56 The Mountaineer 
The sunrise studs them thick with pearls, 
With crimson links each fold; 
The sunset every banner furls 
Yet leaves their crowns of gold; 
Then ghostly gravy, they vigil keep 
While tired man dares fall asleep 
Among the great white hills of God. 
But vet, ve hills, I'd speak to thee, 
Across the years I'd call; 
My dust with thine may seek the sea, 
My days be few and small, 
My name be lost as ages roll 
But 1_—a man—I have a soul, 
O listen, great white hills of God. 
NOTE.—Written cn Annual Outing of The Mountaineers at the base of 
Mount Rainier and read at Main Camp Fire July 24, 1909, by Rey. Francis J. 
Van Horn. 
MOUNT ST. HELENS. 
C. EK. Forsytru. 
St. Helens, the youngest of the voleanic peaks of the Cas- 
cade Range, is thirty miles west and out of line with the older 
peaks, thus being more susceptible to climatie change. It 
stands out clear, clean, alone, not dwarfed by other mountains 
or hills nearly its height in close proximity—an oval dome in 
shape. 
When its winter coat of snow is on, filling its crevasse 
system, covering its buttes and even the rock chimneys around 
its crater top, then and not till then is it a perfect white with 
no mark or foul blot upon its shield. Then with its 10,000 feet, 
it is a wonder to look upon and should be seen to be appre- 
ciated. Some scenes in the hill system at times are not made 
for words, are bevond description. One is simply lost in 
wonder. 
