THE VIRTUE THAT BEGINS AWAY FROM HOME

In Europe's hour of darkest night That daunts the faith of sage and seer I long to share the morning light Diffused in yonder hemisphere; There all is joy and radiance (just As when on Eden first the sun rose), Thanks to the Power that holds in trust That legacy of Colonel Monroe's. But out of those so halcyon skies Chill blasts of disillusion blow When I observe with pained surprise The state of things in Mexico; And "Why," I ask, "in Heaven's name, Can't 'God's own country' (U.S.A.) go And, by the right none else may claim, Put it across the dirty Dago?" Then I reflect: "'Tis not so strange; Some virtues best begin at home, But others, of superior range, Prefer to start beyond the foam; There are who mend the ills at hand, But those whose aims are even bigger Seek out a far and savage land There to convert the godless nigger. "This chance, no doubt, distracts the Yank From sinners at his very door; No local cure, he feels, can rank With efforts on a distant shore; His heart to Sinn Fein's gospel wed, And by its beauty deeply bitten, He sends his dollars forth to spread The fear of hell in heathen Britain." O. S.