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 together Till 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.