George Essex Evans

“ Where the soul of a man is warped and sunk to the
soul of a mere machine,
In the flash of the wire to west and north, in the hum
of the restless street,
In the pulse of the toiling press that beats all night
in a fever heat,
Where the weary brain and the pen plod on 'neath
the white electric light–
Tho' we fail and fall still the fight goes on ”

“ Till the land that lies like a giant asleep shall wake
to the victory won,
And the hearts of the Nation Builders shall know
that the work is done.
We are but the hands of the Builder, who toileth and
frameth afar;
System, and order, and sequence; sun, and planet,
and star–
Faint sparks of a Mighty Genius, a breath of the
Over Soul,
Who shapes the thought of the workers wherever his
worlds may roll. ”