Page:Bierce - Collected Works - Volume 04.djvu/154

148  Those ills 'tis easy to endure
 * That light upon and sting another—

That's Christian fortitude; but sure There's somewhere an account of your
 * Least feeling toward a hapless brother.

Himself may show by deed and speech
 * Less racial sympathies than tribal,

But—well, this is no place to preach;
 * The sermon's mostly in the Bible.

We're false to trust and quick to spy
 * The fissure in a friendly armor,

Even Freedom can no more rely
 * Upon our promise not to harm her.

O Guardian of Continents,
 * My country! shall that evil dower,

The passion for preëminence. Cry from thy seaward battlements
 * A soul already drunk with power?

They say, Brig. Roberts, you have seven wives,
 * And every one a beauty! As to that

I'm not informed; in the domestic hives
 * Of Utah, where I've sometimes hung my hat,