A nature worshipper, long dead,
Came back in ghostly form,
To visit where, in ages sped,
He bowed before the storm.
The city streets with radiance burned
Through every darkened hour,
And every busy wheel was turned
By harnessed lightning power.
“Ah me,” he said, “The times do change.
This is a different ball.
So altered everything, so strange,
I’m not at home at all.
These moderns have audacious wills;
The gods we served aright,
They’ve put to work to turn their mills
And light their streets at night.”
[Illustration of a window view of a city’s downtown on a stormy night.
A generator is in the foreground next to the window. The window frames
a skyscraper, other buildings, and street lights; they are all filled
with light. A bolt of lightning extends from the sky to the generator.
The art piece is signed “A Sturges” and below it the caption reads,
“Decoration by A Sturges.”]