The Black Hawk War of the Artists

Hawk of the Rocks,Yours is our cause to-day.Watching your foesHere in our war array,Young men we stand,Wolves of the West at bay. Power, power for war Comes from these trees divine; Power from the boughs, Boughs where the dew-beads shine, Power from the cones Yea, from the breath of the pine! Power to restoreAll that the white hand mars.See the dead eastCrushed with the iron cars�Chimneys

A Sense of Humor

NO man should stand before the moon
To make sweet song thereon,
With dandified importance,
His sense of humor gone.

Nay, let us don the motley cap,
The jester's chastened mien,
If we would woo that looking-glass
And see what should be seen.

O mirror on fair Heaven's wall,
We find there what we bring.
So, let us smile in honest part
And deck our souls and sing.

Yea, by the chastened