University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

Page 31 text:

THE REDWOOD. 15 From its cerulean waste, and here the stream Flows indolent. O golden, busy age! The opened path fortells a greater West, And progeny sprung from the land presage A race tried as the Builders and as blest. As darkness growing all the mountain clouds, The Indians gather their evening prayer. And Vespers sung, depart. Then night enshrouds; Loud barks the slim coyote from his lair, And bleat the flocks from out the distant hills, Where tinkling bells grow fainter and then fail; And rustling mighty by the murmuring rills The giant Sequoias break the rising gale: Afar the hoot of owl strikes on the air And the low rumble of the laboring deep; The flickering lights go out and free of care The land aweary sinks to sleep. The sun still shines — but on another scene. The West grown mightier than the dream, With cities great is spread; on the dark green Expanse of ocean merchants ply; the stream Is harnessed; giant factories rend The purple with their darkling cloud; And now the hurrying locomotives blend Their shrieks with sylvan songsters, where have bowed The woods neath blade of Progress. E ' en the walls Of Missions have since crumbled, and the brave Bold Builders of the West lie still, and crawls The eglantine and ivy o ' er each grave.

Page 30 text:

14 THE REDWOOD. Their princes fell — to them forever lost One prince they knew not; lingered still the fear Lest wrath should claim another holocaust. O West-land ! weep no more, soon shalt thou be A mighty state, for comes the word of God. Redman rejoice ! thine oft wished liberty Shall be no longer dreamed; the ruling rod Another Aaron now shall wield. Where gloom In the long past had shadowed brightness still, A wondrous peace now holds; from Heaven ' s dome A breath wafts spirit-like o ' er vale and hill; As child ' s soft touch a mother ' s grief, His grace Subdues the waves, tempestuous, hopeless, dark. The Redman hears. Like Israel ' s golden ark The Host is born from southland to the north; The Astec kneels and Paganism falls. O ' er crumbling idols, brownrobed marching forth, No manna falling save the grace of God, No star to guide save Faith, the abysmal deep Of wrong unfeared, the dim ways safely trod, Recalling men from Lethe ' s darkling sleep, A hero brotherhood with lifted hand. Armed with the crucifix, and holy love. Regenerate and bless a happy land. The Holy Spirit opes the realms above. And Heaven seems on earth; the forest yields, The sod is broke, the savage tills the soil. And nature, bounteous mother thrives the fields. No more from fear of raids strong men recoil; For gathered are they in their Mission homes, All goods for all in justice — social dream. Here cool arroyos, there Pacific foams

Page 32 text:

i6 THE REDWOOD. Rest on, ye hallowed dead ! t hough tears few fall Today, recalling self-forgetting toil. Still History proudly holds your deeds to all, And keeps your memory rooted in our soil. Ye came from far, from loved ones, native land. Saint Francis ' heroes reared in cot and hall — Not Argonantic questing; golden sands Did not seduce your weary feet. From thrall Of Satandom to free the West ye marched. Urged by the dauntless Serra. The Greek youth Did not more crave for worlds, than ye the parched Domains of hell-endangered souls; forsooth Columbus not more ardent sought to find The Undiscovered. Unus sufficit Non orbis, was your cry, and like the fearless wind Ye bore upon Satanic hosts. Clouds lit With nothing carnal fired; no cannon roared. Nor streams were crimsoned by the tide of blood. Ye used not Death: the demons ' hydra hood Was conquered by the axe of Right and Good. The Gordian knot of sin was severed; ye won A twofold victory for Soul and State; But torn were ye from work so well begun. And scattered through the world superb, ingrate. Surviving comrades none alas, are there To vigil keep, save Cypress, drear and green; As wailing winds disturb the stilly air. In sorrow bow their tops, and wide careen, Answering back Pacific as it sings A dirge in deep-voiced, thundrous waves. Resounding from its age-worn cliffs, and rings The De Profundis o ' er the silent graves. John Riordan ' 05.