Growth.

He saw a tree, by the tempest torn
From the mountain side, on the flood's crest borne;
And a thought took shape in his brain.
He set to work with stone and fire
To fashion the wood to his mind's desire;
And a frail craft crept to the main.
The years brought changes in his plan.
The trireme and the long-ship ran
On their rollers to the sea,
And by the sail and the oar propelled
Furrowed unknown seas, and their crews beheld
Strange coasts wrapped in mystery.
The galleon passed, and the three-decked ship;
A ship, screw-driven, ran down the slip,
And laughed at the tempest's wrath.
And came the day when no sea that rolls
To the sands of the line or the ice of the poles
But served for a brave ship's path.
He turned his gaze to the morning sky
When he heard the song of the lark on high,
And he envied the bird its flight.
He set his mind to a task again,
And knew no rest till the aeroplane
Flashed silver in full sunlight.
And I, who watched it as it flew,
Would ask is the plane but a rude canoe—
A strange seed's germinating;
And shall the sun of the day arise
When man shall pass through the distant skies
To worlds for his bold feet waiting?
And though there comes to me no reply
It is mine to dream as I gaze on high
That the growth in a seed has started;
And those to come long after me
Shall tell how a seedling became a tree
When the way to the stars is charted.

—Joseph C. McEvoy.