For many days a form of white Has flashed and faded in your sight In fleeting glimpses, as of wings, Our God’s bright palm in beckonings. It is a secret nursed of each— You dare not give the thought in speech, So wierdly solemn is the sign— As if, upon the western stairs, The angels of a thousand prayers Were come with sacred bread and wine. Again, the still, enchanted hour Of sunset burns in crimson flower, And purple-hearted shadows sleep Like clustered pansies, warm and deep, Eastward of wreathen crag and wall. The road that wound and wound all day In many a dark and devious way At last with one swift curve ascends A rolling plain that breaks and bends Westward, till rosy curtains fall O’er mountains massed and magical. Resplendent as a pearly tent Upon the fir-fringed battlement— Serene in sunset gold and rose, A pyramid of splendor glows, So vast and calm and bright your dream Is dust and ashes in its gleam. A maiden speaks—“He led us far— It is the golden western star!” And then a youth—“Our goal is won— ’Tis the pavilion of the sun.” A gray sage, then, in undertone— “It must be Hood, so grand and lone— The shining citadel and throne Of Terminus, that Roman god Who marked the line that legions trod, And set the limits of the world Where Cæsar’s battle flags were furled! Oh, for the days of dark-eyed prophetess Who sang in Syrian wilderness The gilded chariots’ overthrow, To lead us for the cymbaled song To him, the beautiful and strong, Who dashed the brimming cup of woe And was our cloud and flame so long!” Forward! the crested mountains kneel To patient tolls of fire and steel— A way is hewn and you emerge Upon the Cascades’ battled verge;— And far beneath you and away To ocean’s shining fringe of foam And summer vail of floating spray, Behold the land of your emprise, Serene as tender twilight skies When day is swooning into gloam! It is the morning twilight now That wraps the valley’s misted brow; The bourgeoning and blooming dawn— The reveille of Oregon.