Now, Batman, Prophet Batman, a hundred years ago,
   He looked upon this land and found it good.
“’Tis the place to build a village,” bold Batman said, and so
   They straight began – or so I’ve understood –
To fling rude huts together by the swamp and by the stream,
To make beginning here and then for Batman’s daring dream.


But Batman, Prophet Batman, was quite a modest cove;
   His vision sought no far and fabled goals.
A village he could picture here; but no vast treasure trove –
   A mighty city of a million souls –
A miracle arising by the swamp and by the stream
In the hundred years that followed on one pioneering dream.


Now I, far lesser prophet, stand here to view the scene –
   Tall spire, proud dome athwart a sunny sky,
This far-flung city basking by many a garden green –
   Yet hopelessly I fail to prophesy.
While earth holds threat and promise both, and high hope walks with dread,
Then who may claim the vision of one hundred years ahead?


Shall yet a greater miracle arise beside the stream,
   When wiser plans of wiser men prevail –
Some shining City of Content beyond man’s boldest bream?
   Or must a world’s mad frenzy end the tale,
And, in a hundred years from now, another village rise
To shield indomitable man ‘neath ruin-fretted skies?

"Den"
Herald, 4 October 1934, p6