136 THE MARKHOR 



than the loveliest garden lilies, glimmering like 

 pearls in the light of heaven, turning to blood- 

 red rubies in the sun's crimson rays, and blacker 

 than jet when the storm-clouds gather. Man 

 may make posies and garlands of all other flowers, 

 but these mountain blossoms he cannot even hold 

 in his hand ! 



What do Mars and Venus matter to these royal 

 stones ? 



What a pigmy I feel I, a man of average height, 

 of the Teutonic race ! One's insignificance comes 

 home to one very clearly up here, and that God, 

 so often forgotten in towns and churches, seems 

 very near. With every breath one draws, one's 

 soul seems to expand and grow. 



I am rilled with astonishment, wonder, and awe 

 for the Mighty Hand that has modelled these 

 rocks and given them their insignia of grandeur. 



