And noble ships strain mast and sail
As outward-bound they fly,
The mighty torrent under keel,
Great cloud-banks in the sky.
And restless ever, free as air,
She races in her play;
God help the fisherman who goes
Upon her breast today.
For home, and child, and waiting wife,
Small recks the mighty river,
Nor death nor life shall stay her course,
She crashes on forever.
Photo by Watkins
MOUNT HOOD.
When God foresaw the littleness of men,
And all our need of object-lessons, then
He smote the pulsing, pregnant womb of earth,
And bade the plain be cleft to give thee birth.
He caused thy rugged head to rear on high,
Where clouds and sun make war within the sky;
And unto thee the mission grand was given
To show how lowly earth may reach toward heaven.
