Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MARCH UP MOUNT HOOD, by WILLIAM STEWARD GORDON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MARCH UP MOUNT HOOD, by                    
First Line: Fall in line at the midnight call
Last Line: Man is nothing—god is all.
Subject(s): Marching & Marches


Fall in line at the midnight call,
With screw-shod shoes and bloomers and all,
For the ice is hard and the going is good,
So hurrah for the summit of old Mount Hood!

And here's to the monarch old and gray,
And here's to the guides who lead the way,
And a jollier band of maidens and men
Will never make tracks on the mountain again.

Get your colored specs and your Alpine stock,
Which you will not trade for a city block,
And follow the lantern single file,
To the goal of your day-dream, mile on mile.

Our shadows stalk across the sand
Like the ghost of some dead Indian band,
Up glacier rivers, o'er shale and shelf,
From Mountain View to the mountain itself.

Ere the morning star has said good-by
An arch of glory gilds the sky,
And a giant silhouette fills the west
Like some departing mountain guest.

Let the faint of heart no longer dare,
For the ice-ax clicks in the frosty air,
And this is the tocsin that greets the dawn,
'Tis on and up, 'tis up and on.

Through sulphur fumes at the crater's edge,
And up the ropes on the turquoise ledge—
And what is the cry that greets us then?
It's, "Paint your face and at it again."

From moraines we mount the sharp arête
Where the snow tracks red like bloody feet,
And icicles fringe the caverns like corn,
O'er fathomless deeps where the rivers are born.

On ladders we leap the last crevasse,
While lips are mute till we safely pass,
And we seem to stand at heaven's door
And shout "Excelsior!" no more.

In silent awe we view the sight
Of beauty, majesty, and might,
And this is the word for the welkin wall:
Man is nothing—God is all.





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