THE PINES OF THE MOGOLLONES
In the forests on the mountains sing the pines a wondrous measure,As the wind, the master-player, sways their branches to and fro:Varied music, full of power, full of passion, joy, and sorrow;Wild and loud with pain and heart-break, then with love and gladness low.And that music holds the story of the world since its first waking;Holds the secret of all living and the life that yet will be;All the lore the wind has gathered as he roamed the wide earth over,From the silent, sun-white desert to the restless, moaning sea.In that singing whisper softly voices of the long lost peoples;Hymns that rose o’er crumbled altars, prayers for the forgotten dead;Mothers’ sighs and children’s laughter mingle with the soldiers’ war cry,Clash of arms and blare of trumpets, and the conquering army’s tread.And above this earth-born music rings a higher tone incessant,Calling: “Upward! Upward! Upward! Rise and follow where I go;Leave the camp-fire, leave the quarry, seek the joy that comes of seeking,While the strong peaks keep their places and the snow-sweet waters flow.”And the wind, the master-player, blends these varied tones togetherTill they rise, a glorious paean, from the forests wide and free—Rise and echo on forever; full of courage, hope, and daring;Wild with all the pain of living, glad with all life’s harmony.