To A Home In A Canon

Strength of the mighty hills, and peace of them; Peace of white, silent peaks against the sky, And silence of far deserts gray and wide; Freedom of winds that blow in earth’s lone places, And the brooding rest of night above the pines, Are in these walls; eternal as the hills, The desert, and the wind that goes between. The hands will pass; the written word grow dim; The name an echo’s echo faint and die; But when its farthest whisper is forgot These walls shall speak of human hope and love; Shall say to unknown men in unguessed years: “Here one made truce with Time a little hour; Fought, worked; held hard-won victory--knew defeat; Drained Life’s cup from the bubbles to the lees And tossed it down and took him to the dust.”