Mysterious offspring, rugged son of Fire,
Born from the depths before the birth of years,
When burdened mothers would not grieve nor tire,
And fathers all forbade the cringing fears;
But listened there some one with painful ears,
And the mighty throes foredoomed some heart to pine.
But seen, thy solid form and brow so fine—
Ah, then, who dares to feebly pine or mock?
Men drink, for forthwith flows a mystic wine,
When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock.
[Illustration: Photo by the Author.]
Of mountains round about thee some rise higher,
Yet none of them, both near and far, thy peers;
And none of them are led to hate and ire;
I rather think they greet thee with good cheers;
Thy plaudits ring from a multitude of seers,
For thou dost serve for all as Nature’s shrine.
What cynic looks, and yields his pent-up whine?
At once he joins the throng which round thee flock;
No mountain, man or god could thee decline,
When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock.
I trust I know and love thy primal Sire,
But purer love and lore when twilight clears,
When men and I shall climb a nobler spire,
And all of hate and horror disappears,
With wail and woe of war and cruel spears;
When wolf and lamb shall side by side recline—
O, be it mine to stand secure, yes mine,
Without the thought of harm or deadly shock,
In that glad day and time, as ever thine,
When they thy glory see, eternal Chimney Rock.