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    The Power Plant
    by Berton Braley

    Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!
    The mighty dynamos hum and purr,
    And the blue flames crackle and glow and burn
    Where the brushes touch and the magnets turn.
    Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!
    This is no shrine of the Things That Were,
    But the tingling altar of live To-day,
    Where the modern priests of the "Juice" hold sway;
    Where the lights are born and the lightnings made
    To serve the needs of the world of trade.

    Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!
    The white lights banish the murky blurr,
    And over the city, far and near,
    The spell extends that was conjured here,
    While down in the wheel-pits, far below,
    The water whirls in a ceaseless flow-
    Foaming and boiling, wild and white,
    In a passionate race of tireless might,
    Rushing ever the turbines through,
    And making the dream, the Dream come true!

    Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!
    The dynamos croon and hum and purr,
    And over the city's myriad ways
    The jeweled lights all burst ablaze,
    And the peak-load comes on the burdened wires
    As the folk rush home to their food and fires!

    Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!
    This is the heart of the city's stir,
    Here where the dynamos croon and sing,
    Here where only the "Juice" is King,
    Where the switchboard stands in its marble pride,
    And the tender watches it, argus-eyed;

    Where Death is harnessed and made to serve
    By keen-faced masters of brain and nerve;
    This is the shrine of the God The Works,
    Driving away the mists and murks,
    Turning the lightning into use.
    This is the shrine of the mighty "Juice,"
    Flowing ever the long wires through,
    And making the dream, the Dream come true!

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