No Niagara now, nor pistoned power
nor politics provides us enough light
to walk, unmolested, Main Street's night
infested with forked hates and fears. The hour
is ominous. Alarms and rumors lower
through each mushrooming cloud, blinding sight
to friendship, joy, compassion—every right
bud-motive waiting but some sun to flower
as universal peace. Come! We must then
prevent a blackout, prove Love's rays reach far
as the farthest galaxy, where men
may walk down other Main Streets.
once, a star
guided the Wisemen, willing to be led,
to the Saviour, in Herod's reign of dread.
