The Fisk Street turbine power station in Chicago <br /> <br />The invisible wheels go softly round and round— <br />Light is the tread of brazen-footed Power. <br />Spirits of air, caged in the iron tower, <br />Sing as they labor with a purring sound. <br />The abysmal fires, grated and chained and bound, <br />Burn white and still, in swift obedience cower; <br />While far and wide the myriad lamps, aflower, <br />Glow like star-gardens and the night confound. <br />This we have done for thee, almighty Lord; <br />Yea, even as they who built at thy command <br />The pillared temple, or in marble made <br />Thine image, or who sang thy deathless word. <br />We take the weapons of thy dread right hand, <br />And wield them in thy service unafraid.<br /><br />Harriet Monroe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-power-plant/
