| |
| In lazy laughing Panama— | |
| O flutter of ribbon ’twixt the seas! | |
| The low-roofed houses lie afloat, | |
| White foam-drift of the Caribbees. | |
| Under lithe palms that fan the sky | 5 |
| Down in each drowsy plaza there | |
| Brown-footed girls go glancing by | |
| With red hibiscus in their hair. | |
| Low mountains, trailing veils of cloud, | |
| In the two oceans dip their feet, | 10 |
| And hear the proud tides roaring loud | |
| Where Andes with Sierras meet. | |
| O Panama! O ribbon-twist | |
| That ties the continents together, | |
| Now East and West shall slip your tether | 15 |
| And keep their ancient tryst. | |
| |
| What are you doing here, | |
| Young men, with your engines vast? | |
| Sons of the pioneer | |
| Who conquered wastes austere | 20 |
| And from ocean to ocean passed; | |
| Sons of the men who made | |
| Reaper and telegraph, | |
| Steamer and aeroplane— | |
| All the iron-handed things, | 25 |
| Swift feet and ears and wings, | |
| That would make the old gods laugh | |
| For the bitter games they played | |
| With the secrets they kept in vain: | |
| What are you doing here, | 30 |
| Young men, with your dredges and drills | |
| That level the ancient hills | |
| Into a path for ships? | |
| Open your eyes and lips— | |
| What do you see and hear? | 35 |
| |
| “Oh, we build you the world’s last wonder, | |
| The thing not made with hands. | |
| Our steel beasts gnaw asunder | |
| The locked and laboring lands. | |
| We choke the torrent’s rage | 40 |
| And bid him his wrath assuage | |
| By drowning the jungle deep. | |
| In steel-locked chambers gray | |
| We hold his floods at bay, | |
| On wide blue lakes asleep. | 45 |
| Now shall the brave ships ride | |
| Over the crouching hill | |
| From eager tide to tide, | |
| That so we may fulfil | |
| The iron century’s will; | 50 |
| That so our country, maker of tools sublime, | |
| The nations may surprise | |
| With this last gift of the grand old workman, Time; | |
| His prodigy powerful, delicate, sentient, wise, | |
| Perfect in strange completeness, strong to obey, | 55 |
| Strong to compel the world along its way | |
| And praise man’s triumph in its mighty rhyme.” | |
| |
| But what are you doing here, | |
| Young men, with your flags?— | |
| With your glamor of joy severe | 60 |
| In the labor that never lags? | |
| With your villages up the hill, | |
| The screened little houses gay, | |
| Where the good of all is the will | |
| Of each in a grand new way? | 65 |
| Sons of the men who founded | |
| New states in the wilds, to be | |
| Garden and range unbounded | |
| For young Democracy; | |
| Sons of the heroes dear | 70 |
| Who fought for liberty, | |
| What are you doing here? | |
| |
| “Look, it’s the same old fight | |
| Out of the dark to the light; | |
| Never the end shall be | 75 |
| Till the last slave is free! | |
| Here while we dig the Ditch | |
| We would build you a perfect state, | |
| Where service makes men great | |
| And the great scorn to be rich; | 80 |
| Where each one has his place | |
| And a measure more than his mead— | |
| A banner of joy to grace | |
| The strength of the daily deed; | |
| Where wan Disease, the slayer, | 85 |
| Is trapped in his poison lair | |
| With Squalor and Want and Care; | |
| Where the Work is a marching song | |
| Sung by us all together, | |
| Bearing the race along | 90 |
| Through good and evil weather. | |
| Oh tell them, shout it through the halls of time!— | |
| When the Big Chief unrolls his glorious plan, | |
| Draws hearts and hands together in perfect rhyme, | |
| Nothing shall be impossible to Man!” | 95 |
| |
| But what are you doing here, | |
| Young men, with your gates?— | |
| With your bells and beacons clear | |
| Where the hope of the whole world waits? | |
| With your call across the seas | 100 |
| To the ships that circle afar, | |
| To the nations that burn and freeze | |
| Each under her separate star? | |
| Sons of the dreamers brave | |
| Who followed the Truth austere, | 105 |
| Of poets and prophets grave— | |
| What are you doing here? | |
| |
| “Hush! we wait at the gate | |
| Till the dream shall be the law, | |
| He gave us our beacons and bells | 110 |
| Who first the vision saw, | |
| And the fleets of the world in state | |
| Shall follow his caravels. | |
| Ghost-led, our ships shall sail | |
| West to the ancient East. | 115 |
| Once more the quest of the Grail, | |
| And the greatest shall be the least. | |
| We shall circle the earth around | |
| With peace like a garland fine; | |
| The warring world shall be bound | 120 |
| With a girdle of love divine. | |
| What build we from coast to coast? | |
| ’Tis a path for the Holy Ghost. | |
| Oh Tomorrow and Yesterday | |
| At its gate clasp hands, touch lips; | 125 |
| They shall send men forth in ships | |
| To find the perfect way. | |
| |
| “All that was writ shall be fulfilled at last. | |
| Come—till we round the circle, end the story. | |
| The west-bound sun leads forward to the past | 130 |
| The thundering cruisers and the caravels. | |
| Tomorrow you shall hear our song of glory | |
| Rung in the chime of India’s temple bells.” | |
| |
| O lazy laughing Panama! | |
| O flutter of ribbon ’twixt the seas! | 135 |
| Pirate and king your colors wore | |
| And stained with blood your golden keys. | |
| Now what strange guest, on what mad quest, | |
| Lifts up your trophy to the breeze! | |
| O Panama, O ribbon-twist | 140 |
| That ties the continents together, | |
| Now East and West shall slip your tether | |
And keep their ancient tryst.
To COLONEL GOETHALS
and the other laborers
in the Canal Zone | |
| |
