Frank Preston Stearns, Cambridge Sketches

[138] private circulation, in which there were a number of excellent pieces, and especially two which deserve a place in any choice collection of American poetry. One is called the “Whip of the sky” and relates to a subject which Mr. Appleton often dwelt upon,--the unnecessary haste and restlessness of American life, and is given here for the wider circulation which it amply deserves:

The Whip of the sky.

Weary with travel, charmed with home,
The youth salutes New England's air;
Nor notes, within the azure dome,
A vigilant, menacing figure there,
Whose thonged hand swings
A whip which sings:
“Step, step, step,” sings the whip of the sky:
“Hurry up, move along, you can if you try!”

Remembering Como's languid side,
Where, pulsing from the citron deep,
The nightingale's aerial tide
Floats through the day, repose and sleep,
Reclined in groves,--
A voice reproves.
“Step, step, step,” cracks the whip of the sky:
“Hurry up, jump along, rest when you die!”

Slave of electric will, which strips
From him the bliss of easeful hours;
And bids, as from a tyrant's lips,
Rest, quiet, fly, as useless flowers,