The Struggle

But hark!... Behind, a trumpet-blast winds clear! Great God! Our dread competitor draws near; We’d half a minute start, and now, like Fate, He’s rushing onward to annihilate Distance and time, whirled in a hurricane! Inexorably we see him gain and gain....

“Now!--speed her up!” the boy cries out. “More speed!” “The curséd motor’s gone to sleep!--Indeed, “We’re hardly doing fifty miles an hour. “But he won’t pass us yet awhile! More power!”... The driver heeds; he moves--the furious pace Grows frenzied! Oh, the glory of a race Like this of modern days, with steady hand To steer a whirlwind through a startled land!