The Redwoods, by Joseph B. Strauss

Here, sown by the Creators hand,

In serried ranks, the Redwood stand:

Not other clime is honored so,

No other land their glory know.

The greatest of Earth’s living forms,

Tall conquerors that laugh the storms;

Their challenge still unanswered rings,

Through fifty centuries of kings,

The nations, that with them were young,

Rich empires, with their forts far flung,

Lie buried now-their splendor gone

But these proud monarchs still live on.

So shall they live, when end our day,

When our crude citadels decay;

For brief the years allotted man,

But infinite perennials ‘span.

This is their temple, vaulted high,

And here we pause with reverent eye.

With silent tongue and owe- struck soul;

For here we sense life’s proper goal.

To be like these, straight, true and fine,

To make our world, like theirs, or shrine;

Sink down, Oh, traveler, on your knees,

God stands before you in these trees.