Of some machine, is many a man
With just as brave a heart.

The man who wears the shoulder-straps
Deserves the people's praise;

I honor and applaud him for

The noble part he plays;

But, back there in the ranks somewhere,

Stout-hearted, brave, is he,

Prepared to do, and nerved to dare,

The soldier boy for me!

-

S. E. Kiser.

THE HARBOR MINE.

The Harbor Mine.

GIVE the speedway to the cruiser,

Give the monitor the tide,

To the battle-ship with its steel side-strip
The channel deep and wide;

Give the fleet full way o'er the ocean,
Give the batt'ries wind-wide range;

But mine be a grave 'neath the salt-sea wave,
'Mid the creatures wild and strange,

For I am the harbor mine,

And day by day I swing

On my anchor-chain 'neath the rolling main

While the billows sadly sing.

Yea, I am the harbor mine.

And I am the monster fell

For those who tread upon my head
As they would on a hidden hell.

Give the broad sea course to the steel-girt horse
That champs on the rolling foam,

And give the breadth of the leagueless tide
To the fleets that coastwise roam;

But give me a rest 'neath the billows' crest,
As, oh, they sweetly sing

Of the world above where they dream of love
And the earth grows bright with spring.
For I am the harbor mine.

They whisper: "Don't go there,
He's the avatar of the woe of man,
Of sorrow and despair."
They know not where I hide,

And they dare not track my den,
For I am the flame of the under-deep
And I feed on mangled men.

Give the wind to the merchant-liners,
The channel to the fleet;

In the harbor mouth, by North by South,
For the coming of their feet

I wait through the weary hours,

And they search for me in vain, For I am the hidden hell that sleeps In the crib of the under-main.

Oh, I am the harbor mine!

The sea-gulls come and go,
Above the sun and the stars that shine

Smile on me here below;

But the ship that sails my way,

Ah, who shall count the wrack

Of the shriven plates as the lightning leaps
Along the magnet's track!

THE HARBOR MINE.

For a keen eye in the portals,
With a hand upon the key,

From the fortress waits to tell the fates

Of the ships that sail to me. The battle-ship or cruiser,

The children of the fleet,

-

To all that come with a welcome glum

I'm here to trip their feet.

Yea, I am the harbor mine,

With the lightning in my hand,
And I guard the ports, and hold the forts,
When the ships above me land.

I rock on the under-ocean,

In the gloom of my deep salt-den.
And I am the hell that hidden waits
To feed on the shapes of men.

To feed on the guns that thundered,
To feed on the plates and bars,
When the ship sinks down in the channel
To me and the ghosts and stars;
To feed on the smashed projectiles,
To feed on the grim barbette,
All day I wait in the harbor's gate,
All day my anchors fret.

For I am the harbor mine,
Whose voice is a muffled roar,

Whose song is a flash of the magnet's fire
In the opera of war.

And they whisper: "Don't go there,
For he is a monster fell,

And ships must tread upon his head

As they would on a hidden hell.”