Wonderful land of the Rockies,
Land of the Titans and genii,
Mute as the dawn of creation,
Under the same high and blue sky:
Stretching away in the distance,
Like the dreams of a happy young heart,
Tinted with morning's bright colors.
O picture of exquisite art!
Grand, magnificent Canyon,
Where flows that wild, matchless stream,
That races its way through the mountains,
Where earth in its making is seen:
Where temple, cathedral, and castle,
Minaret, steeple, and dome,
Were carved by the mighty world builders,
From mountains on mountains of stone.
Their architecture was perfect,
Their painters were not amateurs,
Their beauty, men never have equalled,
Their work, through the ages, endures.
Angelo, Phidias and Reubens,
Goethe, Melanchton, and Gray,
And thousands of mena in all ages,
Were masters of men, in their day;
But their work will fade--it will crumble,
And men will forget all the Past,
But this art in the heart of the Rockies,
Is carved from the granite that lasts.
Millenniums may pass o'er our planet,
Our maps and our world will be changed,
But the Canyon, out in the wild mountains,
O Lord, let it ever remain!
There men see the earth in its making--
So mighty, majestic and solemn;
Its massive, eternal foundations--
Facade, and turret, and column.
'Tis building through all the long ages,
Unfinished; completed, it seems,
The masterpiece 'mong earth's great wonders
Of canyon, and mountain, and stream.
The genius of God is unfolding
Just now as in ages agone.
Dissolving, revolving, evolving,
Unmaking, and making, our home.
Shall the architrave of this planet,
Be surpassed in the ages to come?
This Canyon, these Mountains, this River.
O trinity of wonders in one!
