The Mountaineer 15 



How weak the pen, how vain the brush 

 To catch the hues of this deep gash ! 



How here revealed thy power to crush, 

 How awful is thy breathing's crash! 



Grind, grind, grind, 



In cruel jaws of ice! 

 Grind, grind, grind, 



A Devil's Paradise! 



New life from death, eternal whirl, 

 How brief each puny span of life ! 



How long the atoms, grinding, swirl 

 Ere seized anew for a season's strife ! 



Grind, grind, grind. 



To powder every stone! 

 Grind, grind, grind. 



New life will death atone! 



I mount thy shoulders' utmost height, 

 Where threat'ning ice-cliffs poise and nod. 



Where avalanches roar in flight 

 Like falling demons cursed of God. 



Grind, grind, grind, 



And grind exceeding fine ! 

 Grind, grind, grind. 



My Master's will and thine! 



August 5, 1909. 



