The lure of the past, the present and future . of thesebusy people along Market street and on the streets run-ning at right angles from one side of Market street andnot at right angles on the other showed plainly the firstimpression would not hold good at all times. If GoldenGate Park could have been made on the bay instead ofthe ocean, what a different view when the stranger camethrough the ferry building. We rode on the cars andclimbed the hills, went to Chinatow^n and out to theAviation Meet and almost saw the biplane light on thebattle ship and fly away, but the most pleasing sight to uswa
The lure of the past, the present and future . of thesebusy people along Market street and on the streets run-ning at right angles from one side of Market street andnot at right angles on the other showed plainly the firstimpression would not hold good at all times. If GoldenGate Park could have been made on the bay instead ofthe ocean, what a different view when the stranger camethrough the ferry building. We rode on the cars andclimbed the hills, went to Chinatow^n and out to theAviation Meet and almost saw the biplane light on thebattle ship and fly away, but the most pleasing sight to uswas the Golden Gate Park and the Pacific Ocean. It isuseless to try to describe our feelings. As we gaze out over the dark blue ocean for the firsttime the waves of grief beat in on our lonely heart, andlike a fog creeping up from the bay to hide us came ourone great sorrow, and this beautiful poem of Tennysonsame into our mind. Never before did we realize so fullythe great love he had and the sorrow he felt for his friendburied near the sea :. THE PRESENT AND FUTURE 89 **Break, break, break On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!And I would that my tongue could utterThe thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the fishermans boy That he shouts with his sister at play! O, well for the sailor lad That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill;But, O, for a touch of a vanished hand And a sound of a voice that is still. Break, break, break. At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. When the tourist comes to San Francisco in 1915 andwanders through the park, where the great Panama Ex-position ought to be held and then goes out to the Clif¥House and gazes out over the mighty deep, the picturewill come into his mind of Balboa on yon mountain top,kneeling and with arms uplifted and hands pointingtoward heaven as with grateful heart he utters the oneword, Eureka. Take a look at the seals
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookde, booksubjectagriculture, booksubjectwomen
