I reck not of the wealth untold, concealed
Beneath your glorious coronal of snows,
Whose budding treasure yet but scarce revealed,
Shall blossom into trade—a golden rose.
A mighty realm is waking at your feet
To life and beauty, from the lap of Time,
With cities vast, where millions yet shall meet,
And Peace shall reign in majesty sublime.
Rock-ribbed Sierras, with your crests of snow,
A type of manhood, ever strong and true,