As in some vast cathedral, one looks up
Through columns, carved and tinted deep by time,
Up, up to where the light grows faint; and where
Through windows, made by dust of ages dim.
A few pale sunbeams strive to force their way;
So in the redwoods. Midst the columns vast
Of nature's great cathedral, gazing up,
One finds the same dim distance and the same
Pale sunbeam and the same dim, far-off light;
But in the place of window's, filmed by time,
Great interlacing branches, tier on tier,
Set in a frame-work of the fern-like leaf;
And in between, faint glimpses of deep blue,
As if some master-hand, with earnest touch,
Had painted every space 'twixt leaf and branch,
With tender color, like the Heaven's own.
In Scribner's Magazine.
