IN THE GIANT FOREST OF THE SIERRAS 



By ALEXANDER BLAIR THAW 



YE FIRST of living things! 

 Ye that were goodly trees 

 When the great King of Kings, 

 Building his garden wall, 

 Brought down to Babylon, 



Upon her streams, the tall 

 Cedars of Lebanon. 



Ye mighty trees ! 

 Ye which are lirst, of all 

 Kings of the wildwood ! 



Over the earth and seas 



Here we are come at last, 

 Weary with wanderings, 



Down at your feet to fall ; 

 Here, by your mountain springs. 



Silent and all alone, 

 Through the long ages past, 



High on your granite throne 

 Ye stood in your glory. 



Mighty ye grew in girth, 

 Brother by brother. 



Bending your mighty knees 

 Down to the lap of earth, 



While the great mother 

 Still to your listening ears 



Whispered her story. 

 Tales of our wandering years, 



Tales of our childhood. 



Here on the mother's lap. 



When earth was young, 

 Your slender rootlets clung. 



Like tender fingers pressed 



Close to her maiden breast. 

 Then first the living sap 



Leaped from her bosom. 



Now you are mighty trees — 



Full forty centuries 



Past, since that morn. 

 When on these stony hills 



Bloomed your first blossom. 



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Led by your mountain rills, 

 We greet you, great brothers, first born 



Of our mother, the earth ! 

 Here, in the heart of the hills. 



Where you dwell 

 And forever have dwelt. 



The great mother first felt 

 Through her virgin repose 



The quickening spell 



Of your birth. 



And under the snows 

 Of these hills of her breasts. 



Where they rise — 

 Where they lift their pure crests 



To the skies — 

 Deep under the ground. 



Where your strong roots are wound, 

 Her delicate veins 



With your growth have grown ; 

 And they swell 



With the coming of life to these hills 

 Where you dwell. 



With the sweep of the life-giving rains. 

 Which her passion distils 



From the pure, sunlit heavens above her. 



Ye guardians who treasure 



The gracious gift of rain, 

 And still pour forth again. 



Age after age, and year on year. 

 In bounteous measure, 



Your everlasting fountains ! 



O, ye great trees. 

 Who lift your lofty forms. 



And gather earth's increase, 



And reign in endless peace 



Through all the centuries 

 Amidst the passions of her storm! 



Up to these mountains — 

 Where evermore you stand, 



Great sentinels 

 O'er all this virgin land. 



Guarding your sacred wells. 

 We come to drink of these. 



