Suffering and silent torture;
Perhaps Actaeon in the hunt,
When himself the prey afforded
To his ravening hounds that sped
Fiercely o'er the mountain ridges;
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Perhaps Medusa's Gorgon head.
So I see my fate before me,
Fixed as adamant it stands;
Other lands will know her sweetness;
To the embrace of other hands
Swiftly her far journey speeding,
Speeding westward to those strands,
Where a fuller, warmer nature
Breathes into the heart of man,
Stirring him to easier action,
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Co-operative Society Bulletin.
