M'ANDREW'S HYMN

Inventions? Ye must stay in port to mak' a patent pay. My Deeferential Valve-Gear taught me how that business lay,

I blame no chaps wi' clearer head for aught they make or sell.

I found that I could not invent an' look to these-as well.

So, wrestled wi' Apollyon-Nah! -fretted like a bairn

But burned the workin'-plans last run wi' all I hoped

to earn.

Ye know how hard an Idol dies, an' what that meant

to me

E'en tak' it for a sacrifice acceptable to Thee. . . . Below there! Oiler!

it runnin' hard?

What's your wark? Ye find

Ye needn't swill the cap wi' oil—this isn't the Cunard! Ye thought? Ye are not paid to think. Go, sweat that

off again! Tck! Tck!

It's deeficult to sweer nor tak' The

Name in vain!

Men, ay an' women, call me stern. Wi' these to oversee
Ye'll note I've little time to burn on social repartee.
The bairns see what their elders miss; they'll hunt
me to an' fro,

Till for the sake of-well, a kiss-I tak' 'em down below.

That minds me of our Viscount loon-Sir Kenneth's kin- the chap

Wi' Russia leather tennis-shoon an' spar-decked

yachtin'-cap.

I showed him round last week, o'er all—an' at the last says he:

"Mister M'Andrew, don't you think steam spoils romance at sea?"

Damned ijjit! I'd been doon that morn to see what ailed the throws,

Manholin', on my back-the cranks three inches off my nose.

Romance!

very well,

Those first-class passengers they like it

Printed an' bound in little books; but why don't poets tell?

I'm sick of all their quirks an' turns-the loves an' doves they dream

Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the Song o' Steam!

To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime

Whaurto-uplifted like the Just-the tail-rods mark the time.

The crank-throws give the double-bass, the feedpump sobs an' heaves,

An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves:

Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking linkhead bides,

Till-hear that note ?-the rod's return whings glimmerin' through the guides.

They're all awa'! True beat, full power, the clangin' chorus goes

Clear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin' dynamos.

M'ANDREW'S HYMN

Interdependence absolute, foreseen, ordained, decreed, To work, Ye'll note, at any tilt an' every rate o'

speed.

Fra' skylight-lift to furnace-bars, backed, bolted, braced an' stayed,

An' singin' like the Mornin' Stars for joy that they are made;

While, out o' touch o' vanity, the sweatin' thrustblock says:

"Not unto us the praise, or man- -not unto us the praise!"

Now, a' together, hear them lift their lesson-theirs an' mine:

"Law, Orrder, Duty an' Restraint, Obedience, Discipline!"

Mill, forge an' try-pit taught them that when roarin' they arose,

An' whiles I wonder if a soul was gied them wi' the blows.

Oh for a man to weld it then, in one trip-hammer strain,

Till even first-class passengers could tell the meanin' plain!

But no one cares except mysel' that serve an' understand

My seven thousand horse-power here. Eh, Lord! They're grand-they're grand!

Uplift am I? When first in store the new-made beasties stood,

Were Ye cast down that breathed the Word declarin'

all things good?

Not so! O' that warld-liftin' joy no after-fall could

vex,

Ye've left a glimmer still to cheer the Man-the
Arrtifex!

That holds, in spite o' knock and scale, o' friction,
waste an' slip,

An' by that light-now, mark my word-we'll build the Perfect Ship.

I'll never last to judge her lines or take her curvenot I.

But I ha' lived an' I ha' worked. 'Be thanks to Thee, Most High!

An' I ha' done what I ha' done-judge Thou if ill or well

Always Thy Grace preventin' me.

Losh! Yon's the "Stand by " bell. Pilot so soon? His flare it is. The mornin'-watch is

set.

Well, God be thanked, as I was sayin', I'm no Pela

gian yet.

Now I'll tak' on.

'Morrn, Ferguson. Man, have ye ever thought What your good leddy costs in coal? . . . I'll burn'em down to port.

THE MIRACLES

I SENT a message to my dear

A thousand leagues and more to HerThe dumb sea-levels thrilled to hear, And Lost Atlantis bore to Her.

Behind my message hard I came,

And nigh had found a grave for me; But that I launched of steel and flame Did war against the wave for me.

Uprose the deep, by gale on gale,
To bid me change my mind again-
He broke his teeth along my rail,
And, roaring, swung behind again.

I stayed the sun at noon to tell
My way across the waste of it;

I read the storm before it fell

And made the better haste of it.

Afar, I hailed the land at night

The towers I built had heard of meAnd, ere my rocket reached its height, Had flashed my Love the word of me.