I am swept across the desert, by the sorrow of my soul,
To the glowing golden city where waves of anguish roll:
I can see the sheen and shimmer that enveloped sky and street,
I can see the smiling faces of the friends I used to meet;

I can feel the subtle essence that, through-out a world wide quest
Thrills heart and brain and pulses nowhere as in that West.
Supreme Pacific wonder, fair Goddess of the Gate
The world has paid you homage, the world bemoans your fate.

We loved you in your beauty, as you reigned beside the seas;
We love you, scorched and stricken, as you plead upon your knees.
In days of pride and glory you were generous and broad;
You were like an earth expression Of the opulence of God.

And it took the cosmic forces and the awful grip of Space
To rob you of your courage and drive radiance from your face.
You offered us your sunshine when native skies grew cold,
And when our purse was empty you offer'd us your gold.

Oft when our own, unseeing, gazed on some work of art
You looked with larger vision and offered us Your Heart
Oh! stricken friend and hostess, you kneel among the dead;
And all that moves or stirs us were best in Actions said.

Shake out your golden tresses; our hands shall bind them up;
And lift the empty goblet; our gourd shall fill the cup.
Behind the smoke and horror let your prophetic eyes
Perceice [sic "perceive"] God's chosen city from your own ashes rise.

The stricken city. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Music by Fanciulli, Francesco.
Written expressly for the Hearst San Francisco relief fund.

Boston Sunday American, May 20, 1906. Music Section p. 5-8.


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