86 



FORESTRY AND IRRIGATION 



February 



by Dr. R. S. Woodward, of the Car- 

 negie Institution. The Association of 

 State University Presidents has, dur- 

 ing the past few months, been doing 

 notable service in corresponding with 

 , Congressmen of their respective States 

 on the vital importance of extending 

 the National Forest system to the 

 Eastern States. It is probable that a 



special committee will represent this 

 Association. The list of organiza- 

 tions which in one way or another are 

 aiding in the movement is too long to 

 mention. Many of them will have rep- 

 resentatives present on the 3Oth to 

 help emphasize before the Committee 

 the great importance of the bill. 



THE TEMPLES EAST AND WEST 



By The Lumberman Poet 



The temples of the East arise upon her ancient shores, 



But hunger, gaunt and haggard, lies beside their open doors. 



The bells of even call to prayer when torrid day is done. 



But paupers pray for regions where death comes not with the sun. 



The temples of the Eastland gleam with gilded peak and spire 

 Until the polished structures seem great monuments of hre. 

 But they who madly stretch to Buddh their supplicating hands 

 Leave naked footprints, done in blood, imprinted on the sands. 



The artisans have builded well the temples of the East 

 With sign, design and capital their mystery increased. 

 The arching doorways are engraved with names of gods divine, 

 And yet the god-forgotten slaved to rear the godly shrine. 



The temples of the West look down upon the azure seas; 



Xo sick and weary famine town looks sadly up to these. 



No gilded dome reflects the sun on eyes with sunlight blind, 



Or sinks from sight, when day is done, while death steals up behind. 



The temples of the \Yestland gleam as gleam the Eastern spires 

 But wear the colors of a dream, the sunset's tender fires. 

 The gilt upon their shining towers is like the rainbow's glow; 

 It changes with the changing hours, while sunsets come and go. 



And never in the Orient such pillars rise as these; 



Such beauties never there are blent in wall and roof and frieze 



For never by the ancient shore where gilt pagodas rise 



Upon emblazoned temples pour such lights of paradise. 



The temples of the Westland lift their pillars to the sky 

 While ships of vapor slowly drift in stately splendor by. 

 The temples of the westland rise from our the Westland soil, 

 Reared not by skill of weeping eyes or hopeless hands of toil. 



O, temples of the East, your gods much tribute have required 

 The birth and life and death of clods, to rear you many-spired. 

 The temples of the West were made by neither toil nor pelf 

 The God who dwells within their shade has builded them Himself. 



Ring out, you bells of temples East; you call me less than these 

 That spread their sweet communion feast beneath the Westward trees. 

 Ring forth upon the sultry air when dying day is dim; 

 I hear another call to prayer the forest's mighty hymn. 



I stand before an open door, a temple in the West. 

 I hear the music on the shore of waves that sink to rest. 

 Above me mount the Westland firs; their incense rises pure. 

 O gilded Eastward sepulchers, my soul you cannot lure. 



The American Lumberman 



