 | The candle in the cabin |  |
83
BY THE OLDEST TRAILS
The Forest-Ranger's Honeymoon
The moose they say is a whimsical beast.
The pack rat is a curious thing.
The wood wasp, too, is a curious thing.
But a stranger thing was on the wing,
A flying machine, the fire patrol,
Heard from behind a tremendous mountain,
Humming on like America's soul.
The pack rat is a curious thing.
The wood wasp, too, is a curious thing.
But a stranger thing was on the wing,
A flying machine, the fire patrol,
Heard from behind a tremendous mountain,
Humming on like America's soul.
It was hid behind the mountain top,
Yet humming and humming again and again.
Then we slept all night in a cabin unused,
Yet a telephone spoke again and again,
The ringing pulse of America's blood,
Calling us back by its very sound
To America's streets again and again.
Yet humming and humming again and again.
Then we slept all night in a cabin unused,
Yet a telephone spoke again and again,
The ringing pulse of America's blood,
Calling us back by its very sound
To America's streets again and again.
So deeper and deeper on we climbed
To where the fallen cabins are found
By the oldest trails, a lifetime old.
And the waterfalls roared to keep us proud,
And not be misled by the hum and the ring
Back to where the skyscrapers swing.
To where the fallen cabins are found
By the oldest trails, a lifetime old.
And the waterfalls roared to keep us proud,
And not be misled by the hum and the ring
Back to where the skyscrapers swing.
| The candle in the cabin | |