24
THE CHANT OF THE COLORADO
My brother, man, builds for a span:His life is a moment's breath.But I have hewn for a million years,Nor a moment dreamt of death.By moons and stars I have measured my task—And some from the skies have perished:But ever I cut and flashed and foamed,As ever my aim I cherished:My aim to quarry the heart of earth,Till, in the rock's red rise,Its age and birth, through an awful girthOf strata, should show the wonder-worthOf patience to all eyes.
My brother, man, builds as he can,And beauty he adds for his joy,But all the hues of sublimityMy pinnacled walls employ.Slow shadows iris them all day long,And silvery veils, soul-stilling,
