A POET'S APPEAL FOR THE NATURAL: 3. THE MOUNTAINS by WILLIAM STEWARD GORDON

And measure not our mountain peaks
By water-power and cash accounts.
Wouldst thou tear Tacoma's ermine crown
From off his beetling Roman brow,
And whittle down the brow itself
To man-made terraces?

Must old Niagara cease to sing,
And leap in frenzied glory from
His Alpine heights—to run a belt?
"Tis but Philistine cruelty—
The boring Samson's eyes, to make
A slave a-grinding at a mill!
Hear ye, O blind iconoclasts!
Leave some rare spots upon the globe
Where man can read God's primal law,
And trace his signature in stone!

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