Here, sown by the creators hand.
In serried ranks, the Redwoods stand;
No other clime is honored so,
No other lands their glory know.
The greatest of earths living forms,
Tall conquerers that laugh at storms;
Their challenge still unanswered rings,
Through fifty centuries of kings,
The nations that with them were young,
Rich empires, with their forts far flung,
Lie buried now their splendor gone;
But these proud monarchs still live on.
So shall they live, when ends our day,
When our crude citadels decay;
For brief the years allotted man,
but infinite perennials' span.
This is their temple, vaulted high,
And here we pause with reverent eye,
With silent tongue and awe struck soul;
For here we sense life's proper goal;
To be like these, straight, true and fine
To make our world, like theirs, a shrine.
Sink down, oh traveler, on your knees
God stands before you in these trees.
By Joseph B Strauss