word, 



Whispered by tongues that spoke 

 Forth from the Druid tree, 

 Darkly, of things to be. 



Though to our senseless ears 



Forest and wood are dumb, 

 Now, in the lapse of years, 



Our brothers' sons who come 

 Out of a treeless land 

 Hearken ! and understand. 



Men of the West, come forth ! 



Leaving your desert plains ; 

 Tell to the East and North 



Secrets the long-sought rains 

 Bear to your land of drouth 

 There in the burning South ! 



Men of the East, beware ! 



Listen, and understand : 

 Who strips your forest bare, 



Ruins the whole fair land ; 

 And by most ecret stealth 

 Despoils your common wealth. 



Seeking new gods, you list 



These prophets of a day, 

 Who, for their daily grist, 



Grind the wild woods away, 

 And with unholy haste 

 Lay the wide forest waste. 



No longer give to greed 



Your sons' best heritage ! 

 Lo, he who runs may read 



The woodland's open page ; 

 And, in that book, the fate 

 And future of our State. 



ALEXANDER BLAIR THAW. 



