TO MOUNT SIERRA.

Thou grand old granite mountain Canst tell me what thy age? What secrets art thou holding Within thy heart O sage. Couldst man find out by delving Deep in thy stony breast, How long thou hast been rearing On high, thy hoary crest. Hadst thou e’er a beginning? Wilt thou in death e’er fall? Canst thou these questions answer? On thee I humbly call. Is life, within thy bosom? Or art thou cold and dead? Thou standest in thy myst’ry No tears of misery shed. Thy heart, thy life is granite, Thou carest not for woe. If tear thou ever sheddest It turns to ice and snow. But why seek I thy secrets, Thou haughty mountain king? Thou wilt not give me answer, No knowledge to me bring.— The wind doth give me answer That thou wast born of fire. Thou claimest Earth as mother, Jehovah is thy sire. Farewell O Mount Sierra! I leave thee to thy rest. But, man will wrench thy secrets In future from thy breast.